#probably more protein than i needed all things told

[keferon]

Two Peas in a Pod: part 2/?

*slips another piece into your mailbox*

_____________________

Jazz was still feeling a little woozy from his donation in the dark hours of the morning. Blaster had breakfast changed from the usual to something that felt more like a treat, probably a reward for his good behaviour, and to help his body recover. Fish heavy in proteins, fat, all that healthy stuff. Something that normally he would have tried to savour, but he wolfed it down from excitement. Too many questions ran through his head, and most he couldn't bring himself to voice.

The mer, the mer would pull through. Blaster told him about how he had saved their life with his blood. Praised him high and low. Because Blaster knew how Jazz felt about seeing blood, about how hard blood tests were for him, and that was only a tiny vial. Not three big bags of it. Jazz hadn't seen how much they had taken – because he had kept his eye closed until they left in a hurry –, and hearing about it made him dizzy for other reasons, but he honestly felt real proud of himself.

It was a new feeling, different from other moments of pride – like when he figured out the lock codes. Yeah, this gave him butterflies and the drive to help more.

Blaster laughed when Jazz offered that the vets could take more if the other mer needed it. His handler didn't think it would be, but he would pass it on to the vet team.

Jazz's morning checks were a little off, expected with having a little less fluids and feeling off-balance, but it was kept short and quick. Blaster told him that if he learned anything more, he'd tell him next time he came by and then hurried back down to the staff area. Blaster was needed elsewhere, understandably as there weren't many mer experts here, though he did leave Jazz his waterproof stereo if he wanted to play some of his favourites.

But, the orca mer was far too busy causing a whirlpool from the laps he was swimming. He was too excited to sit still, and embarrassment be damned he started practising old vocals. He didn't remember much of his mother tongue, and he was pretty sure that his pronunciation was off, that or had one hell of an accent. Echo-speech was even more rusty. And once he had gone over and over what he could recall, Jazz began to really worry. A few sentences and handful or so of words was all he had? Gods, I hope I can at least make a decent first impression. Blaster said they were just like me, so hopefully, that will give me some starting points.

More than he cared to count, Jazz would swim into the shallow waters of the medical bay and hope to see something through that window. But no one ever came close enough for him to hear any news of the mer. He couldn't even see anything on his radar, wherever they had done treatment, it wasn't in the hospital ward. It almost felt like he was being purposely kept in the dark.

And just when Jazz was starting to worry that things had taken a bad turn, a group of staff turned up around four pm. He wasn't able to ask any questions, or rather they refused to answer. Shooing him away as they got to work. Starting with closing the gate to the bay to 'keep him out'. Jazz could easily climb those walls, but that wasn't the point. Even if the gate window was closed, he could pick up that they were setting up the water hammock. But it wasn't until he heard the cautionary beeping of the hoist lift approaching that it dawned on him – the mer was coming. Now.

"Jazz," Blaster called, "… Jazz," he blew the training whistle and finally got his mer's attention. "Stop pacing and get over here."

"But–" Jazz looked back longingly up the wall.

"Jazz," his tone dropped to a firm one, and Jazz begrudgingly swam over to the pier. The human crouched and made sure that they held eye contact before he spoke. "I need you to promise me that you will stay in your enclosure."

He sunk a little, trying to play into his cuteness, but being far too anxious to really pull it off. "What do you mean?"

"Jazz," now warning him. Blaster knew full well that he was more than capable of getting into or out of places he shouldn't, bloody Houdini mermaid, "this is serious. Things are going well, we want to keep it that way. Which means keeping things calm and feeling safe. You're excited, I get it, we all are. But in about an hour, they'll be waking up and – from past experience seen with wild Mers – they will likely freak out. And the last thing we need is you hauling your tail over that wall and making things worse. Understand?"

The beeping was louder how and the hiss of hydraulics caused Jazz to look up. The arm of the lift was visible over the wall. They're here!

"Jazz," Blaster hopelessly called for his attention once more.

Within moments, a massive bundle was carefully raised, the staff calling out and coordinating. Jazz's gaze was fixed on the black and white fluke poking out, it was the only part of them he could see, and his heart began to race. Once they became hidden by the wall again, Jazz moved back to pacing by the gate without even thinking. Listening to people hopping into the water to unstrap the mer and call back n' forth. "Careful, careful! – Watch the head! – Someone give me a hand over here! – We're clear on this side! – Keep the head up!"

Really starting to sound like a broken record, Blaster chirped the whistle and called out to him again. The expression he wore must have been pretty pitiful because the look on Blaster's face dropped. "If I open the view port… will you promise me that you will wait, that you will stay in your enclosure?"

"I promise," he answered hastily, placing his hands on the gate, over the panel that would slide open.

"And that you will wait until everything is in the clear, till the staff come to oversee the integration. There will be no rushing things and no asking staff when we will open the gate."

"I promise," he repeated, trying not to beg.

Satisfied, Blaster pulled out his radio, "Blaster to Control; when the team is out of the Mer enclosure's medical bay, open the view port. Jazz's stress is mounting without a visual."

"Can do," came a quick reply.

Though, opening the panel was not. Several minutes went by, the hoist had cleared out, and much of the staff had returned to their other duties. Only two remained double-checking the mer's breathing and pulse. The moment that the last of them left, Jazz heard the lock disengage, and he retracted his hands as the panel shifted and began to slide open. The window was too small to get more than his hand – maybe up to his elbow if he wanted to push it – through, and sat just at water level– any movement sending water hopping to either side. But it gave him a clear view of the surface area inside.

Oh.

Oh. Jazz stopped breathing. While the mer's body was mostly supported by the fabric of the hammock, cradling them on their side, effectively hiding most of them from Jazz's angle. Propped up on a soft floating platform was the mer's head, face towards the gate. Sharp features and elegantly shaped finials, with flattering lines of their markings complimenting the peaceful expression as they slept. The butterflies from earlier came back stronger than ever, his heart thundering as words fumbled from Jazz's lips, "he's beautiful…"

_____________________

-GLC

Orca Prowl really is just-- too fucking pretty, omg, I'm living through Jazz in this moment like when I first saw your designs of him.

I'm more than happy to continue writing for you, you bring me so much joy. I screamed when I saw how much you liked it. If you have any requests you would like me to add to the story, leave it in the tags or comments ♡ I now plan to continue until the tsunami and a bit afterwards, maybe more, we'll see~

Upd: There is a next part!

Previous

Oh. MY GOD. OKAY ALRIGHT OKAY ALRIGHT OKA

I'M ABOUT TO START PACING IN CIRCLES JUST LIKE JAZZ OVER HERE KDLCNFJFLFB PL E A S E THIS IS SO GOOD. The tension?? You can fucking TASTE it IT'S SO GREAT GLC I LOVE YOU

The way it all starts at night and then you (as a reader) have all this additional time to boil in your anticipation?? So fucking great. Like you can really feel how little power Jazz has over the wholse situation. The plot is moving but he doesn't have any saying in it. Well. Yet heheh

Anyway haha. Im normal and I made some art>:D

[midnightquips]

Dangerously Close

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky & Y/N are undeniably attracted to each other. Seemingly the only way these two are getting together is with some extreme meddling.

Themes: mutual pining, teasing teammates, possessive Bucky, Thunderbolts chaos, friends-to-lovers-but-stupid about it, pining (a lot)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex

💫 Dangerously Close Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 2: A Questionable Plan

Part III

The first thing you notice when you step into the common hall is that it looks... different.

Definitely not Tony-level extravagant like you’ve heard, but it’s clear someone went all in for party prep. You figure Yelena probably got Mel into planning it, who then took advantage of Valentina’s need for good publicity. 

String lights hang from the ceiling while a sleek playlist pulses through hidden speakers. There’s actual catered food on one table, and a fully stocked bar on the other.

You tug your dress down as you walk in. It’s red, fitted—very fitted—and shows a little more leg than you usually go for. The neckline dips just enough to be dangerous, and the fabric hugs in a way that makes you feel like... well, like you did not come to play.

Yelena whistles the second she spots you. “Goddamn, Y/N. I’d climb you.”

“Please don’t,” you murmur, adjusting the neckline. “I already feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“You look hot,” she says, linking arms with you. “And very unbothered. Like you’ve totally moved on from emotionally constipated super soldiers.”

You hum. “Is he even coming?”

Yelena smirks. “Oh, he’s coming. Alexei promised he’s going to drag Barnes. Also we told him there’s vodka.”

You raise a brow. “So Bucky’s baited by liquor now?”

“No, Bucky’s baited by you. The liquor is just excuse.”

It doesn’t take long for you to find out who John’s mystery guest is.

He’s tall. Built like he belongs in a recruitment poster. Charming smile. Easy laugh.Almost reminds you of Steve Rogers when he was starting out as Captain America.

His name is Colin.

An appropriate name for a harmlessly attractive guy. The kind of guy who makes good small talk and smells like cedarwood soap.

Yelena all but throws him at you. “Colin, this is Y/N. Y/N, Colin. You two talk. Make eye contact. Laugh loudly at each other’s jokes.”

Colin chuckles. “No pressure or anything.”

You smile, amused. “You’ll get used to her.”

He tilts his head. “Can I get you a drink?”

You glance at the bar, then nod. “Sure. Whatever doesn’t taste like gasoline.”

As Colin heads off, Yelena leans in. “He’s cute, right?”

“Surprisingly,” you admit.

She winks. “Now smile like you’ve never heard the word ‘Bucky’ in your life.”

You hate to say it but for a while, the distraction works.

Colin is funny and relaxed. He tells you a story about John accidentally ordering 200 pounds of protein powder once and trying to pass it off as a “bulk deal.”

You’re surprised to find yourself genuinely laughing at his stories.

You’ve had half a cocktail, and the nerves are finally gone. You’re resting your face on your hand when you start to think you might actually enjoy the night. 

Spoke too soon maybe because just as you quickly glance toward the doorway, there he is. Bucky.

Everything in the room shifts. 

Leaning against the wall in all black. Hair pushed back. Jaw tight.

His gaze is steady on you. It makes you freeze. His eyes drop to your dress. Your legs. The way you’re laughing with someone else.

And something in his expression cracks.

You try to look away. You really do.

But there’s an intensity to Bucky and you can feel him watching, eyes burning a hole through the back of your head.

Your attention is limited but thankfully enough to acknowledge that Colin hands you your drink. When he asks you a question though, you don’t quite hear.

You simply nod, answer something vaguely coherent.

Across the room, Yelena glances at Bucky and beams. “Oh, this is fun.”

Bob sips his drink. “He looks pissed.”

“He is pissed. His jaw’s doing the murder clench.”

“This might have been a bad idea.” Bob is skeptic

She shrugs. “An explosion would happen sooner or later.”

Ten minutes later, you’re leaning against the bar with Colin when Bucky walks past you. You can tell it was deliberately close, enough that his arm brushes yours.

You turn slightly to acknowledge him. “Hey.”

He nods. “Y/N.”

His voice is cool and controlled. But his eyes? It could set you aflame.

You try to keep your voice even. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

He shrugs coolly. “Didn’t want to.”

Your jaw tightens. “Then why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer. Just gives Colin a once-over that could bring a more astute man to his knees.

Instead, Colin–bless his heart–offers a hand. “Colin. Nice to meet you.”

Bucky stares at it and doesn’t move.

You quickly interject to ease the tension. “Colin’s a friend of John’s, visiting for the weekend.”

“Right,” Bucky mutters. “Military buddy.”

The words drip with disdain.

You feel your chest tighten. “Don’t start.”

He meets your eyes again. “Start what?”

But before you can answer, someone calls your name and you let yourself be pulled away.

He continues to watch you from across the room, like a hunter on the prowl.

You felt your every move was being accounted for. Every step. Every laugh. Every sip of your drink.

It’s like his stare is chained to your spine.

Bucky doesn’t talk to anyone. Just drinks and gazes intently.

Until finally, it gets too much for him to bear and he moves. Straight toward you.

Meanwhile, Colin is in the middle of telling you about his last deployment when Bucky taps your arm. “Can we talk?”

Your eyes dart between him and Colin. “Now?”

His voice is low. Firm. “Yes. Now.”

You glance at Colin, smiling politely. “One sec.”

Bucky’s already walking toward the hallway by the time you follow.

You don’t speak until you’re back on your floor. You unlock your door, step inside, and close it behind you. You finally turn to him annoyed. Arms crossed to cover up the fact that your heart was racing.

“Well?”

He’s already pacing.

“I can’t do this,” he says.

You blink. “Can’t do what?”

“This. Watching you laugh with some guy who doesn’t even know you. Watching you look—fuck—look like that and not—” He stops himself, seemingly frustrated at his lack of vocabulary

You frown, hands balling to a fist. You almost feel tempted to console him. “You had your chance, Bucky.”

“I know.” 

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t talk to me? You said we’d talk, and you just—disappeared.”

“Sam needed me and then by the time I wanted to… I was focused on figuring out how to not ruin this.”

You stare. “You already did.”

He stops and stares at you.

“I… thought pulling away was the respectful thing,” he says quietly. “I was drunk. I didn’t want our first kiss to be something you’d regret.”

“I didn’t regret it.” You say frankly

His eyes darken. “Neither did I.”

You swallow. “I didn’t deserve the silence.”

“I know but I also didn’t know what to say.”

Your voice cracks. “You could’ve said anything.”

He steps closer. “I’m saying it now.”

Another step.

“I want you.”

Another.

“I always have.”

You’re breathless when he reaches you.

“I want you mine,” he whispers, cupping your jaw. “I don’t want to see you flirting with anyone else. I don’t want to see anyone else touching you. I want your lips, your laugh, your legs wrapped around me every night. Only me.”

You stare at him, stunned.

Then finally, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss.

Taglist: @killerwendigo @mrsnikolestan @starstruck-cowgirl @staley83 @wickedfun9 @sebastianstan0813 @yellowjm @geekandproud @Knowledgeableknitter @yvespecially @geek-and-proud @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky @Biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @jakesimper @danimuhle @marvelloonie @probablybucky @cozyjess @lana525 @watashiwababy @emilyswortwellen @maribirdsteele @amf71010 @sweettae02 @blackrigel @3sriracha @angelbabyange @stevetonycupcakes @buckyslefttooth @user6170171 @jasontoddswhitestreak @ifuckwithyouanyday @ficmeiguess @daydreamgoddess14 @schlattslonghairytoes

[goldfades]

can you do one with azzi and the five love languages? like how her and her gf are with all 5

ugh i love azzi so much, shes my baby angel precious princess she cannot do anything wrong in my eyes. anyway! heres a fic

words of affirmation

It wasn’t like Azzi needed to be told she was good—her stats, her trophies, her highlights, they all spoke for themselves. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear it. Especially from her.

Azzi was always hardest on herself after a bad game. And by “bad,” it usually meant she’d still dropped a solid twenty points but missed a few shots she thought she should’ve made. She didn’t sulk, exactly, but she got quiet. The kind of quiet that sat heavy between them, stretching across the space in their apartment like an unspoken loss.

And Azzi never asked for reassurance. Never outright sought it. She was too disciplined, too locked in, the kind of player who internalized every mistake and used it as fuel. But that didn’t mean she didn’t need it.

Especially on nights like this.

You knew the pattern well by now—how she’d shower in silence, how she’d settle onto the couch with her protein shake, her body still tense from the game, jaw tight with whatever frustration she was turning over in her head.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just sat beside her, close enough that your thigh pressed against hers, letting the space between you settle. Letting her come down from it in her own time.

When the moment felt right, you leaned into her a little more, your fingers tracing lazy shapes against her wrist. “You know,” you started, keeping your voice soft but certain, “I love the way you see the court. You always make the right play, even when it’s not the easiest one. That kick-out to the corner in the third? That was beautiful, Az.”

You felt her exhale, the slightest release of tension, but she didn’t respond. You kept going.

“And I love how you fight for every single point. Even when it’s not your night, you never stop pushing. That’s what makes you different.”

Azzi turned her head slightly, looking at you for the first time all night. There was something unreadable in her eyes—something softer than frustration, something closer to understanding.

“Yeah?” she asked, quiet but almost hopeful.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “And also, you’re still the best shooter in the country, in case you forgot.”

That finally pulled a small, breathy laugh from her, her head dipping for just a second before she leaned into you, letting her forehead rest against your shoulder. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. You could feel it in the way she softened against you, in the way her fingers curled around yours.

She was letting herself believe it.

acts of service

Azzi wasn’t good at slowing down. You knew that about her. She ran herself into the ground, always pushing past what her body probably wanted, never really stopping long enough to listen to it.

So you did it for her.

It started small—little things like making sure she had her protein shakes prepped, slipping extra recovery packs into her bag before away games. But then you started noticing more—the way she winced slightly when she sat down, the way she rolled her ankle absentmindedly throughout the day, the way she stretched her calf a little longer than usual.

She never complained. Never even acknowledged it. Which meant it was exactly the kind of thing she’d ignore until it became a real problem.

So, when she got home from practice one evening, sweaty and exhausted, she walked into a fully prepped recovery session in the living room.

The coffee table had been pushed aside, a yoga mat rolled out in its place. Next to it, a foam roller, resistance bands, massage oil, the works. Everything she needed to take care of herself—if she ever actually stopped long enough to do it.

She stood there, hands on her hips, staring at it like she didn’t understand what she was looking at. “What’s all this?”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, feigning nonchalance. “Recovery session,” you said. “You don’t take care of yourself, so I’m doing it for you.”

Azzi scoffed, amused. “I do take care of myself—”

“You literally said, ‘it’s not that bad’ about a sprained ankle.”

Azzi opened her mouth, then shut it. You had her there.

She sighed, the kind of sigh that meant she was giving in, and flopped onto the mat. “Fine,” she muttered, but there was a smile threatening her lips.

You sat beside her, already reaching for her calf, hands working over the tight muscle with practiced ease. She let out the smallest, pleased hum, melting just a little under your touch.

“You just wanted an excuse to touch me,” she murmured, eyes closed now, smug.

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe.”

receiving gifts

Azzi wasn’t someone who cared about gifts in a material way, but she was terrible at keeping track of things. Shoes, water bottles, her lucky shooting sleeve—you name it, she’d misplaced it at some point.

You, however, paid attention.

So when you noticed that she’d lost yet another pair of her favorite grip socks—the same ones she swore made all the difference in her footwork—you didn’t even hesitate.

You ordered a new pair and tucked them neatly into her practice bag, right on top of her jersey, so she’d find them the next day.

That evening, she walked into the apartment holding them up, an amused expression on her face. “Did you…?”

You barely looked up from your coffee. “You lost yours. Again.”

Azzi shook her head, pulling them on immediately. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me,” you said simply.

She grinned, no hesitation. “Yeah. I do.”

quality time

Time together was rare. Between games, travel, and training, it felt like life kept you moving in different directions.

Which was why, when you finally had a full day off together, you made it count.

You didn’t go anywhere, didn’t make plans—just stayed in, wrapped up in blankets, soft candles flickering, homemade pancakes stacked high on the counter.

At some point in the afternoon, Azzi sprawled across the couch, her head resting in your lap, a book balanced on her stomach. She wasn’t reading, though. Just lying there, eyes closed, letting you run your fingers down her back.

“You asleep?” you asked softly.

She hummed. “Not yet.”

You smiled, shifting slightly so you could get comfortable. This was what you loved most. Not the grand gestures, not the crowded arenas—just this. Just her. Just quiet, lazy afternoons where nothing else in the world mattered.

physical touch

Azzi wasn’t overly affectionate in public. She wasn’t cold, just… private. She didn’t need big displays, didn’t need to prove anything. But when it was just the two of you? Different story.

Which is why, after an exhausting day, she walked through the door and immediately collapsed into you, wrapping her arms around your waist, pressing herself against you like she was trying to crawl into your skin.

You barely had time to react before she buried her face in your neck, sighing deeply.

“Rough practice?” you asked, running a hand over her back.

She mumbled something unintelligible, tightening her hold.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head.

“Just wanna be held?”

A nod.

So you held her. No questions, no expectations. Just the soft weight of her body against yours, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the unspoken promise that no matter how chaotic the world got, this was always her safe place.

You.

[nameless-jamie]

I Want You...Professionally

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing

A/N: A tiny little fluff scenario. Just for the vibes.

It was vacation time for Jamie's favorite assistant. Well, his only assistant. She had organized everything, a temporary assistant for Jamie, a good book she could read while relaxing on her couch, but she obviously didn't calculate Jamie's brattiness.

Y/N had barely been out for a week when the first text came in.

Jamie: Who the fuck is this Jerry lad?

She frowned at the message before another one followed.

Jamie: He’s in my kitchen, Y/N. My sanctuary. What’s next? My fucking shower?

Jamie: If he touches my shampoo, I’m calling the police.

She sighed, rubbing her temple. She had warned Jamie that a temp assistant would be sent to work for him while she was on leave. He probably didn't listen. It was supposed to be a good thing—someone to help manage his schedule, make sure he made it to training on time, and prevent situations exactly like this, all while Y/N could chill for like a week. Just one week, please!

Instead, it seemed like Jamie had decided to make it his personal mission to be as difficult as humanly possible.

Y/N: He’s literally just there to help. Be nice.

Jamie: Define “nice.”

Y/N: Don’t scare him off in under a week.

Jamie: Cannot promise that babe.

It did not take a week.

It took two days.

By that time Y/N got an angry phone call from Rebecca. Jamie had apparently run through the poor temp guy so fast that Rebecca had personally told her, “You need to deal with your idiot. Right now!”

And if the exasperation in her voice hadn’t already told Y/N everything she needed to know, the look on the temp’s face when she arrived at the club to talk to him, spoke louder than words could.

The man looked exhausted. Defeated. Like he had seen things no personal assistant should ever have to see.

"Jerry, hey how are things?" Y/N approached the man carefully and spoke in a soft voice. Damn, he looked like he was about to break.

“I can’t do it, Y/N” he had said, shaking his head. “He’s impossible.”

“Yeah,” she had sighed. “He does that sometimes.”

"He sleeps bottomless. BOTTOMLESS! He told me that I have the energy of a wet paper towel. And he only ever eats protein bars."

Jerry started crying out of frustration and hugged Y/N's shoulder, a little too tight. Nice, her favorite blouse is now tear-stained. Fuckin' Tartt.

Y/N patted Jerry's back awkwardly. "Shit, okay. I'll deal with it."

So when Jamie showed up at her flat unannounced that evening—because of course he did—she was more than ready to deal with him.

“Jamie,” she deadpanned, crossing her arms. “What the fuck.”

Jamie blinked at her. “What?”

“You terrorized him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You made him cry, Jamie.” Y/N deadpanned.

Jamie scoffed. “I barely said anythin'. He cried over one little comment.”

“You told him he had ‘the energy of a wet paper towel.’”

Jamie shrugged. “He did.”

“Jamie.”

He sighed dramatically, flopping onto her couch like he had just run a marathon. “Nah, you don't get it, t'was a whole nightmare. He was just there all the time. Following me around, tellin’ me what to do, actin’ like he knew me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You mean like how I do my job?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not like you.”

“Oh, really?” She crossed the room, standing in front of him. “Because you’ve never had a problem with me following you around before and telling you what to do. But suddenly, this guy shows up, and you turn into a little shit?”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “I am a little shit. Always been one.”

She huffed. “Jamie.”

“What?” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before looking up at her.

"Why is it different with me, tell me." She put her hand on his arm lovingly, trying to coax the answer out of him.

Jamie was frustrated. "I don't know. Maybe because you get me and... And maybe I don’t want someone else bossing me around, yeah? Maybe I just want you.”

The words hit her like a fucking freight train.

Jamie must’ve realized what he had said because his mouth snapped shut, his jaw tensing.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“In, like, a professional way?” Jamie said as more of a question than a statement.

“Jamie,” she said, with a warning voice.

He exhaled, shaking his head like he wanted to take it all back. “Forget it. I'll go apologize to the guy.”

“No Jamie, wait.” She stepped closer. "I mean you should definitely eventually apologize, you made the guy cry for god sake! But wait..."

Jamie met her gaze, something uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

She licked her lips, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was. “You want me?”

Jamie’s throat bobbed. “Yeah.”

Her heart stupidly skipped a beat. “In, like, a professional way.”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smirk. “Sure. That.”

Her breath caught.

And then, because Jamie Tartt was a menace—because he could never just say something and leave it at that—he tilted his head, voice dropping to something dangerously soft.

“You okay, love?”

She could’ve said yes.

She should’ve said yes.

Instead, she let out a sharp breath and muttered, “Fuck you.”

Jamie grinned and turned toward the door. “Knew it. I'll be off then, apologizing to Berry.”

"His name is Jerry!"

"I knew that!"

The silence that followed after Jamie left wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was full of things left unsaid. Y/N thought about his words and their meaning a lot. Maybe I just want you.

Maybe they weren’t ready for the next step yet, and maybe they were, but for now, they both knew one thing—neither of them was going anywhere.

[razorblade180]

Actor AU6

Ruby:You know what’s funny about filming a movie where you’re aged up? *steps aside*

Summer:*in DC costume* Sup.

Ruby:I wonder how many people are going to notice the difference.

Summer:They’ll know it’s me when the acting improves.

Ruby:Wow!

xxxxxxx

Blake:Excuse me ma’am. Where’s the bathroom?

Yang:Oh it’s just…*flexes bicep* That way to the left.

Blake:Haha, why thank you.

Yang:There’s also one to the…*flexes tricep* right over here.

Nora:Stop it before you pull something you dork.

xxxxxx

Interviewer: So, Yang Xiao Long, fans have noticed you got a few gains for this movie.

Yang:Yep! Never again haha!

Interviewer:What? Why not.

Weiss:She was such a baby off set.

Yang:Mad respect for personal trainers and gym enthusiasts. I like to feel a burn but I missed my arms not being sore. Adam would literally be nice enough to make me oatmeal and I’d just look at sadly because I don’t want to lift the spoon.

Interviewer:Was it as painful for the rest of you?

Blake:I actually think I like protein shakes now and that’s deeply upsetting.

Weiss:I’ve always lived the gym life. They wanted more squats so I gave them more squats.

xxxxxx

Ruby:*sitting sadly*

Superman:*sits beside her* It seems you have a lot on your mind?

Ruby:A lot has changed since we last met; big changes. Atlas fell, my sister and I got into a fight, now we’re here and…Jessica keeps asking about Jaune.

Superman:*tucks lips in* Mmhmm..

Ruby:Like…damn bitch, it was adventure. Let it go.

Crew laughing in the background

Ruby:I got dozens with this guy. Get in line!

xxxxxx

Ozpin:*swinging cane*

Ruby:*getting beaten*

Jessica:*off screen*…I’m actually the director on this episode.

Ruby:*having a panic attack*

Jessica:I wish I was joking. I needed the experience.

xxxxxx

Blake:Guys, I think I know where we are.

Beautiful wide panning shot

Blake:…I think we’re in Candy Land~

Weiss:Fuck ooooffff. *covers face* That was so random! Ahaha!

Yang:Honestly falling from your world into Candy Land sounds more terrifying than a place like Wonderland.

Bloop!

Blake:I think we’re in Wonderland.

Director Roman:Ever After…

Blake:*nods*…I said that so confidently to. Holy hell…

xxxxxx

Jaune:Today I met a little girl who was a RWBY fan. She asked me if there was any way to come back stage to pet Juniper. *bites muffin* I couldn’t tell her that Juniper was a prop.

Neo:So what did you say?

Jaune:I told her I actually don’t get to see him either. Now both of our days are ruined. This job is cruel.

xxxxxx

Pyrrha:Sup guys. It’s me, here to traumatize you again. *flips camera*

Penny:I’m here for the kill assist.

Pyrrha:You think we’ll be in final episode somehow?

Penny:Oh absolutely. I signed up for the role of “Ruby’s friend” and somehow landed “ghost of the narrative” by mistake.

Pyrrha:Saaame! Funny how that works out.

xxxxxx

Weiss:Where are Blake and Yang?

Jaune:Must’ve had bigger things to work out.

Meanwhile on storming bridge

Yang:Bl- what the!?

Adam:*draws sword* THIS ONE IS FOR ALL THE MARBLES!!

Blake:Sorry! The more I tried to not of the worst situation, the harder it got!

Yang:…*looks at camera* Can we keep this?

Roman:No.

Yang:But I want another cool fight!

xxxxxx

Oscar:*getting makeup done*

Penny:Ready to die on screen?

Oscar:Yeah. I took notes from the best.

Penny:So you’ve been looking at me?

Oscar:Whenever I can.

Penny:*giggles*

Coco:Hold still and stop flirting!

xxxxxx

Jabberwok:*crumbles into Neo*

Neo:*finger guns*…..*makes Adam*

Blake:Oh my gooood!

Yang:*grinning* THIS ONE IS FOR ALL THE MARBLES!

Adam:JUST WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR! FACE MEEEEE!

Ruby:At this point you should just put him at the tea party.

Nora:You don’t even canonically know him!

Ruby:But it would be hilarious!

Weiss:What kills me is an army of Adams would probably be more effective than the Jabberwoks.

xxxxx

Ruby:*in a bat suit* This is the secret life option the blacksmith didn’t want to reveal.

Weiss:Ruby calls on quits and chooses Gotham over Remnant.

Blake:Willingly going to Gotham City is crazy. Life is not that bad.

Ruby:I don’t wanna take this off.

[puckinghischier]

Can your beautiful mind provide some domestic Christmas Quinn thoughts?

well…i have been thinking about how quinn is 100% one of those men that can’t wrap a present to save his life. so when you’re out doing some last minute shopping one day, he brings all of your presents out of their hiding spot and tries his best.

he starts out on his own, watching youtube videos and tutorials to try and make sure he measures the paper right and creases it properly. but when he ends up with several…wad-looking wrapping jobs he facetimes his mom, recruiting her as a wrapping coach.

“mom, i’ve tried so many times and i just can’t get it right. she’s told me before how much she loved wrapped presents, so i don’t want to just put them all in bags, but i don’t know if i’m going to have much of a choice at this point.”

ellen laughs at her son, pulling out her own wrapping supplies and tries to show him again. she talks him through the whole process, and when he finally wraps a present right, he’s beaming from ear to ear. she stays on the phone and coaches him through the rest of your presents as he thanks his mom over and over again for her help.

just as he’s placed the last one under the tree (the poorly wrapped ones shoved in the back) he hears the door open and in you walk with a hoard of shopping bags on each arm.

when you walk into the living room, eyes glued to the now full space under the tree, your eyes light up.

“quinn, did you wrap all of these?”

he walks over to you, taking some of the bags from your hands. “sure did. all by myself,” he beams at you.

“excuse me, your mother had a hand in this too. where’s my credit?”

you hear ellen’s voice flowing through the speaker of quinn’s phone, the device still propped up on the coffee table, surrounded by wrapping paper.

quinn’s face turns bright red, forgetting his mom was still on the phone. you look at his embarrassed state, endeared more than anything that he cared about wrapping your presents so much, he called his mom as a reinforcement.

“is that true?” he nods his head.

“well, yeah. i kinda botched the first few, and the youtube videos weren’t helping, so aside from taking them all to a store to have someone professionally wrap them for me, mom was my last shot,” he shrugged, embarrassed about the fact his lack of wrapping skills has been outed.

“q, that’s so sweet oh my god,” you gush at him, batting your eyes and bringing your hand to rest over your heart.

“really? you don’t think it’s embarrassing i don’t know how to wrap a present?”

you balk at him, rolling your eyes. “quinn, the fact you went through so much trouble to wrap them, instead of putting them in a bag like every other guy i’ve ever dated, is the sweetest thing ever. why would i care if they’re perfectly wrapped or not?”

“see, quinn! i told you she wouldn’t care if they were perfect!” you hear from his phone, both of you having now forgotten about ellen.

“yeah, quinn. listen to your mother,” you playfully scold him, walking past him so you’re in frame on his phone. “thanks, ellen. what ever would these boys do without you?” you joke with her, earning a laugh.

“oh, you know, probably bug you a lot more than they already do,” she jests back, referencing how often not only your own hughes boy calls you about needing help with finding things around the apartment, or needing you to tell him what the brand name is of that certain kind of protein powder is he likes, but how often his two brothers call you with their own questions and advice requests.

“alright, mom, thanks for your help and all, but i have all the presents wrapped and i need help her put all this stuff away now. i love you, bye,” quinn interrupts the laughter ringing out between you and his mom, picking up his phone and pressing the end call button.

“quinn, you did not just hang up on your mom,” you scold him, gasping at his actions.

“i’d had her on the phone for hours already it’s fine,” he brushes it off. “plus, i don’t think she’d want to witness what i’m about to do,” he walks towards you, pointing up to the mistletoe strung high above your head.

you look back down just as he reaches you, grabbing your face and pulling you in for a very heated kiss.

dropping the bags in your hands, he walks the two of you over to the couch, all mention of gifts and wrapping forgotten.

[violetsiren90]

The Light of Your Eyes

Pairing: best friend's younger brother!Changbin x f!Reader

Genre: one-shot; friends to lovers; smut and fluff; hurt/comfort

Summary: Can the gentle touch of an unexpected pair of hands on your body heal the wounds of your soul?

Sequel: Arms Around Me

Content warnings: 18+ (minors, dni), age gap romance (consenting adults); mentions of break-up and unhealthy past relationship dynamics; depression and anxiety symptoms (mild); MC has self esteem struggles, some are body-image related; the ex was low-key emotionally abusive tbh 😒; depictions of alcohol consumption (no drunkenness); depictions of food and eating (MC has a moment of negative thought patterns in regards to food consumption); gaming/watching movies; emotional breakdowns; kissing (so much kissing, guys); Fluffy fluffy FLUFF 💕; making out; interrupted shenanigans; cuddling; shirtless Binnie 👀; strong and gentle Binnie 🥺💘 ; working through FEELINGS 😅 ; breast play; nudity; oral sex (f. receiving); feedbag position; confessions and new beginnings.

Word Count: ~9300

Author's Note: Well, here it is - my first Binnie fic! I wanted to make it as sweet and sexy as he is...which, I know, is impossible, so I gave it my best shot! Hopefully, it's something worthy of his face-claim. I'm not going to make any judgements as to whether I feel it fits the bill, but rather like the man himself, tell you to be the judge of your own opinions! Jutdae!! 😂💗 But in all seriousness, if you decide to read this story, thank you! I hope it brings you something warm and fuzzy!

*The poem at the beginning is an original, and is what inspired this story!

Acknowledgements: I cannot thank @moni-logues enough for beta reading this for me, and for all her hype and humor and general human decency - this story wouldn't be what it is without her! 💖

As always, if no one has told you today, please know that you're loved, and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

    

the

Bright color of my laughter and the

Melody of the curve of my hips and the

Soft velvet of my irises

     seemed

To have taken their first breath,

Opening gently - like flowers perfuming my soul

- When bathed in the light of your eyes.

"Changbin? What are you doing here?"

     "I could ask you the same question," he says with a little smirk, whipping a dish towel over his shoulder as he shuffles back to let you in.

     Fair enough, you suppose. You are showing up without notice. Not that you ever need to give his sister any notice - as your best friend, there's a key with all the others in your purse that unlocks the door you're closing behind you. You wouldn't have even knocked had his car not been parked in the driveway.

     "Where's Nari?" you ask, glancing at the gaming console hooked up to the massive flat-screen, and a bullet blender cup half filled with something thick, pale and probably protein-packed sitting on the coffee table.

     "She went out of town for the weekend," he calls, heading back toward the dining area. "Last minute work thing." 

     Damn. 

     Your apartment is boring and barren and lonely. You wanted to hang out. You've been coming around more than usual – almost as often as when you were in grad school together. But Nari had her own life, you understood. You had your own life too.

     And then three months ago, on New Years Eve, your long-term boyfriend called it quits. It wasn't as if you were heartbroken. Not really. The relationship had been sick and slowly dying. But returning to a life lived in solitude was proving a difficult adjustment – especially navigating the new and constant stillness which left you the mental space and dexterity to run up against the shadows of wounds unhealed. And you didn't feel like growing into your EQ. You felt like distracting yourself. So you ended up at your bestie's place more often than not, these days.

     You sigh, trailing toward the kitchen. You won't stay long - if her younger brother is house sitting, he'll probably have people coming over. It's Friday night, after all, and he's twenty-four years young.

    The sound of running water, and music from a little speaker playing a catchy beat laced with fast-paced rap draws you into the warmly-lit, open kitchen. You recognize the voice on the track.

     "This new?" you ask, dropping your bag on a barstool and rounding the island to where Changbin is up to his elbows in suds at the sink. He's in a black band tee and bright blue joggers, his curly dark hair unstyled.

    He looks over his shoulder and nods.

    "What do you think? Wait, no, lemme start it over..."

     You smile to yourself as he hastily dries his hands and whips out his phone, pulling the track back to the beginning. He braces himself against the edge of the sink, gnawing on his bottom lip as he bobs his head with the lyrical punches and runs. 

     You smile to yourself, leaning your back against the counter beside him.

     "This is good, Bin," you nod earnestly. 

     "Yeah?" he asks, returning to his soapy task.

     "It really is. Hyunjin's pretty damn fast. Not as fast as you, but who is?" 

You grin, bumping your hip into his side.

     He smirks down into the bubbles.

     He's wanted to make music for as long as you've known him, and even fifteen years ago he could spit out a diss track that would have you wetting yourself laughing. He and his buddy, Hyunjin, met in high school and started messing around with music senior year. They committed to the dream, and both worked full-time gigs - Hyunjin as a tattoo artist and Changbin as a personal trainer - while promoting their artistry in their spare time. Production was a tough road to take when they were counting on nothing but raw talent and guts, but you'd always been an unflinching supporter.

     "We've got a gig next Saturday...at The Eight Ball," he remarks, looking over at you as a proud smile presses a tiny dimple into his bread cheek.

     "What?!" you squeal, turning to smack him on the arm. "Dude, that's fantastic! Oh my god, congratulations!"

     "Thanks, and ouch!" he replies, rubbing his arm with a pout that you ignore. It couldn't possibly have hurt him, not with those biceps.

     He moves to the fridge, a grin still plastered on his face.

     "You should come!" he urges over his shoulder as he appraises his sister's stash before grabbing an energy drink. "I know the boyfriend isn't into rap, but you could come with Nari..."

     You scoff softly.

     "Doesn't really matter what he likes anymore," you mumble bitterly.

     Changbin freezes as he's about to crack open the beverage in his hand.

     "Wait, what? Did you guys...is that over?"

     You purse your lips and nod. Changbin looks completely taken off guard in a way that surprises you. 

“When did that happen?”

You reach back to clutch at the cold tile of the countertop.

“Beginning of the year.”

He scratches his head.

“Nari didn’t…why didn’t you say something?”

You shrug, your eyes falling. For reasons you'd never considered, you’d rarely brought your ex around or even brought him up to Changbin. 

He turns to the still open fridge and swaps out his energy drink for two beers, opening both and sliding one across the island between you.

     "How you holding up?" he asks in earnest concern, a little furrow appearing between his dark brows.

     You want to tell him that you're fine - it's what you've been telling everyone else - but from the way he holds your gaze before letting his eyes search your face, he's looking for a real answer. You pull your lip between your teeth. You're not ready to form the words that spell the truth. He sees it.

    "Ah," he waves dismissively, "Fuck that guy. You're too good for him anyway. What an idiot."

  ��   You blink, a little smirk tugging at your lips.

     "You don't have to hate on him just because we're-"

     "I'm hating on him because I hate him," he stares at you unflinchingly, taking another swig of his beer. "He wasn't good to you, didn't make you happy. I'm glad he's gone. Seriously, fuck him."

     You didn't expect that sort of reaction out of Changbin. Not that you expected anything, but the strong, certain tone he took in regards to your ex's unworthiness has a tiny little warmth glowing in your chest. It was like him to feel strongly and take a stand, but to have his conviction aimed at you...

     "Thanks, Bin," you murmur softly, hiding your smile behind your beer.

     The young man nods, and his lips part as if to speak when his phone buzzes in his pocket. As he answers the call - clearly, from the nature of his greeting, one of his buddies - you're reminded that you’re trespassing on his Friday night. Draining your beer, you grab your bag and slip out of the kitchen. 

     You huff a little sigh as you pull on your shoes, lingering listlessly for a moment before pulling open the door. The thought of going home has your stomach churning. You can't go back and be alone there. 

You can't.

     You have to.

     How pathetic could you possibly get? you consider sickly, staring out into the darkness. Your self-loathing and mounting anxiety battle for dominance as you will yourself to take the step over the threshold that will carry you to your car…

     Click.

     The door swishes shut, and you blink in confusion before you note a bulky arm stretched over your shoulder, hand pressed to the wooden frame below the peephole.

     You turn into Changbin's frame and he jostles backwards, hand dropping to your shoulder.

     "Where do you think you're going?" he asks, a little smirk playing on his lips.

     You try to get your bearings as you resurface from the flash flood of inner turmoil, blinking up at him in confusion.

     "Uuhh...home?" you answer, jerking a thumb back toward your intended exit.

     Changbin shakes his head. 

     "You just got here."

     "Well...I came to see Nari but she's gone, so..." 

     When the faintest shadow of hurt seems to flicker over his features at your words, you stammer to clarify.

     "Bin, it's Friday, I- you've got plans, right? I don't want to be in the way...Like, it's really nice seeing you don't get me wrong, but, it would suck to have one of your sister's random friends underfoot if you're...if..."

     You trail off. He's watching you in amusement now, arms crossed and bottom lip pulled between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked just a little higher than the other.

     "What?" you press him, now a bit self-conscious at your rambling and still on edge from the surging anxiety of moments ago. 

     Damn, what was with you? You'd been a mess lately, and now you couldn't even get your words out with Nari's kid brother?

     "I do have plans."

     Changbin's words interrupt your muddled self-assessment. You glance up at him.

     What? Okay, that's what you had been trying to...

     "I plan to kick your ass at Super Smash Bros Brawl," he quips, turning to round the couch and settle in front of it before reaching for the blue controller discarded on the coffee table.

     Huh?

     You watch him start up the game and move through selections. Shuffling toward the back of the couch, you place your hands on it. He wants to hang out? Now that he found out you'd been dumped. Nari's away, so he's falling into stride, you think to yourself. You sigh. You should be grateful. Instead, you feel like a burden.

     "Um, Bin..." you murmur, "You don't have to do this..."

     "Do what?" he asks without looking back. "I'm not going easy on you, if that's what you mean. And I'm using Kirby - nonnegotiable."

     Your heart melts a little as your eyes rest on him. He's always been a good guy, and it was like him to do this sort of thing - look out for someone when they were feeling low. Leaving simply because you don't feel worthy of his care and attention risks hurting him more than you.

     You slowly slip out of your shoes and cross into the living room, retrieving a red controller from atop the console before sinking onto the carpet beside him. You toggle through your choices before landing on Link. Changbin glances over at you disparagingly. 

     "Link sucks."

     "Kirby sucks."

     "Hey!" Changbin, practically shouts in your ear, "Don't insult my widdle cutie guy..."

     You grimace theatrically at the baby talk.

     "Don't ever do that again."

     "Or what?" Changbin challenges as he immediately unleashes a combo move that has your character hurtling toward the edge of the battle stage.

     You hop around, avoiding him and trying out different button combos. It's been forever since you played this game. Your ex had been a Halo enthusiast. You were never big on first person shooters, but you tried to get into it for his sake. He hadn't the patience to help you learn, though, and after a couple of sessions of grimaces and apologies on your behalf mumbled into his headset, he'd stopped taking you up on your offers to join him. 

     Kirby darts back and forth across the screen after you on stubby pink legs. Eventually you get the hang of things and are returning his attacks, though he easily bests you in an embarrassingly short sequence of moves.

     "Sorry, I'm no good at video games," you mumble apologetically. 

     The smug look falls from Changbin's face.

     "Why are you sorry?" he raises a brow, dropping his controller into his lap, a little smile still playing on his lips.

     You shrug. His smile fades.

     "Who says you're no good?"

     Shit.

     You shift your focus to the screen and toggle for a new character.

     "Best two out of three."

     You can feel his eyes still on you as you opt for Princess Peach.  

     Two out of three turns into five out of eight, and around eleven out of twenty, the doorbell rings. When Changbin turns in surprise toward the sound, you take the opportunity to deliver a critical blow, winning your first match of the night. He rolls his eyes as you giggle wickedly and moves to answer the door.

     You pull your phone from your pocket reflexively to check the socials you've deleted, before sighing and tossing it across the room to land on the carpet with a thud.

     "Did you just throw your phone?" 

     Glancing over your shoulder, you catch him shooting you a quizzical look over a stack of pizza boxes tall enough to feed a small army. Clambering to your feet you trail after him into the kitchen.

     "You do have plans, you liar!" you elbow him as he opens the top box and pulls out a slice, hissing as the melted cheesy overflow burns the tips of his fingers.

     "Ow!" he snaps up a napkin and cradles it under the steaming piece of pizza, shaking his other hand before holding up his fingers in front of you.

     "Blow on 'em," he whines.

     You raise your eyebrows.

     "You're joking."

     He pouts and you want to laugh. This big, grown man is seriously going to give you the lip right now?

     "That's what you get for having no patience, Bin..." you tsk disapprovingly. 

     He lets out a little disappointed sigh.

     "Meanie..." he grumbles, and lets his hand fall.

     You return your focus to the obscene amount of food now stacked on Nari's kitchen table. 

     "So, I'm sure people are going to start showing up, so I'm just gonna..."

     Changbin hands you a paper plate with two slices of pizza and heads to the fridge where he fishes out two more beers. You stare at the plate in your hand.

     "I...Bin..." 

     "What, you don't like sweet potato?" he asks with a smirk, cracking open a can and handing it to you. 

     You blink at him in confusion. 

     "Please enjoy this meal compliments of Han Jisung, who never remembers to update the address on his delivery app. Now, load up on pizza and let’s get back to it because I'm not trying to let you act like you came out on top from winning that last match on a fluke."

     You scoff at his last remark. Watching him pile several slices onto his plate, you take a bite of yours. It tastes good, and you realize as it hits your stomach that you haven't eaten all day. When was the last time you ate a real meal? When was the last time you wanted one? 

     "Noona?" 

     Changbin's voice makes you realize you had zoned out and when you blink up at him, there's just nine inches of disposable dinnerware between you. His lips are pursed and his eyes trace your features, their gaze gentle but searching. 

    "You alright?" he asks.

     There it is again; the concern. He isn't just checking in. His voice is soft and low, like his eyes. As a rule, Changbin's voice is strong, resonant - saying everything from his chest without even trying. So when he's gentle, when he pulls himself back...

    "Do you miss that guy?" he murmurs.

     "No!" 

You say it so quickly.

     Changbin nods.

     "I'm just..." Fuck, why are you suddenly so emotional? "I think I'm...adjusting. Y'know?"

     He nods again slowly. Then he reaches up and touches your face, dragging his thumb over the side of your mouth and suddenly your brain waves flat-line. Your eyes widen and your lips part, but before you can even process what's happening, he drops his hand to swipe it on a napkin.

     "Had sauce on your face," he mumbles, and you can't read his.

     His mouth is tugged up in a small smile but somehow it looks sad, and his eyes look like they're still asking a question that was never really answered. Before you can consider any further, he picks up his plate and heads back toward the living room.

     You follow him, still half in your head.

     When you sit down next to him, there's something hanging unspoken in the foot and a half of space between your bodies. Something has shifted, gone taut. 

     Shit, had you made him uncomfortable? Why had you stared at him like a weirdo when he...wait, he touched you...

     Your eyes shift over to where he sits beside you. He runs a hand through the wavy hair over his ear. Has he always been so beautiful? He turns quick enough to catch you staring and you put your plate out of your lap. The pizza smells so good but suddenly you can't touch it.

     Changbin initiates another round, which you lose in record time. Your stomach grumbles.

     "You better eat if you're going to have any hope of beating me again," he goads, finishing off his third slice to abandon the crust with the others on his plate before launching another game.

     "I had enough," you deflect, pushing your plate toward him.

     "You took two bites."

     "I need to cut back."

     "Like...go on a diet?"

     "Yeah."

     His brows furrow and his tongue slips between his lips as he sends Kirby into a hammer flip that lands as a critical hit and you wince.

"What have you eaten today?"

"What?"

     "You heard me."

     "I...I don't know. I..."

     Your stomach twists. The hunger is there, but so is the anxiety. The fear of being judged for eating too much or too quickly or...

     The game pauses. Your plate slides back toward you over the carpet.

     "The rest of that piece. Or whatever else you want. But something." 

     His voice is gentle but firm. You sigh.

     "Fine," you murmur, grabbing the half-eaten slice.

     You take a bite, and slowly raise your eyes to his as they regard you patiently.

     "Sorry," you mumble, covering your mouth, shifting away from him.

     "Why now?"

     "I make gross noises when I eat."

     "What? No you d-" 

     A hand tugs at your elbow. When you look back toward him his handsome face holds so many things, and you watch as they take turns seizing his features. Horror...pity...anger.

     "Who told you that?" he asks lowly, but it doesn't sound like a question. "Noona..."

     He squeezes your elbow.

     You feel everything you've been shoving down in your chest begin to well up. 

Fuck, no! 

Your lip trembles.

He's shifting to face you.

You shake your head and press your eyes shut.

Your hand is encompassed in a larger one.

     "It's lies, all of it," Changbin whispers with desperate conviction...and your dam breaks.

     He pulls you into his arms as you sob with abandon. One of his hands encircles your waist tugging you against his broad, warm chest, and the other slips to brush tenderly over your nape as you tuck your face into his neck. 

     "He's a liar...shhhh...he's a lying piece of shit," he insists earnestly, into your hair. "You're perfect. He's the one who needs to fix himself. You're so, so perfect." 

     Perfect? You let your heart hold the word in its palm for one precious moment before pushing it away. Your heart had never been one to accept gifts it didn't think it deserved.

     You weep and weep in his strong arms until you run out of tears, and then he holds you while you breathe. As the catharsis of your breakdown begins to settle in, you wonder at the comedown - a softer, warmer one than you've ever known – and you consider the loveliness that has broken your fall.

     Soft and firm, everywhere he touches you. And warm. So warm. Not just the heat radiating from his body like a furnace – the velvet rasp of his voice, the absolute and unfaltering nature of his embrace.

     Your hands move tentatively against his back. Soft cotton stretches and bunches between your fingers over his sturdy frame. Where your face is pressed to his collar every breath draws in a comforting combination of detergent and cologne. When you close your eyes and sigh, letting your weight sink against him further, you feel his arms tighten in response. 

     "Sorry," you croak feebly.

     "Stop," he implores you, "Every time you apologize, I want to sock that guy in the face."

     "I...I'm so stupid, I didn't even really realize..."

     "No," his arms squeeze you again, "He had your trust. It was his job to protect you."

     Protected. That's how you feel right now. Safe. So, so safe. Letting him hold you and reassure you felt good...it felt right. But yet again, the voice in your mind that liked to remind you how much of a burden you always were speaks up in a sickly whisper.

     You pull yourself slowly from his arms and off his lap. Drawing yourself up to stand, you wipe your hot cheeks, puffy red eyes finding his like the needle of a compass. Unprepared for what awaits you in his gaze, your knees nearly give out beneath you.

     Changbin is looking up from where he kneels before you, the yearning in his eyes unchecked as they burn with  an unasked question and an unspoken promise.

     "I should go," you whisper, barely able to form the words.

     "Don't," he says, standing.

     "If I stay I'll just wreck your night," you mumble.

     "You could never," he insists, lips tugging into a little smile. His eyes are still pleading.

     "Changbin..." you breathe, suddenly drowning again in the fizzy serotonin his words ignite in your chest. "You don't want..."

     "You let me be the judge of what I want."

     His hands find your arms and he pulls you in. There are centimeters between you. His eyes rest on your lips. Your heart hammers in your ears as your brain begins to malfunction the way it had when he touched your face...

     "D-do I have something on my-"

     Mouth? His.

    The whole of your being floods with something beautiful and ineffable at the touch of his lips and no voice, no doubt, no force in the world could be stronger than the one that pulls you into him. Your arms fly up to wrap around his neck and tug yourself impossibly closer. His hands drop to your waist, pressing desperately in kind, and your bodies mold together. You flush with heat, sparks igniting in your belly and skittering through your veins as his lips move against yours. He stumbles back, pulling you with him as his knees buckle at the edge of the couch, and your body spills over his lap.

Your fingers card into his hair.

His hands drop to the back of your hips.

Your tongue brushes his bottom lip.

He moans.

     At the gorgeous, deep sound from his chest, you pull back, fighting the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth. What the fuck is happening right now? You don't get much time to consider as his head falls against the backrest and his eyes flutter open.

     "Sorry," he grins bashfully. The tips of his ears burn pink.

     "Now who's apologizing for no reason?" you tease, pressing your hands to his chest.

     He smiles so sweetly in return you feel you might physically melt. And then the smile fades and the lids of his eyes grow heavy and he leans up to claim your mouth.

     His lips taste the same as a moment ago, but their press is slower, hungrier. His hands are powerful and assertive as they hook under your thighs and pull your hips flush against his own in a single tug. You gasp softly against his lips and you feel his smirk. You feel his smirk and something else - something beginning to press up into your ass through your jeans.

     Licking into his mouth, you push down, grinding your hips over his in a slow, deliberate undulation. The groan that falls from his lips unlocks something inside of you that needs to know every sound he makes and how to elicit them. Your mouth drops to his neck.

     Suddenly, he's gripping your waist and pivoting to lay you on the cushions, slotting himself between your legs. You're still dizzy from the sudden rush of movement, when your legs curl around his hips and over his ass and–

     A loud buzzing from the coffee table has you mourning the press of Changbin's lips to your throat as he glances at the caller ID. 

     "Shit!" he scrambles to sit up, hand still gripping your thigh above your knee when he presses the phone to his ear.

     "Hey," he runs a hand through his hair. "What? Nothing. No, I didn't forget. I will, I will."

     You recognize his tone of voice. There could only be one person on the other end of the line. You sit up, your head beginning to clear as the reality of the situation washes over you.

     "Okay, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Be safe. Love you." 

Changbin presses the end-call button and tosses the phone onto the cushion beside him. He leans back against the couch and claps his hand against your leg with a sigh.

     "She really knows how to wreck a moment for me."

     You crack a wry smile.

     "I mean, it's probably for the best that we don't desecrate your sister's couch."

     His eyes widen as horror, disgust, and amusement wage war across his features. You burst into a fit of giggles. He feigns a gag. You laugh so hard that you snort.

     "S-sorry," you clap your hand over your mouth, still tittering while your ears heat in embarrassment.

     Changbin's face softens again. He reaches for your hand and pulls it from your face, threading his fingers through yours.

     "Cut it out."

     "What? I can't be embarrassed about snorting like a pig?"

     "No. It's cute," he smirks.

     "It is not!"

     "Mhm. Everything you do is cute."

     He glances over at you, a lopsided smirk on his perfect lips, his eyes sparkling. He means it.

     You fluster, gaze dropping to your enjoined hands, and concentrate on tracing little patterns on the back of his with your thumb. He sighs.

     "Wanna watch a movie?"

     The request takes you by surprise and your heart squeezes. If it was any other guy, the night would have been over. For the fourth time tonight, you had been about to head for the door, and for the fourth time, Changbin makes you feel wanted. So you stay.

     You grab a big, fluffy blanket from the basket in Nari's room, and when you return, Changbin has the lights dimmed and Your Name ready to go on the TV. You smile as you settle in beside him, tossing half the blanket over his widespread legs.

     "We don't have to watch this just because it's my favorite, you know," you insist, but he shakes his head.

     "Taki's ma' boy," he smirks, shooting you a glance as he presses play on the remote.

     You're not quite sure what it means, but you feel your heart skip a beat just the same.

You love this movie. You love that you've seen it enough times that you can talk through it. You love that Changbin is more than willing to talk over the film himself. You're not certain when it happened, but by halfway through the movie his arm is stretched out behind your shoulders and your head rests on his bicep.

     "Do you remember seeing this together in the theater?" he asks suddenly, tilting his head toward yours.

     You grin.

     "You cried and Nari gave you shit about it," you recall.

     "You bailed me out. Told her all the sniffling was you. Never even teased me about it either."

     Changbin smiles down at you, his eyes sentimental.

     Butterflies flutter their delicate wings in your ribcage. How does he make you feel this way?

Your eyes dip to his lips for a moment. Sighing, you nuzzle into his shoulder, hiding your face as much as seeking his warmth. His arm slips off the back of the couch to curl around your shoulders and pull you into his side. The movie plays on.

     When the credits roll, Changbin stretches and yawns, and watching him it dawns on you that, working at a fitness center, he's an especially early riser.

     "We should call it a night," you offer, standing and stretching yourself, but you're tugged back down into Changbin's lap, yelping as you topple onto him.

     His arms encircle your hips as he regards you with a sleepy grin.

     "What, do I live here now?" you tease.

     "Stay the night," he urges, tightening his arms around you. "You really want to drive back now?"

     You chew your lip, eyes tracing over his face. This is all more than a bit unreal, and you haven't given yourself even one second to process what's happening, lest you utterly panic. All you know right now is that your little ship had been sinking and he had hauled you into a lifeboat. Everything outside of him seems like a raging sea.

     You nod.

     "Okay," you whisper, combing his hair away from his forehead. “I’ll stay.” 

     His eyes dip shut at your touch and the butterflies flutter gently once more.

     A few minutes later, you take Nari's room and slip into a pair of her cotton shorts, which do basically nothing to contain your ass, and tug on a plain white tee that stretches snugly over your torso. How a big guy like Changbin could have emerged from the same genetic pool as his teeny tiny sister was beyond you. As you glance in the mirror, your heart sinks. You don't like how the tight fit is pressing you out everywhere you're most self-conscious. But, they are just pajamas, and they're all you have at your disposal.

     As you're about to head into the master bathroom to finish your nightly routine, you remember that the toothbrush and toiletries you keep on hand at Nari's are in the little half-bath attached to the guest room. You groan, glancing at yourself again in the mirror, and pull a blanket around yourself before crossing the hall.

     Hoping Changbin hasn’t yet fallen asleep, you knock hesitantly on the door. You hear the bed creak before the door opens to reveal a head of mussed hair and hands scrubbing over bleary eyes. But it's not what you notice. Your apology for rousing him dies on your lips as your eyes glue themselves to his bare chest. Blinking dumbly, your eyes climb from his soft stomach subtly rippling with the presence of strong abdominals up to a pair of impressive pecs with wide-set, dusky nipples. His flannel pajama pants settle at his hips, accentuating how his body broadens as it rises from his waist to his full chest and wide shoulders flanked by bulging biceps. Thick. He's so fucking thick you could bi-

     "...Noona?" he rumbles, his voice husky from sleep. "What's wrong?"

     "Nothing...sorry..." you rush out, ripping your gaze up to his. "My toothbrush is in your room – I mean! in your bathroom. That's where I usually stay, so...but I didn't think you'd be asleep. Sorry, I can just..." 

     He rubs over one of his eyes with his palm as he steps aside.

     "You can grab it."

     Right. You shuffle in awkwardly, trying not to step on the blanket dragging around your feet. As you cross the dark room, you try not to dwell on the rumpled sheets of the bed that speak of his body having lain between them, or the soft smell of his cologne hanging in the air. You quickly retrieve the little toiletry bag and, as you move to squeeze past Changbin at the door, he eyes the fluffy shroud you're clutching to your chest.

     He raises a sleepy eyebrow.

     "I'm sure Nari has pants you could..."

     "I'm wearing pants!" you bluster, "They just...don't fit."

      You move out of the doorway to make your way back to your room, but a hand cups the side of your face and turns it as soft lips meet your forehead. 

     "Good night, noona," he murmurs with a little smile before retreating back into his room.

     You stand in the hall, staring at his door, the butterflies absolutely aflurry.

     Despite your best efforts, you can't sleep. Your mind is full of the last five hours. Full of Changbin.

     He had kissed you. You had kissed him back. And it had felt...

     You roll from your side to your back, sighing up at the dark ceiling. You chew on your lip as you remember breaking down and his arms around you. You would usually feel regretful and ashamed after baring yourself like that to someone. You despised moments of weakness. But you couldn't bring yourself to hate the moments in his arms. You didn't regret them. In fact, you wanted him to hold you again. You wanted to feel vulnerable in his hands, and you wanted him to keep you safe.

     You feel heat rush up from your neck as you recognize these feelings.

     You must be absolutely shameless, you conclude in wonder. You should be freaking out right now - this was Changbin, for Christ's sake – Nari's brother! You should be wondering what happens next, and what all of it means...but even so you can’t bring yourself to care. All your mind can focus on is how his arms felt like waking up after a nightmare to song birds and soft sunlight.

     After an hour or so of tossing and turning, the salty pizza from dinner has you parched and slipping out to the kitchen for a drink. You pull a glass from the cupboard and fill it at the fridge, gulping down the contents to refill it again. Suddenly, you feel two strong arms snake around your waist and you start, sloshing your water and smacking the back of your head into the man holding you. You hastily set your glass down and turn in his arms as he lets out a groan, one of his hands releasing you as it flies up to cup the front of his face in pain.

     "Bin, oh my god! Are you okay? You scared me!" you chide with a chuckle as you reach up to push his hand away and brush the tips of your fingers across his nose. 

    He pouts down at you and you smile.

     "Did I wake you?"

     He huffs.

     "Yeah. To get your toothbrush. Then I couldn't go back to sleep."

     "Sorry," you groan, still stroking over where you had struck his face. "Does it hurt?" 

     He nods.

     "Kiss it better," he mumbles cutely.

     You roll your eyes, but lift your lips to comply when suddenly he interrupts the motion with the soft press of his mouth to yours. It's slow and sweet, and you're struck all over again with how quickly you melt at his touch - a sensation you cannot imagine ever growing accustomed to, but to which you are fairly certain you are in danger of growing entirely addicted.

     "Bin..." you whisper against his lips, "Bin, what are we-"

     "Liar," he murmurs, pulling back.

     Your mouth parts in confusion as you stare up at him, still drunk on his lips.

     "You said the clothes didn't fit. You should wear this all the time," he smirks as he squeezes low on your waist.

     Your cheeks heat as you remember what you're wearing, but you don't have long to be anxious over it as he presses his lips to your nose...the corner of your mouth...your jaw. You tremble as you lean into him, fingers splaying over his warm, bare chest.

     "Let me show you," he whispers against your skin.

     "Sh-show me...what...?"

     He draws back, pressing his forehead to yours.

     "How perfect you are."

     You still, eyes flicking up to his. They're dark and tender and pleading. You let out a little shuddering breath.

     "I...you don't have t-"

     His arms hold you closer, gentle but insistent.

     "Let me," he whispers, the tip of his handsome nose brushing over the dip of your cupid's bow. "Please. I want to."

     You swallow, eyes dropping to his lips. You want it too, you find. You want his hands and lips and eyes all over you, bringing warmth everywhere they meet your aching body. You nod and take his lips again with yours. 

     "Yeah?" he murmurs against them.

     "Yeah," you breathe, slipping a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair.

     He groans in response, deepening the kiss as he licks at your parted lips and when your tongues brush, sparks burst in your belly. You feel it all slipping, the masks, the walls - every barrier you hold up to shield yourself from not being enough. His arms are strong and his lips are tender and you can't focus on anything but the perfection of being so utterly held.

     His mouth moves to caress your jaw, under your ear, down the column of your neck, and suddenly you feel the edge of the counter pressing into the small of your back. His hands grip your waist and he hitches you onto the tiled surface with ease. It's cold against your bare legs, but you don't have more than a second to register the discomfort as Changbin nudges his way between your knees. He runs his hands over your thighs as his eyes trail from your panting lips to your lightly heaving chest.

     You feel your nipples pebble under his gaze and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his eyes glinting with mischief as he runs a hand up your side, over your shirt, to rest under the swell of your breast. He flicks a thumb over the hardened bud and you whimper and jump. He laughs softly, his smirk spreading into a full smile as he squeezes your breast and brings his eyes to yours.

     "Your pretty body likes me, noona," he puffs proudly, massaging you deftly through the soft cotton of the tee.

     You don't have a witty retort. Your body likes him so much that it frightens you. And with the deep affection you already feel, have long felt, for him...

     You reach to gently tangle your hand again in his coarse, dark curls. He glances up, a sweet little smirk tugging at his pretty lips again. 

     "Bin..." you sigh.

     "Hmm?" he hums as he slips his hands to your bottom and tugs you forward so that you're flush against him.

     You dip your head and your lips ghost his.

     "Nothing," you whisper, and you kiss him again. Again and again.

     His hands slide from your ass to slip beneath your shirt at your lower waist and he kneads the soft flesh above your hips.

     "So soft. Feels so good," he groans into your mouth.

     You moan as the walls of your pussy contract. You're beginning to ache, beginning to drip – and his words seem to affect you as intensely as his touch.

     He moves his lips to latch onto the soft skin of your neck and suck, his hands bunching your shirt up and up until his mouth pops free from your skin and he's pulling the thin garment over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air pricks your skin and you become keenly aware, for the briefest moment, that you are sitting on your best friend's kitchen counter, stripped down to her sleep shorts, with her brother between your thighs. As your brain races to decide whether to find that incredibly arousing or absolutely panic-inducing, Changbin's cherry lips rewire your neurological pathways in favor of the former when they close around your right nipple. Your head lolls back, colliding with the cabinet door and it clatters. 

     "Shit..." you hiss softly, threading your hands into his hair and gripping it by the roots.

     Your eyes slip shut and you focus on the sensation of his warm tongue slipping over the peaks of your breasts, his strong, smooth palms cupping and caressing. And then you feel his little puffs of breath and the nudge of his nose at the valley of your chest as he groans and smushes your tits up to meet his face. 

     "I fucking live here now," he mumbles into the globe of your breast, and despite the heat of the moment, you softly laugh. You laugh and you feel his smile pressed to your skin.

     Then suddenly he's pulling you into his arms in a bridal carry. You know he's strong, as you wrap your arms around his neck, but can't push away a pang of self-consciousness as he bears your weight. 

     "Bin, I'm so heavy..."

     "You're not."

     "I don't want you to..."

     "Stop it," comes his voice in a soft, deep command as he halts in his tracks to kiss you.

     He kisses you and kisses you until you believe that he could carry you until the end of time, and then he takes you into the guest bedroom and sits you gently on the bed. The bed with the mussed sheets that smell like him. The sheets that he's leaning you into as you push yourself to the middle of the bed while he hovers over the top of your body, his lips never leaving yours.

     As he sinks down over you, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress has warmth licking through your veins. You move your hands to caress over his broad back, feeling his muscles ripple beneath your fingers as he shifts to prop himself up on his elbow. You use the free space to trace your hand down his chest and abdomen until you reach the waistband of his pants. If he'd just push himself a few inches up you could...

     He pulls away, just barely breathless, and his eyes find yours. He reaches down with his right hand to pull yours gently from between your bodies and to his lips, before threading his fingers through yours and pressing your joined hands into the sheets beside your head.

     "I want to eat you out."

     He says it so simply, so confidently, and you can feel more arousal gush to join what's already begun to paint your inner thighs. 

     "Fuck..." you breathe, your fingers trembling in his grasp.

     "Can I?" he asks, kissing your lips softly again.

     For a moment you're afraid of what saying yes will mean, of the intimacy of it all, of the possibility that you won't measure up, someway, somehow, or maybe...that you will - and what in the world you would do with that level of acceptance...

     You let out a shaky sigh, as you hold his gaze. It arrests you and washes over you. You remember his eyes as he knelt on the living room floor, and all they pleaded with you to disbelieve, to unlearn. 

     Yes. Yes...If it's him, you want it, whatever it means.

     You surge forward, pressing your lips to his, your hands weaving through his hair, pulling him in. He lets out a tiny whimper as you devour him, kissing him with determined abandon until you have to come up for air.

     "Yes, Bin, yes," you shudder into his mouth as he pants over you. “Yes I want you to.”

In answer, he presses one last tender kiss to your lips before moving to kiss down your body. He moves slowly, but with purpose, pressing an adoring mouth to every part of you that’s bared. He kisses your ear, your neck, your collarbones…he moves over your shoulders and down your right arm to the tip of each finger. He kisses your breasts and down your stomach. He kisses your belly button, and over your hips and down your left thigh. He kisses the inside of your knee, and bends your leg to kiss over your calf and down to your ankle. 

You can barely watch him, as he brushes his lips over you, but he flicks his eyes up to yours so often you don’t dare look away. There is something flickering in his gaze, something like a challenge - daring you to contradict, to doubt what he seeks to impress upon you - and you begin to feel something strange and new. Something you’d never found at the touch of a lover, blooming in your chest and unfurling like a proud little flower under the sun: the strong, heady beauty of esteeming yourself worthy of his desire. It terrifies you a bit, and the ugly voice that has heckled you so often tries to cast doubt, but Changbin’s lips and hands are too persistent and assured for the harbinger in your mind to linger long. And the tidal wave of lovely feelings crashing over you threatens to destroy the shabby prison your heart has lingered in for so long.

Changbin lays his head on your thigh as he brings his hand off the other to cup your pussy over the softness of your shorts. His groan is nearly as loud as yours when he rubs over your mound, and it makes you impossibly wetter. He’s so unabashed and liberal with reacting to what he enjoys, and he is clearly enjoying you as much as he ever has anything.

He moves to bring his face to your clothed cunt, hovering over you for a nanosecond to catch your eyes as he mouths down over you. Your jaw drops open, and when his teeth scrape dully over your clit, your hips jerk and you fist the sheets. Changbin pulls back with a smirk, and sits back on his knees between your legs. He pulls one of your legs up to lean against his shoulder as his hands instinctively knead over the muscles of your calf and thigh.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, with a little smile.

You nod with one of your own.

“I’m gonna lift you, okay? You can hold onto my legs, but I’ll have you, so don’t worry.”

You bite your lip and nod, suddenly a little shy. Look at him. Where did he get all this confidence?

He drops your leg briefly to tug off your shorts and panties, cursing at how wet you are, and gently slipping two fingers to brush between your glistening lips and over your clit. You gasp at the sensation - his fingers deft, his touch soft but firm where you ache for him. And then, suddenly, he is sliding your legs back up to rest against his chest and shoulders. His hands slip down to your hips and he effortlessly tugs your ass over the incline of his thighs and flush with his abdomen. Your heart starts to thrum in your chest. His body is warm and sturdy against the soft plush of your ass. Heat floods your cheeks when you sense a slickness against him where your arousal has begun to smear against his stomach. He, however, is far less bashful. Widening the gap between your thighs, he dips his head down, inhaling deeply.

"Fuck…" he murmurs, squeezing your legs where he holds them. 

When he raises his eyes to yours again, they’re unlike you’ve ever seen. They’re dark and hungry and hooded in a way that nearly intimidates you. His expression is full of heat, and manly in its sudden gravity. He watches you as he slips his thumbs under your waist and, slowly with strong hands, pulls your hips up beneath his chin. Your legs bend at the knees and drape around the crown of his head. Your spine curves where your upper back is flush with his thighs, your arm on either side of his kneeling form, and as he embraces you tightly around the hips and waist, you feel nearly every ounce of your weight suspended in his hold. The blood rushes to your head where it lays against the mattress, your neck curving just shy of his knees, offering a clear view of his gorgeous face as he wastes no time in pressing his open mouth to your labia. 

Your core muscles flex in response, hips pressing higher against him as you feel ripples of exquisite pleasure trickle through your body from above. The smooth muscle of his tongue slips past your entrance and begins fucking into you. Your head swims, the slightest dizzying restriction of oxygen dampening your ability to focus on anything but the bliss of his hot, wet mouth. Being tasted has never felt this intense. You whimper, your hands reaching around his body to find purchase on his muscular ass. You feel the press of his throbbing erection into your back as his tongue fucks unhurriedly into you. He’s rock hard, and all for you. From the sight of your naked body, the feel of you in his hands, the taste of you on his tongue. From the sounds pouring off of your lips as he worships your sex. 

Your legs begin to shake. You’re so totally in his hands. He holds you, lavishes you, consumes you. Nothing stands between you and ecstasy, and you can feel your climax fast approaching as pleasure ebbs and flows like a crashing tide on the rhythm of his firm, languid strokes.

"Ch-Changbin! Nhhh!" you mewl, you voice throaty and muffled from your position. 

He growls against you and you nearly cum then. One of his hands drops to squeeze the soft mound of your right breast. Your cheeks burn, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead and neck. You can feel your pussy throbbing - hot and sticky and swollen with stimulation - as he devours it like the flesh of ripened fruit. His lips encircle your clit and suckle as the tip of his tongue flicks over the erect peak of your bud.

And then it all goes white. You lose all sense but feeling as you rock your hips up to meet him, the tension in your abdominals adding sinfully to the fluttering pulsating of your pussy. There’s nothing but you and him and his arms around you and his mouth against the most intimate parts of you as your orgasm washes over you in electrifying slow-motion, pulling you under a tidal wave of bliss for what seems like an eternity. Your lips part in a silent scream of his name, your eyes pressed shut, as he works you through the longest and most intense climax your body has ever experienced.

You feel him place one last sweet, gentle kiss to your cunt before moving the hand on your breast to one of your thighs as he guides you back down onto the bed. You’re panting and boneless as you watch him draw an arm over his cum-slicked chin and cheeks. For a moment he simply looks down at you, a victorious air about him as his eyes trace your sated features and his gorgeous chest heaves with labored breath, then he crawls forward on the bed, stretching himself out on his side next to you, his body flush with your own. He slips his hand over the soft skin of your belly and rubs it soothingly as he watches you with a little grin.

“You good?” he asks in a raspy murmur.

You reach for his face, bringing it to yours as you kiss him with what wherewithal you have. You pull away, still breathless.

“Am I good? Seo Changbin, I think I could fly.”

His answering smile is so filled with joy and pride and affection that you think you truly may have sprouted wings. You roll to your side to press yourself against him, your hand tugging at the waistband of his pajamas, but he takes your hand again in his.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Tonight is yours.”

“Bin…”

“I’m yours.”

You blink up at him, his head resting on his hand, his eyes sparkling and soft.

“If you’ll have me,” he raises your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “You don’t have to answer right now. I know you’re going through a lot, and this is all…new.” 

He smiles again, glancing down as his features take on a boyish shyness.

  “But I care for you. And, however things work out,” his eyes lock with yours again, “I’ll always protect you.” 

Your heart stands still. There are things that are too deeply lovely for words to be wasted on them. Any words but three - three that are already deeply true, but which have begun to mean something beautiful and different tonight, burying themselves like a little seed in your heart that needs time to grow. So for now you let yourself cry tears that fall like raindrops in the sunlight, and drift to sleep with the steady beat of Changbin’s heart.

“Ay!” Nari’s voice cuts through the din of chatter as her hand shoots out to narrowly prevent a fellow patron from snagging the chair beside her. “Sorry, seats are taken.”

She takes a sip of her beer and stretches her short legs as far as they will reach across the two empty chairs beside her.

“The guys are gonna have to hustle if they’re gonna sit with us,” she says reproachfully, dark brows rising as her eyes scan the venue for the bodies that belong in the seats you have been desperately attempting to reserve for the last hour.

The Eight Ball is crowded to bursting, and you scan the stage for signs of the evening’s openers. Checking your phone, you find that it’s nearly eight. You also find a text that brings a smirk to your lips.

“What?”

You glance up at Nari, who’s staring at you suspiciously.

“Nothing…” you mumble, flipping your phone back over onto the table. You sip your cocktail through a straw.

“Are you texting him?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“What? Who?”

“You know who,” Nari mocks, narrowing her eyes at you. “The jerkwad.”

“Oh my god, Nari, no!” you sigh, as your phone buzzes again. 

She glances at it.

“Then what was with the look? Who are you…”

“Are these for us?” a voice belonging to a smiling, dimpled young man in a black hoodie with a matching beanie pulled over his head saves you from further explanation.

“Jesus, Chris, finally,” Nari admonishes as he takes the seat next to you, pulling her legs off the remaining chairs to free them up for the other two men that follow behind him. 

The freckled blond pulls Nari into a side hug which she returns, booping his nose before leaning across him to peer menacingly at his friend.

“Yo, Jisung,” she barks, “If you’re gonna order several hundred pizzas, how about taking some with you next time? My fridge is still stuffed.”

The young man blinks wide, surprised eyes at her before his brain catches up with her scolding.

“Sorry, but it wasn’t my fault!” he insists poutingly. “I ordered them because Changbin asked me to and then he canceled gaming weekend ‘cause he had a girl over.” he grumbles, causing the other two to snicker.

“Nice,” Chris giggles.

This time you do choke.

Your eyes fly to your best friend, watching the barrage of questions bubbling up on her face when a voice cuts through the din, silencing the crowd and unknowingly saving himself for the time being.

“Good evening, Eight Ballers!” Changbin rasps into his mic as Hyunjin waves, as ridiculously beautiful as ever, beside him.

You look at Changbin’s eyes.

They’re bright and confident and determined. You smile and cheer when he finishes introductions. As the band hits the first few notes of the opening number, his gaze finds yours, and it’s full of so many things.

His eyes sparkle with seven days worth of secrets – of waking up to your eyes and arms, of a weekend of nothing but bare bodies and hearts, of weeknight phone calls until the wee hours of the morning…of a new way of caring for each other that you’ll eventually tell the others, but that is just yours for now.

As you look at him, so full of adoration, you hope you can offer him even a fraction of the new world he’s only just begun to share with you – and the reflection you see a little more beautifully each day in the light of his eyes.

-Fin-

[parvuls]

A Comprehensive List Of Jack's Canon Chirps

"Bittle, HEADS UP!" [Bitty passes out] "…Or get into fetal position at central ice. That's also an option."

"You've never seen the sun rise from a rink, eh? Thought you were a figure skating champion."

Bitty: "A fist bump! I didn't know you did those." Jack: "Ha - you gotta work for them."

"The sad thing is, I can tell he's lying not because of the library part? But because he'd never leave a pie unattended."

"Oh and Bittle, before I forget. This summer? Eat more protein."

"When you get Youtube famous don't go out and chirp me all over the internet, eh? 'Night."

"How many of those tweets do you start with oh my god y'all?"

"It's way too easy to make you laugh. Make sure you tweet that." [looks over Bitty's shoulder to make sure he tweets that]

[texts Bitty a smiley face] [follows up with:] "Sorry that was a typo."

"You only tweeted twice while we were working, Bittle. That's a record."

[Bitty gets knocked over] "I guess you're looking for extra checking practice, eh, Bittle?"

"We should get going and let Bittle here text about his walk to class."

Bitty: "E-excuse you, but my kitchen is no place for checking!" Jack: "…Your kitchen?" Bitty: "Well, the kitchen! Now move your big -- uhm." Jack: "My big…?"

[At Thanksgiving] "All that turkey's gonna make you slow for tomorrow, Chowder."

[To a kid wearing a Brad Marchand jersey while asking for Jack's autograph] "You know this isn't me, right?"

"17." [At Bitty's confusion:] "That's the number of pies you baked in September. In case you were wondering where your time went."

"I'm sure you'd be done [with your history essay] too if you had tweeted it. Is that an option?"

[looks at Bitty's tweets] "I said where'd you get that camera not is that the camera you use. Come on, Bittle."

[finds Bitty's surprise cookies] "I'm surprised your cookies got through costumes Bittle."

"I told my mom about all your tweeting? She says you're not following her. I'm more surprised than offended, Bittle."

"Shitty, don't you think I should get a tweet transcript or something since he quotes me so much? For legal purposes."

"Hey, Bittle. That Daily reporter didn't rope you into an interview after that jump?"

[after meeting Farmer] "She was nice, eh? Cute. …I bet you're texting about our lunch now."

[Nursey accidentally hits a kid in the face with his hockey bag] "Nice check, Nurse."

[in the middle of the night] "I figured you'd be up baking a pie or three."

[Bitty gets shoe-checked] "Hey, it's no shoes, no shirt, no service, Bittle."

"Whose shoulders are you going to sit on at Spring C, Bittle?"

[Shitty tears up while kissing the ice] "Crying a bit there, eh?"

[SMH buy Bitty a new oven] Bitty: "I need to bake something right this second!" Jack: "Stop crying first."

"If we move the kitchen table out, you can bring your bed in."

[About graduating] "The biggest change is probably my diet. Less pie."

"And hey, it's a bit different than you and Lardo, eh? Since everyone knew you were in love with her since sophomore year."

[during Falcs Faceoff] Teammate: "Heard you've never lost one a these, I'm scared." Jack: "Yeah, you should be."

[Gets chirped for dating Bitty] "This is a Samwell hockey record. Chirps lasting longer than the ones re: Holster & Esther S." Holster: "…Jack." Jack: ":)"

Nursey: "Yo, Bitty do you remember any French?" Jack: "No." Bitty: "I can speak for myself, Mr. Zimmermann." Jack: "Well. Not in French."

[To Marty & Thirdy] "Hauling your kids around on a sled just about wore you guys out, eh?"

[To Tater] "Potato champ needs more sleep, eh?"

"Bitty? Hey, bud, come on, say something -" [Bitty passes out] "Or you can pass out at center ice. I'm getting deja vu."

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

LOUISE RAW speaks to Long Covid sufferer Sam Williams and others who feel let down by a state that ignores their debilitating illness

ON NOVEMBER 29 this year, a groundbreaking study by German research centre Helmholtz Munich and Munchen University was published.

It seems to confirm beyond doubt that the condition we call Long Covid (LC) is “real” — physiological, as opposed to psychological.

The long-lasting brain effects many sufferers have reported may finally be explained by its findings — that the SARS-CoV-2 spike protein remains in the brain’s protective layers and the bone marrow of the skull, for up to four years after infection.

This, researcher say, may trigger chronic inflammation, and an increased risk of neurodegenerative disease.

You could almost hear the Long Covid community’s weary, collective “We told you so!”

It’s been a long and draining few years for them, as sufferer and activist Sam Williams told me recently when I spoke to him about the hand-grenade LC had lobbed into his and his family’s lives.

Sam says he feels as if he’s in mourning for the life he had before — and, in 2019, it was a good one.

Sam was a fit and healthy husband and father, probably fitter than most men in their forties, with a very active lifestyle, including running marathons.

Now, he describes himself as “completely broken.”

Sam has lost not just the everyday things — the ability to work and to drive — but much of the fun of life, too. Family bike rides, camping trips and long walks with the dogs are now a thing of the past.

Sam can’t relax with a drink, because alcohol makes his symptoms worse; and, he says, has rarely been able to be sexually intimate with his wife since becoming ill, which has naturally affected their relationship.

Sam’s wife has had to take on a higher-paid job to cover bills, and to take over far more household chores. “It’s like a whole new relationship,” Sam says. He feels guilty about this, and although he knows, logically, it’s not his fault, that doesn’t stop the self-blame. At times, he tells me he’s felt hopeless, and even suicidal.

It’s incredible how we ignore the growing group of people enduring similar experiences. It is also partly because we ignore it that the LC community continues to grow. Fresh infections occur as people eschew masks and other simple mitigations; so new cases of Long Covid develop, and older ones are worsened by repeat infections.

Currently more than two million people in the UK say they’re suffering the effects of Long Covid, and the vast majority — 1.5 million — find their everyday lives impacted.

An astonishing one third of all health care workers have Long Covid symptoms, and 1 per cent of all our children.

More than half of those reporting Long Covid symptoms say they’ve been suffering for two years or more.

As there’s still no diagnostic test, we can only say people report themselves as LC sufferers.

Accordingly, people can’t seem to resist “helpful” advice: Think positive! Just get on with it! Have you tried this essential oil?

No chronic illness sufferer has, as far as I know, ever recovered due to being told it might be in their head; it’s an attitude that has made Sam himself sicker, as he’s tried to “push through” his symptoms — which only increased them.

While we don’t know yet how the Munich study will be received, change seems likely to be slower than sufferers would like, and than we all need.

The current situation leaves people who are already exhausted and overwhelmed by illness facing further battles: with ignorance, with self-blame, and with the system, as they struggle for a diagnosis.

Sam is not alone in saying he feels abandoned by a society in “deep denial” about his condition. This sense of isolation is all the greater for being one of very few Long Covid activists of colour; he also suspects this makes it even harder for him to get his voice heard.

The media seems generally uninterested; this should be a national story, but appears to be regarded as yesterday’s news. LC is just not, it seems, in any sense “sexy.”

Two of the UK’s best-known writers share Sam’s struggle.

It’s well-known that Michael Rosen became seriously ill with Covid after contracting it in March 2020.

The bestselling author, poet and presenter was in a coma for 40 days, in intensive care for 48, and in hospital for a total of three months.

Rosen still has blurred vision he suffers in his left eye, and hearing loss in his left ear, which unbalances him.

“I’ve also got numb toes. It’s as if you have these strange cushions underneath your feet,” Rosen said in a recent interview.

“It’s possible that these creaks and pains which I call ‘pinball pains’ around my body have increased a lot since Covid. But if I do a lot of stretching, that does help.”

Rosen had also some counselling to talk through the hallucinations and delirium he experienced in hospital, although he says his dreams were “more hippy-like than nightmarish” — he can recall bizarre visions of, inexplicably, German Christmas parties. His sleep remains disturbed:

“There are some nasty moments when I wake up in the night. I call it ‘Lonely Corridor Syndrome’. As I’m lying there, I’m instantly back in the hospital lying there. It’s a very mild form of post-traumatic stress disorder.

“There’s not much you can do about it immediately. I have to go into various forms of mental and physical tricks to play on myself to put it away again. It’s a sense of loneliness.”

Rosen described his ordeal and recovery in Many Different Kinds Of Love, combining prose and verse with enduring tribute to the NHS. It’s a good sign that his latest book is called Getting Better; but it’s still an ongoing process, and Rosen acknowledges the importance of family support, not available to all: “I dread to think what it would have been like if I’d just come home to an empty house.”

Another acclaimed author and LC sufferer is AL Kennedy.

I spoke to Kennedy about how she feels now, as she recovers from another Covid bout. A very fit woman with a punishing schedule, Kennedy has found her literary skills affected as well as her body: “With the LC my heart beat is still 10/15 bpm faster when I’m just generally unfit — much faster than my fit rate.

“I can work, but I’m slower.”

I can’t see a drop in quality in new work she’s kindly sent me compared to her old: but Kennedy of course knows her style better than anyone, and she can. It’s frustrating: “[My work] still needs more rewrites than it did. I need a lot more rest. The thyroid rumbles along in the background. If I lecture, I have to set out notes for safety and follow them.”

She was used to being able to speak spontaneously and just follow the track her mind took.

“I’m way better than I was,” Kennedy reflects: “In 2021 I would be knocked out for weeks at a time. Semi-permanent migraine, couldn’t finish sentences, couldn’t remember tasks to complete them, probably not a safe driver...”

Life is still not the same: “A lot has improved, but I live in fear of re-infection; and group work is hard to run in a mask. When I’m working at a uni, or travelling, I am basically in a mask for seven or eight hours straight... I compromise on stage without a mask and then signing [books] with one... It’s miserable,” she concludes.

The future is unpredictable, both in how Britain will react to the news out of Munich and how the condition will develop: researchers have found evidence of the protein spike four years after infection not because it goes away after that, but because four years is all the distance we currently have from those first infections.

As Sam says, “Many people recover. Many people get worse. A few weeks ago, I met Alan, who got Long Covid in March 2020. This March he had a mini-stroke, and lost the sight in one eye overnight.”

Sam tends to operate on pure adrenalin, which is unsustainable long-term, and means his Long Covid activism takes a toll on him: as much as he wants to raise awareness, and as vital as that is, every article he writes, every radio appearance, drains his limited resources of energy. A Catch-22 situation.

Sam is not impressed by the new government’s response so far.

Although figures reveal LC leading to higher healthcare demands and costs, meaning it is both an economic and ethical imperative to tackle it, the Department for Health and Social Care seems coy about its plans.

Parliamentary Under-Secretary Andrew Gwynne admitted, in response to a parliamentary question form the Greens, that he chaired a “roundtable” of researchers and “people with lived experience” in October this year.

The LC community has been unenthusiastic about what it calls this “secret meeting” to which they say they were not invited: and they want concrete information about Gwynne’s next steps.

Sam considers himself to have disabilities as a result of LC, as many do; he is also extremely concerned by the late November passing of the Assisted Dying Bill.

“I am absolutely horrified by it,” he tells me.

“In Canada, they started off with assisted dying only applying to the terminally ill.

“Then they expanded to include chronically ill and disabled people.

“I, and many other disabled people, are terrified it will happen here in the same way. And there’s no coincidence that the Assisted Dying Bill comes at the same time as the white paper on Getting Britain Working.”

The government must act fast to take on board the Munich findings, and involve activists like Sam and the wider the LC community in an open and transparent process for future funding, support, treatment and mitigation.

This is a frightening and unpredictable condition which could affect any one of us at any time: and an increased cohort of people with disabilities at a time when our National Health Service has been pushed to its knees is alarming.

Labour must act fast, must involve activists like Sam Williams, and must make Long Covid a priority, if we’re not going to deepen what is already a crisis.

[chekhovs-blender]

is Saxon queer with comphet behavior? Sorry I am new if this has been discussed already you can point me to the discussion.

sorry for not responding sooner anon! a really interesting question i'm afraid i don't have a definitive answer to. i'm probably going to say very obvious stuff while yapping too much so i do apologize. it's also 2 am where i live so-

sorry ×2 if this doesn't actually answer your question lol, i'm notoriously bad at this stuff.

the thing is, Saxon constructs the world through dominance and sees everything almost exclusively through its lens, be it through physical 'excellence' (high t bde, the pump, the protein shakes *put a pin in that pt. 1*), financial wealth and work culture (Saxon 'loves working', which also brings him the desperately sought after approval of his father, albeit a half hearted one, at least that we get to see) or sexual aggression/untowardness (grabbing his dick in front of Chelsea, his 'let them get all messy' comment although i think that was all bark no bite & generally treating women as sexual objects and prospective conquests and nothing else *put a pin in that pt. 2* etc etc).

the slimy and vapid masculinity he performs is quite different to Timothy's though and it, to me, reads like a commentary on generational difference too. Saxon's dominance is first and foremost selfish and self-serving, while Timothy's role is the one of patriarch. obviously this is due to the simple fact that Saxon is in fact not tied down and whatnot but he certainly doesn't look like the type to do it any time soon anyway. i just think the contrast of 'top dog' and (stern) provider is neat. although both of their roles are highly questionable and crumble by the end of the show (it's, in a way, a big part of Tim's character arc too).

although this desire to dominate is a big part of his character Saxon also takes a certain pleasure in the feedback that others are lesser than. this might seem like the same thing, true, but there's a difference between the more internally focused viewpoint 'i am better at this' than the externally focused 'they are worse than'.

he also constantly emphasises 'ownership' of his siblings while infantilizing them as much as he can - he refers to Piper & Lochlan as 'my little brother' and 'my little sister' throughout (this might seem like normal older sibling behaviour but considering Saxon is, well, not normal, I'm inclined to read into it a bit, *put a pin in that pt. 3*).

i find it possible that he is viewing them as extensions of himself. especially lochlan. *pin 4*

the question of possible queerness and comphet does rear its head naturally, i think, but there are limits to the interpretation for two main reasons and the stuff stated above. 1) the show captures a snapshot of the ratliffs' lives so a lot of it boils down to speculation and audience consensus (think the generally accepted tumblr/fanfic headcanon that Saxon was in a frat) & 2) a lot of what could read as comphet here also sits comfortably in the space reserved for commentary on (the crisis of) modern masculinity because, as a man, i've personally suffered from the socialization Saxon exhibits and have met many fail-Saxons (aren't they all lol) in my life so his behaviour could simply be heterosexual but utterly maladjusted

to add, the ratliff family history needs to be taken into account as well. the glimpse we get into Victoria's side of the family, we see how Saxon's behaviour is positioned and normalized, especially through his mother's actions (smth smth internalised misogyny) as she is the one who readily encourages and plays into it ('actresses and prostitutes' etc). there is also the question of family dynamics and how isolated the ratliffs are. the siblings, but i'd wager Saxon especially, as the eldest son, have been told their whole lives that they are 'better than' (Victoria's family seems to be quite well-off, Timothy's side was politically and financially important for NC) and that others are beneath them, that they are the lucky few and so on and so forth (think Victoria's speech to Piper at the end and also the little comments she makes about how beautiful and whatever else her children are). which probably did nothing to help them become functional, well adjusted human beings lol. there's also the offhand comment Victoria makes about her own brothers, especially Babe (the spitting thing) that makes it clear this is also a cyclical, familial blurring of boundaries and just ups the borderline incestuous dynamics of the ratliffs and how insular they are.

to go back to Saxon, all of this just accumulates to make him a person practically incapable of emotional vulnerability & real emotional connection (especially outside the family unit, but to be for real, also inside it). he sees almost every interaction as a chance for one-upmanship and opportunity to strut his feathers. a lot of it serves more to reflect his own worth back to him than to establish two-way communication (his little 'she's famous' about Jaclyn certainly reads that way, that he sees in her only the status she would confer onto him, although humiliating women together is basically a bonding ritual for Saxon and Victoria it seems). and in case of his siblings, he needs the constant feedback of Lochlan choosing him over Piper, he certainly looks for the validation of his own superiority and expects that from his brother like it's a given.

i think he takes pleasure in playing mentor who'll guide Lochlan into the world of men for two reasons. it's like a game he gets to play and he'll win no matter what. the desired outcome is obviously to have his ego stroked (heh) constantly, which Lochlan mostly performs without fail, but also to mold his brother into a picture of acceptable masculinity (you've got ammo, the insistence on getting him laid etc). although he is frustrated when his advances are rejected (like Lochlan refusing the protein shake), Lochlan quickly acquiesces (*pin pt. 5*) and Saxon probably gets the pleasure of comparing himself to his brother who's failing to be a proper alpha man and coming out on top (heh) but also the pleasure of finally pushing his brother to go for it and in that way, dominating him too.

now. the problem of saying saxon is definitively queer is - for the aforementioned reason of patriarchal socialization of men wherein they're expected to be dominant and hyper-sexual to a degree although Saxon takes it to the extreme - that the sole homosexual activity happens between him and his brother. and that carries the baggage of family dynamics, masculinity and everything else, and on top of that, possible queer desire. which makes everything a whole lot more complicated and muddy.

i'm of the opinion the text (and certainly the subtext!) is clear enough so a reading of Saxon as queer could be supported, but it is sufficiently ambiguous to allow for many other interpretations, mainly non-sexual ones when it comes to the threesome in episodes 5/6.

to gather all the pins and talk about them now.

if we're talking comphet i guess we're playing the game of 'is it comphet, plain ol' misogyny or a little bit of both'.

Saxon's relationship with women is highly fraught and the only woman he seems to hold some respect for is Victoria. is it because she is the only woman he cannot in any way, shape or form view in a sexual light? and because of that it leaves more space to conceive of her as an actual human person? perhaps. his comments about piper's sex life are quite obviously meant to unsettle the viewer, demonstrate the impending minefield of his relationship with Lochlan (who isn't sufficiently perturbed by it, but normalizes it or at least tries to, probably because of a history of blurred boundaries with Saxon honestly and because they're both guys. dudes. bros. and guys act like that in front of each other, don't they?) and his need to shape Lochlan into a younger version of himself really.

the thing is, Saxon's focus on this performance of confident manhood clearly stems from a place of deep unacknowledged insecurity and if Lochlan is receptive to it, that not only serves to show Saxon he is 'doing something right'. if he can forcemasc his little brother (i deserve jail time for this) that must mean it's a desirable mode of expression.

if Saxon's relationship with the women of his family is fraught, other women never stood a chance. the interesting part here is that he emphasizes his interest in Chelsea, a woman he knows is 1) in a committed long-term relationship with someone else 2) highly critical of his behaviour. he frames it as a challenge but it could also be him playing delusional 4d chess with himself, excusing any failure and fumble that would threaten his perception of himself through the 'i like it when they're mean to me' mentality and the expected rejection so it doesn't hurt as much (it could also be a subconscious coping mechanism for not feeling attraction to women but i'm not sure how much i'm willing to buy into it in this case OR a subconscious desire to be actually challenged and questioned in relation to his behaviour but that seems like a reach for most of the season too). he also shows some initial interest in the women he keeps pushing onto lochlan, first the 'boat women' he introduces Lochlan to (and he does it in a way that makes his brother seem cutesy, pinching his cheek *which could mean nothing* practically using Lochlan as a possible accessory to his own sexual conquest, i really don't think you could believably argue he's actually trying to set Lochlan up with them as he paints him as young, inexperienced and passive. it most likely serves as an ego boost among other things). he also shows interest in Chloe obviously, being close and touchy while Lochlan performs the magic tricks and later when the three of them hook up. he also emphasizes Chloe's sexual experience to his brother, saying she's a bit older, mature and that that would do Lochlan some good (smth smth Saxon's preference in porn, smth smth teacher/student). to me it reads as this weird concoction of vicariously living through Lochlan whom he views as an extension of himself he gets to boss around, but also a way to connect with him because as the king of all redpill asshattery, he's chosen the language of sex as a specific (and really the only) tool to get closer to his younger brother.

that brings me to the other point. Saxon really prizes control, control of image, of what others get to see etc. he usually makes the first move, is an active participant, be it fumbling women or performing that weird dominance ritual by strutting around naked in the room he and Lochlan share (by doing it, he's almost emphasizing it's his space first and Lochlan's second, that if there is any adjusting necessary it's for his little brother to do). this is why i find certain shots endlessly fascinating (the mirrored ass staring scenes for example, quiet moments of complete vulnerability, wherein neither are aware they're being watched and therefore cannot control how they themselves and their bodies are perceived + again. the mirror scene but at the end of episode 1 where Lochlan basically takes up the challenge Saxon puts in front of him and does a bit of a power play in the form of the prolonged stare). Saxon hates relinquishing control. which really sucks for him because it happens in episodes 5/6 over and over again.

first, when he's peer pressured to take drugs, and second, well, the whole yacht fiasco.

and if he's really fucked in the women department i'm willing to bet that man has not had healthy, normal relationships with men his whole life. he desperately and transparently seeks approval from Timothy, the parent who is sort of in charge of enforcing and policing the role of man in a more palpable way than Victoria does (smth smth it's the opposite for Piper, who's daddy's girl through and through but is strictly gender policed by her mother).

when the inhibitions are lowered, by way of drinks and drugs, it opens a whole other mode of communicating closeness and intimacy Saxon had probably never experienced before, especially with men. smth smth you contruct intricate rituals to touch the skin/bodies of other men (the role he takes on for correcting Lochlan through enforcing gender norms for example, the constant touches *Saxon initiates* - think the moment he pushes Lochlan into the pool the first time or how he steers him around, guiding him by grabbing his shoulders for example, telling him 'drink this' etc).

but the mindfuck is, his role gets more passive as he becomes the recipient of touch throughout the night of the full moon party. Lochlan is the one who reaches out on the beach, he's the one who, although obviously not sober and clearly egged on by two other *adults* mind you, chooses to kiss Saxon. he is the one who, at least working with the flashbacks of that night, initiates the hand job.

and it's a double edged sword. Saxon's whole narrative of himself hinges on dominance and being the one who does and the opposite happens, he becomes passive and the one things are done to, he isn't acting out on desire per se (which is a fact he uses to try and forget the whole thing later on), but is moreso the recipient of it. and that entails vulnerability he hadn't encountered before. on the other hand, if he is unwilling to admit a part of him got off on (sexually or non-sexually, both can be argued, but definitely touch/intimacy starved) being what he perceives as submissive and therefore lesser than, he can throw all of the responsibility back at Lochlan ('worship me, but don't *worship* me' etc.). futhermore, the way the flashbacks are framed (digression but - the fixation on the ingestion of liquid, the alcohol, the protein shakes especially, the clam Lochlan drinks out of are also highly suggestive, smth smth blowjob brothers are real), especially in the hand job scene, i don't think it's too far out to say Saxon was highly implied to be on the spiritual receiving end of the whole... ordeal. as in, Chloe can be seen as proxy, Lochlan 'fucking' Saxon and losing his virginity to him through proxy, connecting with him through proxy whatever. Chloe is there to connect them in a way, but disappears into the background when push comes to shove, she has to sort of nudge Lochlan so he pays more attention to her during their encounter, and i think there's certainly a charged quality to those mirror scenes on the yacht - Lochlan sauntering around, perhaps having performance anxiety or possibly just being unable to perform at all if Saxon isn't there, Saxon observing the kiss between Chloe and his brother intently etc.

after that night there are three standout moments that give me pause and make it harder to ignore a full-blown incestuous reading of their relationship. for one, Frank's monologue, for two Chelsea's doubling down on 'no drug in the world' which signals to the audience that there is perhaps something more beneath the people pleaser explanation. for three, 'his worst nightmare was his erotic fantasy' spiel Chloe imparts during the party.

if Saxon is indeed not straight (which, labels are complicated and i do not think he'd realistically view himself as queer in any way even if he did fuck men lol), what happens between him and Lochlan is this double safety blanket because the incest covers the gayness by obviously being the bigger taboo by a longshot, the 'accidental' (narcissistic?) gayness and the incest are denied by one another (he sees Lochlan as an extension of himself and his pet project, and if he tries to buy into Lochlan's explanation of events, which seems like the temporary solution he opts for (probably helped by Chelsea's little intervention), he can repress any desire he has for men further because the incest didn't happen because of it, but in spite of it as he's responsible for fucking up the boundaries, so it can circle back to not just not being gay but also not being 'real' incest. 'it's not a thing, it's definitely not a thing' etc). again, the framing is so interesting because it feels like the show itself is acknowledging all this but outside and independently of the characters (adding to this - the kiss from Saxon's perspective which reads more intimate and deliberate, and frankly, romantic to me, the gentle sweep over the skin, possible neck touch etc.), further spelling out something the characters themselves are unable to fully accept or speak into existence.

either way, he can't really escape the long awaited confrontation with his own emptiness and yearning for a more spiritual connection (the beach scene in the finale wherein he sees what Chelsea and Rick *seem* to have). but again, it's a question of whether it is only that or a more complicated and messed up version of it he and Lochlan sensed and shared.

to me, Lochlan's queerness is much more palpable and can be disentangled from Saxon, but it's an integral part of the reading of Saxon as queer. otherwise, a lot of his behaviour can be chalked up to toxic masculinity, to put it bluntly and simply. bro culture always walks the thin line between homosociality, homosexuality and homophobia but it's all coated in masculine artifice and irony so. and again, my opinion, not fact.

but yeah, i choose to read Saxon as queer because i like seeing him suffer more.

putting this here cause where else can it fit - i am personally a fan of viewing Saxon as also morbidly self-aware, his titty flex at the table and his 'let them get messy' in particular feel like intentional vapid rituals that he knows send a signal to the people perceiving him. he's performing this facade, knuckles white desperate clutching to it until he's rattled by Chelsea and then obliterated by Lochlan. he shows how much he gets it by focusing on how Lochlan chose a wrong way to worship him. he understands he thrives on the attention his brother gives him, only stepping out of his role as mentor ('no one is going to make you a man') when it threatens his concept of self (be that related to his potential queerness or not). i don't think he intentionally groomed his brother obviously and i believe he's starting to understand the extent to which he messed their relationship up by the end of the show, although he opts to try and forget about it (again, is the other can of worms his queerness, desire for his brother, both, neither? eh. i have a preference).

anon i'm so sorry this is such a half-lucid screedy (screedish? whatever, adjective form of screed) tangent and utter non answer but that's all i have to say. i probably forgot something but it's 3 am now and i gotta go catch some sleep. bye!

[melissalangdon]

WIP WEDNESDAY

tagged by the amazing @honestlydarkprincess (so excited to be a part of this community!)

Here's a separate project I'm working on, canon continuation. Not sure if it'll be finished in time for kingdon week but...it's some good prose.

“I can't believe they even let his ass back here.” Santos mutters, and it's the type of comment that Mel isn't sure she's supposed to respond to. Body language (closed, facing away) indicates this was more of a “thinking out loud” sort of situation--but Mel, staring after Langdon as he enters the Pitt, can't stand to let the comment just sit. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair, especially to him. 

“I'm sure there's a good reason.” she finds herself saying. “He was gone for…a while, after all.” 

Santos turns to her, halfway done with rolling her eyes, combined with a scoff. “Not long enough.” she cuts in as she walks off. Mel puts together that not only has she taken a misstep, this was a poor opportunity to demonstrate how she felt about the situation.

If Santos hadn't walked away, Mel would have told her about the statistics behind inpatient drug rehabilitation facilities, how thirty day programs were positive foundations, all the things she had researched when the badly kept secret came rushing out. She would have defended him more, and not felt sorry about it whatsoever.

At first, Mel didn't want to fall into the rumor mill, to the point where if anyone even began whispering about him, she walked off, avoiding the impulse entirely to clap her hands over her ears and remind them that it wasn't nice to gossip. But, forcibly ignoring people you're trying to be friends with was difficult--balancing the two opposites brought her back to her waitressing days, balancing two hot trays in her deft, calloused fingers. So eventually, she just listened. Langdon had a drug problem, apparently. It was scandalous in the field of medicine to even admit to being fallible, taking care of others was only left to the perfect, after all. The judgement was palpable, a felt thing in the air, from everyone except Dr. McKay, and admittedly, Mel, who stayed focused on more practical things. Mel didn't think it was fair, but she knew what Langdon was doing wasn’t right either. It was tough to consider, and the greys between moralities were never her strong suit. 

He looks different, but remarkably still the same in some ways. She figures he's gained some weight, realizing slowly that his previous figure was probably maintained with more than protein bars and trips to the hospital wellness facilities, but it suits him, the extra weight. He doesn't look so hollow around the eyes, a point she only notices when the day flashes back in her mind, the day she repeated over and over in her head. He was her first confidant here, and dare she believe they were friends? Or at least friendly? She doesn't know. 

She beams at him during the assembly of the morning briefing, which earns her another scoff from Santos, but at least she's standing next to Mel, so not all is lost. “You're here!” she wants to exclaim, “I missed you.” would come following shortly after, and she couldn't dare let that fly so easily.

Langdon smiles back, offering a hand in hello. He looks like someone knocked the wind out of him, locked away that influence that made him the center of any room he was ever in. He looked defeated behind the eyes as he stands next to Dr. Robby, and all Mel wants to do is go to him, reassure him that she's never felt any differently about him, and wanted to resume as close to normal as she could get. As close to the first day as she was allowed to feel. 

“Alright folks. Welcome to Monday. I wanted to reintroduce our senior resident, Dr. Langdon, who is returning after some much needed leave. We definitely need the help around here, so everyone, let's not scare him off.” Dr. Robby claps Langdon on the shoulder, and gets another weak smile out of him. “Other things to consider…” 

Mel tries her best to focus, she really does, but she's watching the room as well and something is wrong in the air, she can feel it. It tickles the back of her neck, not a rational, tangible feeling but she'd never been able to figure out exactly what was wrong. Before, she would think the tag of her scrubs was messing with her, but she knows now that it's all her own anxiety. Emotions were hard. Patterns were easier. Comparing this to previous briefs, everyone was usually happy to hear from Dr. Robby--even if he only had to talk about patient satisfaction scores. The only newness was the blue eyed elephant in the room--causing everyone to look at each other with their eyebrows drawn, walls up.

I don't have anyone to tag for this but here's hoping I can see you all during Kingdon week!!!!

[belit0]

The uchiha have thick and bushy eyebrows as a standard of beauty ? Just like the thick long black hair I follow because of their unique beautiful genes,you think which uchiha would like to see other features of any clan whether it be white hair, the white eyes of the hyuga the wild features of Inuzuka or the exotic hair of the Uzumaki clan we even throw in the shark look of the Hoshigaki clan.

Mmm,,,,,

Madara

Madara acts above it all, like nothing surprises him anymore. But deep down? There are some things that catch his attention.

Hoshigaki sharp teeth? -Unsightly.- (Secretly wondering if they’re stronger than normal human teeth.)

Hyūga eyes? -A pale imitation of our power.- (But definitely intrigued by their perception.)

Inuzuka wild features? -Undisciplined.- (But lowkey respects their animal-like instinct.)

Madara would never say it aloud, but he absolutely has thoughts about the way other clans look. He’s just too proud to admit any of them.

Would rather die than say: "That’s actually cool."

Izuna

Izuna does not like admitting when he finds something interesting. He will act so smug and superior, but his eyes will linger just a little too long when someone with unique features passes by.

Uzushio red hair? He calls it "too flashy," but stares a little too much.

Hoshigaki gills and teeth? He scoffs, but then asks if they can actually breathe underwater.

Inuzuka fangs? He claims they’re "not impressive," but will absolutely look twice when they smirk.

If anyone catches him staring? Immediate denial.

-I wasn’t looking. You’re delusional.-

Obito

Obito is horrible at keeping his thoughts to himself. The moment he sees anything unusual, it’s written all over his face.

-WOAH, YOUR TEETH—”(to a Hoshigaki, before getting smacked)

-Wait, not a Sharingan? why do your eyes do that— (to a Hyūga, before getting told to shut up)

-Your hair is so—can I touch it?- (to an Uzumaki, before realizing that was a mistake)

Would 100% get distracted staring at someone’s weirdly sharp nails or their unnaturally long fangs mid-fight and get punched in the face for it.

Shisui

Shisui is the most chill about it. If he sees something interesting, he’ll openly compliment it.

-Your clan’s eyes are probably better than ours... Can you see my chakra right now?" (to a Hyūga, totally fascinated)

-That Uzumaki hair shade is actually kind of amazing. It just... grows like that, naturally?

-You can smell enemies from miles away? That’s kinda badass.- (to an Inuzuka, 100% genuine)

Would be the type to befriend anyone just out of sheer curiosity. Probably tests a Hyūga’s Byakugan range by running further and further away while yelling "Can you still see me??"

Itachi

Itachi, with his analytical mind, would register everything about other clans' features in seconds—and then move on.

Hyūga sight? Makes sense.

Uzumaki hair? Strong chakra, expected.

Hoshigaki look? Genetic adaptation. Not surprising.

He doesn’t gawk, doesn’t stare, doesn’t ask questions. If anything, people are more intrigued by him because he doesn’t react the way they expect.

Hoshigaki: -You’re not going to ask about my teeth?-

Itachi: -No. But I assume you need a high-protein diet.-

Hoshigaki: -...Okay, damn.-

Final verdict?

Madara refuses to acknowledge his curiosity.

Izuna pretends he doesn’t care but does.

Obito is the most openly curious.

Shisui is the most openly appreciative.

Itachi is too logical to waste time thinking about it.

But deep down, every Uchiha has at least one moment where they stare a little too long at someone very different from them and think—

"Huh. That’s actually kind of cool."

[espiritumalicioso]

OKAY!!

So, as a lot of you know already I just got top surgery like, 2 days ago! (Super cool and awesome :) )

But im going to make a post abt how the process went in case any of you are thinking about it or just want to know what goes on, so here's the immediate after-surgery info:

First off, my surgery was at 8 am, and I arrived at 7am. ALL my nurses and my surgeon were *so* sweet. I came out to this little recovery nook, they told me to change into the lil gown and piss in a cup, then laid me down on a lil bed. They started me on an IV (just saline), gave me a heated blanket and little leg massagers to keep my circulation good.

Then they let my partner back with me, most of the nurses introduced themselves and checked a dozen times to make sure I was the right patient with the right surgery lol

Then we waited for about an hour! My surgeon came out and started drawing on my chest (which was *very* awkward, considering there were like 4 nurses and my partner and the surgeon), and pretty much the moment he was done they whisked me away to the OR

I was laid down and they hooked my IV to a syringe that "was going to make me feel like I drank 5 margaritas at once" (spoiler alert- it did)

Then I woke up in the recovery room! Its a little hazy from here, but they gave me a protein shake and helped me into the car, and we went back to the hotel room for the night.

(i was in and out of consciousness for a little bit after that)

In all honesty, the worst pain was more from the air tube in my throat! My chest was sore as shit, don't get me wrong, but it hurt more to talk than anything else. I took my meds, put on a movie, and passed out again immediately

By around 5-6, though, I was ready to be OUT. I was very surprisingly mobile considering I'd gotten a major surgery 10hrs beforehand, so me and my partner went to the grocery store to get snacks + protein drinks +etc. (don't do what I did)

The first night sleeping was *not* fun, I'll admit. My back hurt like a MotherFucker and I couldn't really do much about it? It still wasn't something I would personally consider pain, just extreme discomfort

Listen to me. The floor is going to be your best friend. Make sure you have someone to help you sit up, since you can't utilize ur arms very much, but laying on your back on the floor is SO nice. It's also a good way to test your mobility and stretch a little! (LISTEN TO YOUR BODY IF ITS UNCOMFORTABLE)

Regardless, as long as you take your meds and eat, for the most part you'll be good. Some of the worst parts of recovery (at least for me so far) are all minor inconveniences- a really weird feeling on ur nipple, not being able to pop your back, not being able to shower for the first week, that sort of thing.

For recovery items, you really do not need to invest a ton in them. What's been helping me is bendy straws, a pillow with the little side arm rests, and a lap desk. Pretty much everything else is optional and more for general comfort, but you won't be totally miserable if you just use what you already have

HOWEVER. baby wipes and baby powder. LIFE SAVERS. I ended up shaving my armpits beforehand to try and get ahead of the stink, but they chafe like a motherfucker, and just a bit of baby powder helps sooooooooo much. Baby wipes help you feel a little more clean- id suggest using them more often than you think you do, because once you're stinky there's no going back

I'll probably reblog this if I think of more things and add onto it, but for now that's what it's been!!! Take care of yourself and go be transgender

FEEL FREE TO SEND ME QUESTIONS IN MY ASK BOX!!!!

I am a very open book about medical stuff so most questions (as long as they're in good faith lol) are totally welcome <3

[epwritten]

could've been ~ l.m

"People change, it's up to them"

Description: In which you and Minho have an awkward conversation after the two of you broke up.

Word Count: 2K

Author's note: I was going to originally write this for Felix, but Lee Know kept coming in my head. So I said screw it, we're making this a Minho one shot. I hope you like it!

Additional note: college au, ex's, memories, 2nd pov ('you' format). Minho's a bit mean if that counts as a warning? Not necessarily a happy ending, but still content enough.

Hope you enjoy reading! <3

People changed all the time. It was a part of life.

This was the reminder you played over and over in your head as you made your bed that morning. Everyday was feeling numb and the same. You woke up at around 7 to the sound of your alarm. You took a shower and brushed your teeth. You got dressed. If you had an appetite you would usually make toast and have orange slices on the side. If it was like a day like today where you felt more numb that usual, you grabbed a protein shake and left the kitchen. You'd be out the house before your parents were awake, on your way to work, which you had to be in by 8:30.

You put music in your ears. Nothing like classic R&B or sad songs you loved, but something upbeat like pop or rap that would try to distract you from how you were truly feeling. Because if you were to listen to what you were really feeling there'd be problems and you couldn't afford that. Not when you were at least trying to get better and move on.

But the music choice would be good, you concluded as you turned up the volume. You also worked at the front counter at the campus gym. The place was upbeat anyway.

It wasn't until you arrived at the gym did you feel a harsh cold wind. Your hands flew to your arms as you hugged yourself, looking around in confusion. It was the start of spring, a chill day in April and yet you felt like you were trapped in a freezer.

You spotted Rob, one of your co-workers. He was nice, about a decade older than you, and the one that first helped you during your first few days at work.

"The air condition can't turn off. It's been on overnight at high." Rob told you. You noticed fog escaped his breath.

"Did you call someone?" You asked.

"Yeah, the HVAC technician should be here in an hour. The gym itself is not as cold, but I'm heading to a meeting upstairs and someone needs to stay at front desk while I'm out." Rob said. He shot an apologetic look, but you shook your head.

"It's fine, I can stay here I'll just-"

You stopped talking as a lightbulb went over your head. Your dad was a professor at the same college you attended and worked at, and he would be teaching a morning class. His class didn't start until 9, and you knew he was probably getting ready to go by now. So you had an idea.

You looked at Rob as you got out your phone. "I'll be fine. I'm going to ask my dad if he can drop off a hoodie for me." You said.

Rob nodded. "Okay, thanks a bunch." He gave a final smile before he left and headed up the stairs.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers cold as you typed. It was ridiculously cold and you absolutely needed to feel warmth immediately. The worse part of the whole thing was that you had a weak immune system. Anytime there were weather changes you had to be extra careful and take precaution so that you wouldn't be sick. And it would happen. You would always get the flu or something, but you didn't want to get it this time.

You varied between pacing behind the desk, putting your hands in your jean pockets, and hugging yourself. You felt goosebumps on your forearms and your teeth were slightly chartering.

Who in their right mind turned the air conditioner to the highest level anyway? It wasn't even a scorching day in August yet?

The usual Monday crowd strolled in. They signed in, made little small talk, and then headed straight to the weights. You tried to be as professional as you could, remaining focused on your work as you signed each person in. Maybe the cold helped with that for a bit, but it wasn't until a guy who came in with iced coffee or headphones around his ears did it make you think of someone.

When you were by yourself, you looked ahead, trying not to think about what would cloud your mind but you knew it would come eventually. Everything reminded you of him, but this place was a literal gym, if not THE gym he used to go to.

Now you weren't even sure where he'd go.

You took a deep breath, drumming the table as you closed your eyes and tilted your head just enough for your neck to crack. Satisfied, you did it on the other side too. There was no better feeling than to release unwanted stress and tension.

The door suddenly opened, and the warm air made you open your eyes. You smiled when you saw your dad in his classic suit and suitcase come in. You checked the time on your computer screen.

"You're here early." You commented. He would usually come about an hour later.

"I know, but when you say there's a broken air conditioning and they left you here to freeze in a t-shirt? That's not happening on my watch." He said, walking over to give you a side hug.

He felt your arm. "You're a block of ice!" He said shocked. You had to giggle at his concern.

"I grabbed the biggest hoodie I could find. It was in your closet." He said, handing you a grey hoodie that was slung over his shoulder.

You blinked, staring at it for a second as you slowly took it from his hands.

"Alright, I'm going to go over my lecture. You're all good now, right?" Your dad asked.

You nodded. "Yes. Thanks, dad."

He left the gym, shuddering as he opened the door. He turned and pointed to you on his way out. "Wear the hoodie immediately!" He yelled.

"Okay!" You said, shooting a thumbs up.

When the door closed, you sighed. You could feel the fabric, or check the design, or even smell the piece of clothing. But you didn't have to.

Because you still, even after all this time of distance, knew it wasn't your hoodie. It was Minho's.

You ran fingers through your hair as you sighed, looking at the grey oversized hoodie that was placed on the counter. How could have still had this? You thought you gave everything back.

But it had been months. Two months and seven days exactly (though who's counting?). Couldn't Minho have noticed on of his hoodies missing and asked for it back?

You sat in the stool now, still staring at what was once your blanket of memories. It wasn't your dad's fault, he didn't realized what he grabbed. The poor man probably read your text and ran without a second thought. He knew the breakup was hard, he would have never took Minho's hoodie for you to wear intentionally.

But here you were, now faced with this reality. You still had this one hoodie in your closet. And now you were freezing. You considered the options. You could wait until the technician guy came in, and just freeze for one more hour. By that point your fingers would go completely numb. But would it be worth it? What would be the point of that? If you were freezing, and there was a hoodie that was right in front of you, no one in their good mind would reject that.

But would they reject it if it was from their ex?

You let out a sigh but knew what you had to do. It was either your health, or nothing. It wasn't worth it to get sick just because you didn't use what would help you right there in the moment, even it was Minho's.

You took the hoodie that was starting to be chilly itself and then brought it over you to wear. An action you've done so many times, but you never thought there'd be a day when it caused you pain.

Once it was worn you suddenly remembered that it was a custom made hoodie that one of his friends got for his birthday. In small but still visible cursive print on the left side read the letters L. M.

You were now after breaking up with him, wearing his initials again.

This. Was. Torturous.

You put the hood of the hoodie over your head and pulled down the sleeves just slightly so you could continue working with sweater paws. You were grateful now that you were shivering anymore, and whatever feeling of soreness that wanted to start in your throat was now coming down. You knew it was way better to save your health. The technician would be here soon and you could take the hoodie off.

The busyness of the job came in shifts. One moment it would be slow, then out of nowhere, a while wave of people would come in. Each of the conversations were similar. They asked about the cold, you told them about the problem, they asked if the gym was closed, you told them they could still work out and the gym itself was fine. After the current wave you just passed (which dealt with way too much energy for a 9am) you finally had a chance to sit down. You mindlessly rested your head against the desk, wanting to be still for a moment. But after a few seconds your head jolted up.

The hoodie still smelled like him.

It was ridiculous. Maybe you were paranoid. You had washed this hoodie several times, how could you have smelled his scent?

You missed it. The natural one. You liked his cologne as well of course, but it was the snug moments where if you cuddled on the couch, and if you were wearing his clothes and he wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly, you would be surrounded by a fresh dove springtime smell. It immediately gave you the memories and you tried to now look at the computer, then down to the view of the gym, anything to get your kind off of it.

You weren't struggling as much as you once were, when the breakup was still a few days old. You weren't necessarily going to lie and say you were happy and all better, but you were just numb now. Numb to the feelings, and also numb to the memories. But now, as you sat in your ex boyfriend's hoodie, it was playing a bunch of tricks on your brain. Suddenly you were back there in the cold days. Suddenly you were back to falling asleep in his arms. Suddenly you were back to library dates with coffee. Suddenly you were back to watching his morning runs.

You shook your head and glanced at the clock. Just one more hour. Then you could take the stupid thing off.

Long minutes passed by but you were getting through your morning until the door chimed and opened once again. You looked up and instantly felt your heart drop.

Minho's friends from his dance club came through the door, and it wasn't long until you saw him in a black hoodie on top of cargo pants. His brown hair long and styled in a way that made you hate how good you thought he looked. He always looked good, but he wasn't yours to tell that anymore.

He was laughing, an iced coffee in his hand. Though you were confused. He had a class at this time. Why was he at the gym?

You kept your eyes down, trying to avert your gaze. They were headed in your direction. You weren't sure what Minho would do. Since the breakup you didn't see him much, but if you paths were to cross for whatever reason, you would pass by each other like strangers. Minho wouldn't glance in your direction and so you learned how to do the same thing.

But now for the first time in a while you were spotted, and making matters worse, in his hoodie. What would his friends think? What would he think? You hoped Minho wouldn't notice.

As the guys walked over to the counter, Minho was last in line. He had his phone with him scrolling away in disinterest as his straw was in mouth. You tried not to pay attention as you plastered a while.

It was semi awkward since most of the guys knew who you were. But you were all adults so you weren't about to make a scene. You signed them in and they smiled and said their thanks.

"Have a good workout." You wished, just as you did with everyone who's stepped in since the gym opened.

Now that Minho's friends left, you turned to the computer screen, typing his name. You could do this whole thing in silence, and as you see in the corner of your eye that Minho looked around the place and not at you, you expected that he would do the same.

That was until he placed his hand on the desk, leaning in.

"What are you doing?" He asked. His voice sounded slightly irritated.

Your hands typed fast and you willed yourself to be strong and not timid. You were bound to talk to him eventually.

"I'm working Minho, what does it look like I'm doing?" You finally looked up at his handsome face. "I need your card."

Minho's gaze fell at the hoodie. "Why are you wearing my hoodie? What do you think you're doing?"

You breathed deeply and slowly. "I don't know if you noticed this, but this air conditioning is on the highest level and I needed something to warm me up-"

"So you walk around wearing my freaking initials on your chest."

Minho took a step back and glanced at you. Was it disgust? Anger? Resentment? You couldn't even tell.

You blinked. "It's not like that. I didn't know about the air conditioner until I got here. I asked my dad to grab a hoodie on his way here and he found this one. That's all."

Minho rolled his eyes as he got out his wallet. "Sure."

"It's the truth." You said.

Minho didn't look like he believed. His eyes were elsewhere as he handed you his card and you swiped it on the machine. When you handed back his card, he looked at you once more.

"We broke up. And you're out here wearing my hoodie, that's not fair." He said, his voice low.

You scoffed, holding the hem of his hoodie. "Do you think I want to wear this? You think it's fun for me to go around wearing something from someone I'd rather have no business with? I don't like this. It's awkward, okay? But it was either this or freeze." You told him.

Minho shook his head. There was a look in his eye, though you couldn't tell what exactly he felt. You knew this was awkward for him. You placed yourself in his shoes. He, just like you, had a right to move on. But when you were wearing something of his, it was awkward. You knew that.

You just didn't like how he made it seem like it was your choice in the matter.

"Well, is someone coming to fix the air conditioner?" Minho asked.

You nodded. "In about an hour."

Minho gave a weird look. "You couldn't have waited until then?"

That was what made you ticked off. You shook your head, letting out a huff.

"Look, do you want me to take this off and give it to you? Because-"

"Calm down. You're already wearing it, I'm not gonna ask you to take it off, I'm not that vile. It's whatever. You can keep it. Or burn it later. Do whatever you want with it. I don't care." Minho said, taking his wallet and his coffee.

He walked away from the desk, leaving you staring at his retreating figure as he went on his phone. You sighed, covering your face in your hands.

You weren't the type that hated anybody, but you didn't understand him. And that caused an anger to build up. How could he stand there so disgusted, so bratty, so nonchalant, like he never once told you he loved you? As if you weren't the one he once shared everything with? Why was he so cold, when once all you felt was the warmth of being cradled in his arms? How could he interact with you like he never knew you when he once kissed every part of you? Was it not hurting him to stand there and pretend he didn't think of all the moments shared? Did he not miss it? Did he not miss you...like you missed him?

Minho once told you, during that times where you both were fighting a lot, that it wasn't over between you. There was still something, whether fate, force, or faith, that was keeping you both together by a thread. That even through the differences you both had, you would stay together because you were meant to be.

It wasn't until after everything that happened in the breakup did you realize in the learning curve was that the only thing meant for the two of you was to break up. You weren't the same. Not even close. He was different, you were different.

People changed all the time. It was a part of life. And soon you would get to the point of gratitude that he was no longer in your life anymore.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Future Evesworld Au @fanofstuff01

Adam sat alone in the lunch room as he poked at his preapproved, nutritious, army grand lunch. No one ever sat with him probably because no one liked him.

Not that anyone really knew him, he didn't know why he bothered coming down here to eat, it was like high school all over again. The only ones that treated him decently were Lilith, Lute, Paul, and Patrick.

But their shifts didn't always line up so more often than not Adam ate alone.

People were so childish for being in an army, his visor not only made it so he could see better than the average person but hear better too. And he heard what people called him, never to his fucking face though they knew better.

Metal face.

Laser eye.

Terminator. Which, he didn't mind that one so much. But the ones that were more about his position bothered him more.

Lap dog was his least favorite, Adam fucking hated when people referred to him as Lucifer's fucking lap dog. It's not his fault they work together a lot and he trusts him to do things that others are too stupid to do.

Another was guard dog.

Red Leader's Bitch was a new one.

The list was endless really and Adam tried not to pay mind to any of them. But it was hard when it's all you hear.

Adam picked up his tray and dumped everything, he snagged a protein bar and shoved it in his pocket to eat later. Maybe when he didn't feel disgusted with the immature bitches that were in the army.

He would rather just get back to work, which was looking things over on a tablet that he had now. If this actually had been high school Adam would have went to the bathroom and cried.

But he's not a bitch......... That's what he tells himself.

Adam went back up to Lucifer's office, the swirl of whispers never stopping, at least in there all he can hear is the sound of Lucifer writing and himself tapping on a tablet.

Quiet.

Lucifer: That was quick.

Adam: Was it?

Normally he'd gone the full hour, but his visor told him the time and it hadn't even been 30 minutes.

Lucifer: No matter, you can spend your break how you want.

Adam nodded and took his seat, he didn't have a desk just a chair and small side table to set his work tablet on while it's charging.

Lucifer looked up from his work as Adam sat there doing his job. It was odd that he was back so soon but it was his choice.

Did he even eat? It took a good amount of time to walk down, wait in line, get your food and eat it. There were 10,000 people here it would take a while that's why everyone has different shifts and breaks.

Which reminded him of his own lunch, he should probably eat something. He reached into his side desk drawer and normally he'd have food or something to hold him over until dinner but it was empty. Did he forget to refill it?

Shit.

Lucifer: Fuck, I'll be right back I need to get my own food.

Adam reached into his pocket and held out the protein bar, without even thinking: Did you want this?

Lucifer looked at the protein bar, he would hold him over until dinner and he could always send Paul out with a list so he can refill his drawer.

Gingerly, he took it out of Adams hand.

Lucifer: ..... Thank you.

Adam: You're welcome sir.

[cassiebones]

What headcanons would you have for Alice or Jen in Agatha All Along? :)

Alice was a mama's girl despite their difficult relationship. Her mother was much better at showing her love for Alice than Evanora was at showing hers (if there ever was any love for Agatha) but she focused so much on breaking a curse that Alice was certain was never actually real. Alice still craved her attention, always proud to show her something she made or playing her a new song that she learned.

Alice is not a morning person. She was the one who signed up for graveyard shifts as a cop. She thrived on late nights, the moon giving her more energy. She was always happy to take somebody's late night shifts for them. She sometimes had to work mornings, which made her long for the sweet release of Death.

Despite her moody, edgy style, she needs a crap ton of sugar in her coffee. She cannot drink it black like her co-workers always did. They teased her for this, but she was fine with her Cinnamon Dolce lattes, thank you very much.

That tattoo was not her mother's idea, originally. Alice saw her mother stressing out over the curse and looked up ways that she could protect herself in a more permanent way than wearing a necklace she may lose or something else like that. So she looked up the symbol and showed her mother, who didn't even hesitate to book her with a friend. Lorna held her hand the entire time, and Alice forced herself not to cry from the pain, trying to be brave for her mother.

Alice visited her mother's grave (which wasn't a real grave bc she didn't have enough of her mother to bury) on every major holiday, leaving flowers and crystals (because her mother believed in their power) and talking to her about how her life is going.

She had a cat, named Cheeto, who was the most orange cat you ever met. She loved him, though. She found him while working, when he was still a kitten. She fell in love with him immediately and brought him home with her after her shift ended. She told Jen about him before she died. Jen goes to her apartment after getting off The Road, and takes Cheeto home with her, honoring Alice in the only way she can.

Jen is almost the opposite of Alice.

She is a morning person. She likes to wake with the sun and do yoga and all that healthy shit. She has a brand to uphold, after all.

She does GRWM videos all the time, showing people what she puts in her organic smoothies (cutting out the part where she puts in protein powder that nobody can know she uses) and egg-white omelettes. She's a vegetarian onscreen only.

Again, it's her brand. Her last name is literally a vegetable (she makes cannibalism jokes when she adds kale to her smoothies).

She's always been openly bisexual and has several pieces of art that reflect that in her home. She laments about her dating life a lot online and has gotten several offers from her fans to be taken on dates. She almost always declines, but she's touched obviously by the interest.

She and Agatha had a situationship. Jen started to catch feelings, but Agatha was closed off emotionally because she was still hung up on Rio and the pain she'd caused. When Jen tried to get closer, Agatha pushed her away and was not nice about it. She figured it'd be easier if Jen hated her. Jen was definitely bitter, which is why she believed every bad thing that anybody had to say about Agatha, including that she traded away her own son for the Darkhold.

She bound herself, I think. I think Agatha was lying about having bound her in the 1920's. Not that I don't think she would have done that for money (she'd probably do it for shits and giggles tbh) but I don't think Agatha actually did it to Jen. I think Jen was so traumatized by the men who tried to bind her that she actually end up binding herself. She just convinced herself that it was them that bound her because it was the easier solution.

Jen genuinely loves hiking. It's the best way to unplug and just be herself for a little bit. She'll go to the nearest mountain and just walk for miles until she gets tired. She loves watching sunsets on these hikes. She also secretly loves camping because it reminds her of the years she had to spend living off the land as a younger witch.

She also really loves spas. She has a standing bi-weekly appointment at her local spa. She's a complicated person.

If Alice had lived, there's no doubt in my mind that she and Jen would have become a thing. Opposites attract and all that. They both have trauma, even if it's different kinds of trauma. I think they'd make a good pair.

Agatha would tease them and claim to be the reason they got together. She wouldn't exactly be wrong.