#characters are pretty well written too. chris...

[every-sanji]

what are some of your favorite moments where sanji just gets screwed over (like the hgeegh bit)

I'm not sure if that's like. Getting screwed over so much as just being made fun of for saying silly things. That said I do think his bit where he just starts talking in wing dings (here) is incredibly funny and given the fact that it has been one of my most popular posts this month I think most of you can agree with that. I do in general think the zoro and sanji dynamic is incredibly funny even if I'm just skimming for sanjis I'll keep an eye out for them for a giggle.

[sunboki]

⎯ what remains unspoken. ⟡ featuring christopher bahng

🪝 : Christopher Bahng x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. best friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, jealousy, angst, two idiots chasing their own tails believing their love is unrequited (ㅠㅠ), based in australia, summer! au, beachhouse! au

WORD COUNT. 8.3k words ☆ 32min read

WARNINGS. cursing, jealousy/shame, reader moves away, mentions of drunkenness, nondesc smut, a dirty dream? (nondesc), reader is said to wear makeup, mentions cheating

AUG'S NOTES. working myself through a writing block.. this fic has helped a lot :) thank you all for being patient with me thus far, i think writing for channie is like free therapy<3 please let me know what you think!!

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Attached to the hip, you and Chris might as well have been twins in a past life. And yet, it’s always that tiny inkling, so many years where one of the two wants something more. So when you bring home a boyfriend one summer and both you and Chris begin drifting apart, you wonder if that denial will become something permanent.

or alternatively :

Until when do you stop pretending?

Among many things, Chris likes to think there was an “oh shit” moment to his life. One, exactly.

Over the years he tried pinpointing when that would be, what that would be. 

And then you brought a boyfriend home. His home. To a beach house you two would occupy together. Making shadow puppets with your hands and running out to the beach in the early mornings.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Making sand castles, running into the water with your clothes on and running out giggling messes.

For two weeks every summer, always. Together.

Never with a plus one.

He debated upon subtly sizing up the guy or appearing overly friendly, but not an ounce of his face seemed to move. Steely.

Cold.

Chris was never cold, and he felt that pang in his chest—guilt—seeing you notice it. That miniature knit of your brow, the purse of your lips.

Did he know you like Chris did? Know when you were angry, or frustrated. What your favorite song was, or how you preferred your hair when you were focused?

He wanted to hate comparison, he used to hate comparison.

And now he’s hating himself for being too late, letting you slip from his grasp like sand between his fingers.

When you were once protagonists of a novel written with a happy ending, that love interest was now home to another. 

And he was a bystander to a love story that was never his, watching you smile at someone else. 

Someone that wasn’t him.

Breakfast is hellish, not to mention the sleeping arrangements. This boyfriend of yours in the guest bedroom, while he sleeps in his.

Alone. Without you, or your pretty hair, or your pretty eyes. Void of your warm body snuggled up to his, where you used to make silly jokes beneath covers and muffle laughter in turn.

A part of him wants to cry, wants to ask you what you two used to be. What was under the covers? 

“Ah.. Chris..” The soft moan of yours, all those years back. Stupid, seventeen, single. A cursed pair of “S”’s he hadn’t realized would come to haunt him each time he closed his eyes. 

What was your pretty sounds, his face between your thighs those five years back?

Was it all pretend? Exploration as friends? 

No, you were smarter than that.

So he tells himself he was too late, and endures. 

Because maybe, maybe they’ll be a plot twist one chapter. Where you fall for the side character. 

No, no book ends like that.

It all started in an editing firm’s office. 

Well, not literally, considering you hadn’t even been in your mother’s mind until Jessica Bahng—mother of a four-month old Chris Bahng—held back a poor woman’s hair while she belched into a toilet.

That poor woman being your mother, who found out she was pregnant that evening after work.

And through a few Saturday’s at the corner cafe and prolonged conversation by the office’s monitors, the two became the best of friends. Watching little Chris grow into a toddling one year old, and in the process welcoming you into the world nearly ten months later.

From there, almost every waking moment consisted of time together. Chris as the lanky teenager with his brown hair sweeping across a tanned forehead, and you, following after him each step he took at less than a year younger. Kindergarten, Primary School.

Although, in the midst of the friendship, your father had found a better job opportunity in Brisbane, a decent ten-hour drive from the Bahng household you’d found second home in.

Though, after plenty of crocodile tears and mumbled “I’ll miss you”’s tumbling from an eighth grade mouth too absorbed in worrying about the matter of leaving rather than the fact you’d likely visit every month, you departed, off to a city so different from the Sydney you had known of. 

Even if it was Australia all the same.

And in turn, the annual summer visits began.

Summer before your freshman year of high school, where Chris finally got his braces off in his sophomore year and you soaked up every ounce of information given on surviving the first few days of school.

Then your own sophomore year, filled with feelings and discoveries and struggles unearthed you didn’t think could be experienced so vividly, expectations in need of fulfillment the board expected a sixteen year old to answer immediately.

What do you want to do with your life? Any plans for college? What about taking these extra classes? They look good on a résumé.

And simultaneously rip the ounces of childhood from your fingertips, but no school board puts that in the papers.

So the moment the car door opens after hellish voyaging to Sydney, you allow your lungs to inhale each ounce of salty air the Bahng family house offers, the childishness allowed for once amid crushing pressure. 

It is a meager five minute walk to the lapsing shoreline after all, and the ocean keeps good secrets within the sand, washing away your footprints as to flush away traces of whatever happenings occurred there. 

Yet, never truly forgotten. Instead, taken into the waters for little children to tell their mother of whom never believe the ocean spilled someone’s precious secrets.

“Chris.”

June eighteenth of your second year in high school, pajama-clad knees curl close into your body, lashes dusting open in the sparsely lit room to focus on him.

A dilation of the pupils, a hitch of the breath when he turns to you.

High school has changed Chris, but not in a foul manner. Blond curls, he’s exchanged from his usual russet locks. Round cheeks shifting in tandem with a sculptors hand, the marble of his skin a bit more toned, defined.

His jaw that clicks when he grows angered—not often, sometimes at his gaming system. 

Thickened brows furrowing and knitting in concentration.

Though those eyes are the same, and always will be. No other will have eyes like his, and you know in any life, in any state of amnesia, they would be recognized.

An “aha” moment where a switch flips in your brain, formulating a mere sentence involuntarily.

I love this boy, and I hope for forever he’ll look back at me.

And for that, you’re selfish. But honest.

If Christopher was a stranger, a look into that gaze and you think you’d know him instantaneously.

How silly.

But just as you had spoken, you’re reminded that childishness was something found each time you visited this place regardless of your actions. You’d hold onto that.

“I don’t want to grow up.”

The bit of fat at his under-eyes cause his eyes to form into crescent moons when he smiles, wrinkles at the corner of thick lashes crinkling.

Chris has always liked the moon.

A warm hand of his reaches forward, cupping your cheek as if the first time.

You think you like this more.

“Then don’t.”

A stroke of his thumb, and you snort a laugh when the cold of your nose bumps against the digit.

“And when you want to go back to being sixteen, come to see me, okay?”

Little did you both know that the future had a way of testing just how long sixteen would last.

Until when do you stop pretending?

An explanation as to how you ended up with the curly blond’s lips pressed to your thighs doesn’t sit anywhere in sight, and in the quiet comfort of your bedroom, you let the thought slip by.

Yet, in the end, there’s as much of a pathetic excuse as expected.

That serves for a bit of background information first.  

It was a mistake.

You were just teenagers.

But the stinging feeling in your heart, like the swelling of a thorn stuck between your rib cage, tells you that’s far from the truth.

For any infant it’s easy to placate an act, a theatre of behavior. For your stuffed animals as a doctor, for diving into the pool after the rings a mother would toss in beforehand, feigning the role of an experienced diver. 

But there comes both a time and occasion to weave a lie, no less complete the loom as someone cognitive enough to understand a situation’s veracity. 

When the mind is said to be “not fully developed” but each and every predicament feels like it matters on behalf of the world, when a sentence a year back pops itself from hiding, appearing at the forefront of your mind.

The true question.

Just how long can one stay sixteen? 

Junior year, with eighteen lingering a hairsbreadth away for the both of you.

Junior year, where talk of pressures and intimacy lead to Chris being your first time. 

And in turn, you were his.

Though that came a few minutes later. Something clumsy and unpracticed the both of you laughed at on continual occasion, enacted for the pure reason of curiosity, of trust.

While everyone gave themselves to strangers, you wanted to give yourself to someone adored, whom you didn’t believe for a second you’d regret. 

But was that really the sole reason? 

Curiosity? 

Or love?

No. Nothing along those lines. 

Or that’s what you told yourself those years, those moments. And although it’s supremely underestimated by that of adults, those prolonged stares, the upward quirk of his lips when he catches your eye from across the room is but a matter a babe could understand.

It has always been more, been a new road opened since you’d kissed him. The both of you simply headed the same route you always had.

Best friends, that’s all.  

But to an astronaut, the earth has never been the limit, or they wouldn’t be an astronaut. And you were someone that loved Christopher Bahng, but hid behind a title the both of you knew was untrue. 

Now it exists like a flash of the mind, swift and fast and almost unnoticed if not for the lingering feeling at your skin—an insatiable itch where his fingers had laid trace.

A soft nip to your inner thigh, his thumb resting just above your navel. His chin upon your lower belly when your events had come to a close, gazing up at you, unreadable.

No. Not unreadable, but one you didn’t want to read, look too far into and get hurt. 

Was that it? A gnawing fear of getting hurt holding you back from the things you wanted?

His face lingering with traces of you, lips swollen and glossy and stretched into a smile you scorned to stare at. 

“You’re.. gross.”

Maybe a “thank you” or a “that felt amazing” would’ve been the more appropriate response, but this was Chris, and to not speak your mind would break a vow instilled from the earliest of your elementary days. 

He laughs, a squeaky sound of happiness you soak up like a sponge—absorbing, absorbing, taking in every ounce offered. 

That you can trust in, place faith within. 

In a future unknown, however, a part of you knows that the only way of freedom is to prepare for a pain that may come, and may not.

For there is never a guarantee love will be fatal, but all will pass someday. 

To live without a taste of that freedom seems too awful to stay in your bubble. 

All so scary, uncertain. The unpredictability can be overwhelming. Somewhere in between you hope he felt it too.

Love, that is. 

Ah. 

A kiss at your lips, and he tastes like you—something you’d shrink away with disgust at if not for his presence, the tender manner in which he eases your shirt back down, then his own adjusted over his head. 

That night, you ate dinner and never spoke of it. Not a taboo topic, merely mutually understood. His parents out for a night, Hannah off staying late for an after school activity. 

A kiss after washing dishes in the sink, a kiss when you flop onto the couch. After an uno match by the coffee table, where your competitiveness sparks into screaming matches, tackling him following not long after.

Your bodies like a whirlwind of motion, writhing with chortled laughter like squabbling infants.

Overtop of you he pauses, and your earlier feigned rage fades as quickly as it was provoked, chest warming at the chaste peck to your cheek, then the press of his lips you beckon closer, hands curling into the fabric of his tee, slipping down his back to trace the bumps of his spine.  

One breath, two. 

Warm, and it feels like you’re melting.

Fingernails usher the shirt upwards, his lower back beared, tanned from summer sun. 

More.

You want more all over again. 

“Chris!” 

It’s Hannah’s voice, squeaky at age thirteen, that clears the steaminess instantly, clambering off each other so quickly your foot slams into his stomach, his hand shoving your face into the carpeted floor.

“I- I won in Uno! Fair and square!”

Not a great cover up, Chris, but the flushed nature of his ears, his cheeks, makes up for the stupid excuse. 

From this prompts a sequence of events, of excuses and hiding, of denial and relapsing into what’s familiar.

But just as life is unpredictable, none of those thoughts plagued your mind yet. 

Nothing had happened yet.

Then it happened, and you can’t come to recall how.

A party, freshman year of university. A guy, loud music, too many drinks. 

He was a sweet soul, helping you back to your dorm when the world became a distant, fuzzy memory. Someway or another (you’re betting your roomie gave it to him), he snagged your number. 

Because Saturday morning, 11am, you received a: “Feeling any better?” text you gazed at in horror—believing the random number to be some drunken one night stand—before being filled in.

Jae was his name. Jae Hyeong. 

A student in your Wednesday lecture, passing by unknown, now becoming known. 

You told Chris about him that summer, mumbled between bites of strawberries after a stop by the market in his dad’s old pick-up truck. 

Rust clung to the sides, and you could never be certain the engine would start up again. But it was loved and cherished. So faith was placed in it anyway.

Expectedly, he just nodded his head, popping another sweet bite between plush lips.

The thing was, you told Chris about him without mentioning the dating factor. 

Jae was funny, sweet. The first of your dates concluding with your stomach aching from laughter. And a cowardly part of you blames forgetfulness, while the other points directly at your heart.

Even when, staring into his eyes, all you see is Chris. 

How cruel, and you want to hate yourself for dragging this boy along. 

Scared.

Because at the moment, pursuing music was Chris’s dream, attending Uni at Sydney was that utmost goal he reached towards. 

And you’d support him through it, even if you were left behind. 

It wasn’t you, your mind berates.

It never was you.

So you’ll look away, deny the love you ache for. Jae deserves that, right? Not to be treated as some source of healing for you, a rebound for love unrequited.

Maybe the friendship of yours has clouded your judgement. It’s not love you harbor, but fondness.

A soul-sucking, gut-wrenching fondness that’s unequivocally love. 

“I think you’d like him.”

Maybe this is your hopes of even ground. That if the both of them become somewhat-friends, your feelings will ease and you’ll realize this was all a fever-dream and you were truly in love with Jae. 

All a dream. 

“Will I?” Chris grunts in reply, both of your legs dangling from the truck bed’s edge.

He thinks you’re prettiest like this. A bit unkempt, no makeup, hair left to its own devices. 

You. Wholly, unapologetically you. 

Blemishes and smile lines just like his, bits of strawberry lingering by the corners of your lips he wants to kiss away, lap up with his tongue and take advantage of the quiet of the morning, the lack of townspeople awake to witness his greed.

Chris is greedy when it comes to you, he’ll admit it. He wants and wants and wants, and can’t ever seem to be satiated. 

Whether it’s your kisses, your laughter, that sweet, mumbled moan when you’re feeling so good. 

Shit. He’s in too deep.

To his core, Chris is a gentle man. He wouldn’t allow himself to be angry at you if it cost his life but, he’s also human. And humans feel jealousy. 

It’s been a while since the thought occurred to him, since that biting pit began forming in his gut, gnashing their teeth at anything in sight. 

“Is he good to you?” A quiet murmur, one that’s a bit reserved compared to his usual cheerfulness, optimistic tone. This is curious, observant. That kind of behavior when he wants to know more though remain subtle.

Plus, he argues with that frothing jealously. It’s not like he’s your boyfriend, right?

Then, as quickly as it came, the jealousy is gone, swept away in the crashing tides just a few miles from where you sit. Replaced with nervousness, worry.

It’s not like Chris can control you. You aren’t to be controlled, and it’d be cruel to keep you from your potential to begin with. He’s just the coward that can’t bring himself to confess. 

And neither can you, but he doesn’t know that. 

Two nervous messes, fretting over love they’ve shared long before anyone speaks up about it. 

What remains unspoken.

Will your boyfriend be good to you? Treat you right? His head swims, grasping a strawberry hard enough that streams of juice slip down his wrist, droplets trickling  onto the top of a muscular thigh. 

And heaven forbid the guy breaks your heart. He wouldn’t hear the end of it from Chris and likely earn a beat down for the road. 

But then comes the hopeful thought, the “what if” that lingers under his skin, buzzes at his fingertips as an index comes to loop a strand of hair behind your ear to better see you.

The bit of pride in the corner, nudging his shoulder as if it were you. A longtime friend. 

I’ll treat you well.

Please let me be good to you.

Closing his eyes, the sad smile of yours after having failed your final exam resides there. Bittersweet, somber.

Would it be considered stages of grief if he had yet to lose someone?

No less, it feels as if you’re leaving him behind altogether.

“You alright?” 

But for now, you’re by his side. It’s enough.

“Hm,” A nod, eyes remaining closed.

“The sun feels good today.”

It feels better with you.

Who knew how quickly good things go.

“Hi Berry!”

The summer before your junior year of Uni, and for a moment, standing in front of the Bahng household feels nostalgic in a way that makes your heart sink. 

The rose-tinted glasses feel further away than ever. Peeling paint, cracks in the wood, creaking of the paneled floors you hadn’t noticed those summer’s before.

Things have changed, and you shudder to think you were the bringer of it.

The hand in yours whose last name isn’t Bahng, however, proves the point.

This summer, Jae came with you. Officially regarded as your boyfriend.

Thus far, there has been no greater feeling of dread and guilt in your gut than right now.

Dread in witnessing Chris’ reaction, guilt from the gnawing ache in your chest. Because no, by no means did you wish to treat Jae as a buffer, an anchor to love unrequited. Nonetheless, that certainly felt the case, more so the situation responsible for your guilt.

And maybe, just maybe, it was wordlessly understood. The manner you’d speak of Chris to Jae, that hidden longing unable to be shielded by a facade.

How cruel, a heart is. To love so shamelessly. Garner affection, but withhold a love solely reserved for one.

In need of mending, care you fail to give by yourself.

Berry, the beloved Chevalier King Charles Spaniel, helps calm such a maelstrom, if only for a short amount of time.

Before Chris walks down the stairs.

.

.

.

If fur had lined Chris’ back, it would be spiked in apprehension, aggression. Like a wolf, scruff ruffled in the presence of someone new.

A second-long overview tells him enough. Your hand in his, the way he trails after you as if some lovesick puppy.

The taste of bile in his throat makes him want to choke.

He missed his chance. Now it’s gone.

So childish, it all is. This harrowing sadness weighing on his chest, the jealousy.

“This is Jae, isn’t it?” 

Ah, you should’ve known better.

Chris could always tell.

Yet, his eyes never leave yours. A mere flicker of attention to the newcomer until you’re bathed in the spotlight again, and the hair on your arms rises unnervingly.

“Yeah,” Swiftly clearing your throat, you feebly try at gathering your wits, granting Jae a smile you hope is reassuring.

“He’s.. my boyfriend.”

All at once, Chris feels his world crashing down on him.

“What happened?” He wanted to ask, forgetting you grew up, no longer that little girl seated beside him on the playground’s swings.

Because it’s already enough in recognizing it, but another in receiving clarification.

A slow inhale is breath into lungs he feels are already too full, straining to contain oxygen.

He missed his chance. Now it’s gone.

I lost you, whispers in his mind. Fragmented pieces of a puzzle.

There was a reason an extra pillow resided in the linen closet, or the My Little Pony toothbrush tossed in the mug his old swim-team sold as merch. 

For you, and only you.

Never another.

Selfishly, he feels this casting has abruptly booted him from the main position, now rooted as a bystander in a set that isn’t even his.

Of course, Chris lacks the complete asshole gene, so a hasty handshake serves as greeting enough before he’s already reaching for the door.

“Eh? But we-“

“Guest bedroom is on your left. Y/N will show you. You two can sleep there or whatever- I’m going to surf.”

Just the partial asshole gene.

And he knows you can tell. Reading each other with the ease of a lover. Attentive, observant.

Nevertheless, your love is directed to someone else.

“He uh.. isn’t usually like this.”

A mumble on your part suffices in buffering the silence. That, followed by Jae’s cocked brow.

“Real friendly guy.”

Your lip tugs between your teeth, peering back at the boy from over your shoulder. Apparently, your expression of remorse fails to be hidden well. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Jae consoles, “I dealt with that one jerk of a roommate back in Brisbane for a whole semester, y’know? A bit of coldness is nothin’.”

Ignorance only feels good for so long. Bliss is never permanent.

If only you had understood that lesson, abided by it.

Yet, just like those years before, you turn your head the other direction and allow life to pass by without him in it, despite staying in the same home.

Despite him being everything to you, despite a love shared over countless years.

.

.

.

He’s irritable. Chris is. The subtle grit of his teeth you've come to recognize, the harsh grip he nearly crushes his fork in. Dinner had never felt so stifling, never when you were here.

All of a sudden, the household you had once found solace inside feels all too hot, a sweltering furnace where each extra beat of silence adds a degree to the thermometer. 

Jessica Bahng’s cooking was incredible, as predicted, and conversation flowed effortlessly between you, her, and Jae—the boy charming without trying, his charisma winning over the woman after a mere two bites of food.

What wasn’t predictable was Chris’ quietness from across the table. Because each time he looks up, he finds himself seated in a theatre, watching what was pass by. Watching how you’d kiss Jae, hold his hand, laugh by his side. 

Was that all it was? Him as a spectator?

The chip in the corner of his dinner plate held in hand verifies emotion unwilling to be shown on the surface. 

He doesn’t meet your eyes, doesn’t even acknowledge you.

Jerk.

You scoff, offering him a miniature scowl from the corner of your eye.

“So, how’d you meet Y/N? I forgot to ask last night,” Jessica insists, glancing from you to Jae in rapid succession.

Oh, great. The formalities.

“Well,” A pause on the younger boy’s end, sheepishly grinning. “It was actually at a party—“

“Pfft, yeah right,” Chris grunts beneath his breath in amusement, ramming his fork down into a piece of broccoli.

Acting like a child and he knows it, but no amount of maturity can seem to withhold the snide comments. 

Either the other three didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him. He’s fine with both. 

“And yeah, I just remember her being so drunk and—“

“You wish,” The dyed blond mumbles once more to himself, shaking his head in quiet mirth. 

Those words beckon attention, and Chris mutters an inaudible curse after the sharp kick his mother grants in warning.

That night, dinner concluded like usual. Cheerful on one end, quiet as a mouse on the other. Figuring out who belonged on which side came easy. 

Except, Chris fails to remain silent this time around whilst attending to dish duty, lips drawing into a tight line witnessing Jae place his plate beside the sink. 

Not in the sink, not even an offer to help wash. No, the bastard’s eyes are dead set on you, flickering from your eyes, lips, ass—

Dammit, he wants to sock the guy right about now.

However, he waits until you get upstairs to wash up for bed before speaking.

“Gonna give me a servant uniform too at this point?” The last of Chris’ mutters, and it seems Jae is done with staying silent as well.

“Alright, just what is your problem?”

“I don’t know, why can’t you be well-mannered as a guest? At least wash your own damn dish,” Chris growls back, the two’s eyes meeting in a vicious staring contest prior to his mother’s scolding, resulting in both boys on dish-duty.  

Although it’s the words muttered in his ear when Jae leaves that nearly provokes every nerve in his body to crush the man’s face in with his fist.

“Whatever was between you two, forget it. She’s not yours anymore.”

Your face appearing from the top of the stairwell keeps his urge at bay, merely evident in the white-knuckled clenching of his fist, his form hasty to disappear outside the screen door.

Instinctively, sandal-clad feet taking him to the one place that lets him think.

The ocean.

It’s late, and high tides crash against the sandy shoreline. The squawking of seagulls has drawn to a close, the enormous light of the moon overhead a constant he finds comfort in.

Pattering of your footsteps, however, gather his focus instantaneously, wordless where your form curls by his side.

Another constant, just you and him.

Something to spite the change.

So much change, in fact, he feels like each bit of the youth he’s known is being swallowed up, consumed into newness he can’t accept.

But you still open doors fully in case monsters hide behind them, and he hasn’t changed the flavor of ice cream he buys from convenience stores since he was eight, so perhaps nothing has changed but exterior.

To be ignorant is to be blissful, a lesson continually presenting itself this summer. Neither happens to be involved in your predicament. 

You’re first to break the silence. Always the more courageous one, albeit he’d never admit it.

“I shouldn’t have brought Jae here, I’m sorry.”

Your slow inhale.

“This is.. our place, I get it. I just thought—“

“No,” A shake of his head, second nature upon reading the startled look you give him.

“I mean,” He has to tilt his head to peek at your face, hidden between your knees like a child.

“It’s our place, you’re right but-.. If one day.. somebody comes along, then that’s..”

A begrudging acceptance, if that’s the word.

You look up at him and- ah, you’re so pretty. Chris stops to stare for a moment, his lips parted like an infant fixated on the cookie jar.

Hurried blinking and a swift breath dispel the prior awe.

“That’s okay. If “you” becomes you and someone else, then so be it.”

A small, wry smile. Though beneath, he feels as if he’s breaking.

“I wouldn’t be your best friend if I didn’t pester your boyfriend, or, y’know, future boyfriends. ‘S what I do for my favorite girl.”

He smiles, wanting to cry more than anything while playfully pinching your cheek.

Why can’t you be mine?

.

Ten minutes or so separate your conversation, but you pick up again as if you’d never stopped in the first place. 

“Sometimes I think it’d be easier if I could just go back to being when we were kids again, y’know?”

“And what would you do if you were kids again?”

These words are slow, patient. 

His reply ruins the peace, the begrudging acceptance you had built like a wall of defense, blocking feelings foaming at the mouth to climb from your throat, echoing in the night air.

“I’d never let you go.”

“I’m going to bed,” A mumble interrupts the quietness, your head weighing against his shoulder. 

An anchor, in fear you’d be thrashed into the waves without return.

Chris has always been your buoy.

If only he could keep you afloat in your dreams, but you had yet to yearn for that just yet.

The small nod where he assures you he’d stay a bit longer serves as an untold: “good night” you offer a tight smile in response to, slipping past the creaking doorway and up to your shared bedroom. 

Shared with Jae, not Chris.

And no, Jae wasn’t a buffer. A substitute until you could muster courage to confess, to shout the aches and pains and torment your messy love prompts.

More often than not, Jae has been a lighthouse, helping you venture through the fog of feelings muddling your mind, decisions.

Hell, you don’t know half of what you’re doing.

So many adult responsibilities are manageable, but love provides its own labyrinth no matter the age, never a mere math equation, a problem and solution.

But with loopholes, and heartbreak, and stupidity, and impulsiveness. 

Confusion and sadness and guilt, these gut-wrenching feelings keeping someone up at night.

Like tonight, where your eyes stare daggers into the guest bedroom’s wall across from you. A wall lacking Chris’ swim posters, medals. The old nightlight still plugged into the outlet, once prominent galaxy patterns faded into nothingness.

There for the memories, it was.

Is that what you and Chris were now? A night light still plugged into the wall, left there like some somber source of recollection to look back on?

You hate how your stomach dips at the thought, the nausea building in your throat causing you to roll over, now face-to-face with a snoring Jae, limbs strung like a starfish across the mattress.

Luckily, sleep wasn’t too far away for you either, though it felt like an eternity before your consciousness fully dissipated. 

“Oh… Oh my Go-“

Your arms lift above your head, reaching for something you don’t even know. Reprieve, possibly, amid the tingling of your body, the fuzziness of your head. 

After months of dreamless nights, of course it’s a dirty dream.

Then an involuntary shift occurs through your body, hand extending towards the boy’s hair. And for a moment, it seems your dream-like vision flickers like a faulty lightbulb, because all you can see is Chris.

Somehow, you know it isn’t Chris, but Jae. Nevertheless, he’s the only face you can make out, the only form recognizable.

Although his name wasn’t explicitly uttered, the horror etching itself into your bones merely mouthing it has you reeling back into reality.

Not Chris’s bedroom, but your dorm room.

Not his chocolate irises meeting yours when you look down, the gentle reassurance in his warm palm, grasping the back of your thigh to offer a grounding squeeze. 

This is Jae. This dream is in Brisbane. And Chris is a whole ten-hours away. 

Your second day at the beach house, you wake in a cold sweat.

And right there, sixteen really did fade away.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

Apparently, on a rather comical note, Jae had anticipated your form to be standing by the stove preparing breakfast, his sleep-ridden frame the last to wake up.

Mrs. Jessica had already busied herself driving Hannah to spend the summer with their grandparents, her own annual ritual.

Trust, he wasn’t all too pleased to find Chris there instead, the pan-wielding man granting your boyfriend a venomous stink-eye.

“Sorry, I don’t play housewife,” Your slumber-ridden mumble from the countertop’s stool beckons Chris’ slight snort, pointing the spatula to himself as if clarifying a: “That’s me, the housewife”.

That, paired with containing a huff of laughter watching your form peering into the fridge, hoping the next time you’d open it up a delectable dessert would be there.

To no avail, evident in your dejected grumble.

“Hey,” The curly blond scowls, his frown growing imperceptibly deeper when Jae presses a kiss to your cheek in greeting.

You don’t notice.

“Wait for breakfast, ‘m making omelette how you like. And uh.. I made some other stuff. You can have that, Jae.”

“Thanks,” Sarcasm drips from your boyfriend’s tone, rolling his eyes.

Still on the rocks.

Got it.

“Anytime,” Predictably, Chris feeds off the sarcasm, acting as nonchalant as ever while plating the food and murmuring reminders about waxing his surfboard in the garage.

Further grating Jae’s nerves in turn, you note.

A bigger bite of your omelette feebly manages to redirect the anxiety, the remnants of stringy cheese clinging to your upper lip.

“You’ve got something there.”

Your best friend’s hum rings aloud, reaching to brush the piece of food from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

And for a moment, a memory of the past flickers in your mind. The darkening of a room, now bright after only a second.

A memory. Not the dream last night.

His lips on yours, the quickening of breath, hands squeezing his clothing like a vice and—

“Thanks.”

The words surprise even you, not a forethought in sight. 

And you also don’t notice the cock of Jae’s head, the utter “I dare you” spoken in Chris’ lifted brows, this sneering quirk of his lips offered as a war cry to the other boy before walking past without another word.

One look, and a war had begun.

“We should visit the zoo,” Jae mentions one Sunday while you’re painting your toenails and Chris is absorbed in some video on his phone. 

“You seriously haven’t been to the Sydney Zoo?”

Conversations always end like this, and you’re tempted to ram your head into the nearest wall.

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to surf. You’re Australian, seriously.”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t live in my fancy beach house a convenient two minute walk from the beach.”

More bickering, bickering, bickering. Your skull wants to explode.

On an off-handed occasion, maybe they’ll behave tolerably in regards to one another.

That day was not today. Frankly speaking, tonight, where the only responsible person in the household, Jessica Bahng, had left on a work trip.

…You would admit, you also aren't immune to stupid decisions.

However, this stupid decision took the cake.

A competition, predictably, but not just mini golf or freestyle swimming; drinking.

From Asahi beer, apple-flavored soju and hard liquor, the whole assortment bedecked the coffee table, an already tipsy Christopher Bahng swaying across from you.

Sure, college paved the way for immaturity, but seriously. Seeing who could better handle their alcohol was just sad.

And trust, Chris looked about the epitome of sad (adorable, you forgot to mention) with his flushed cheeks and ears to the frustrated crease of his brows, pupils blown, eyes glossy where they fixate on a victorious Jae. 

Who, in a prideful fashion, tips back another shot of soju with his own, less-tipsy hiccup prior to getting up and stretching his legs, hopefully gathering water in the process.

Nonetheless, Chris just spaces out, evidently inebriated thanks to the unfocused nature of his attention. Fleetingly, his gaze then roved on you, head tipping in a swoon-worthy fashion like some enamored first grader.

Little were you aware just how gorgeous you looked right now from the boy’s buzzed perspective, breath smelling of alcohol where he exhales short huffs, lips curving into this dumb-happy smile.

And— he passes out, thankfully already seated on the carpeted floor.

Though, leaving you and a grumpy Jae with the responsibility of lugging him onto the couch, letting sleep help sober him up until you (considering your boyfriend did everything in his power to avoid interaction with the blacked out Chris) took the role of coaxing sips of water into his mouth.

By midnight, all the glasses had been cleared, and you adjusted a blanket over Chris’s drunken, sleepy frame, Jae already preparing for bed upstairs.

“I love Berry.” A whisper, and you crane to catch the remnants of his words before he shifts beneath the blanket, dead silent for a minute or two. 

Then he rolls over to face you, sporting a downright longing sort of look.

“.. I really love Berry.”

“You said that already, Chris.”

“Okay.”

And he rolls over like it was all a dream, pouty.

Too cute.

Your fond touch smooths coiling strands of hair from his forehead, sparing him a last glance prior to thumping up the stairs.

That night, lying sleepless in bed, you can’t help but wonder:

How much more of this? For both them and you. How much more competition until the calm facades crack, until your patience snaps?

The flames of a rivalry never seem to wane, each interaction adding gasoline to a heat almost unbearable.

Only a matter of time until someone pours in too much and ignites an inferno.

One week until your visit to Sydney comes to a close, and the two are still at each other’s throats.

Between mundane things like making dinner or cleaning to stupid competitions like who ran the fastest mile in junior high or who can stay underwater the longest (or the drinking competition, a notable contestant), this trip has started to feel like a babysitting gig instead of a vacation.

“Chris-“

“Christopher.” Chris corrects one evening, the snide reprimand earning Jae’s icy glare in return.

Currently seated by your side on the couch once occupied by the blond, Jae scoffs to himself, arm extending to drape over your shoulders.

Meanwhile, your attention remains solely on the nature channel, a bit dazed in exhaustion after a long day of swimming beneath the warm sun overhead.

What makes him bristle is the way Jae leans into your form, pressing a kiss to your temple whilst maintaining sole eye contact with the other man. 

When your head turns, however, all is well.

This quieted, occasionally evident rivalry grates your nerves with no trace of resolve.

“Say,” An aimless hand taps against the side of the reclining chair your best friend sits within, a loose tee and sweatpants adorning his form.

And you’d be a fat liar to not admit glancing more than once at the way the fabric stretches over his torso when he shifts, squeezing against muscles unable to suitably fit.

Merely appreciative, you tell yourself.

“Why don’t we let dear old Jae pick Y/N’s favorite movie, hm?”

Such a mocking question, it is, and Chris spares no expense chucking the remote control in hand a little too hard at Jae, the man’s brows furrowing in silent irritation he refused to voice aloud.

Testing him.

Perhaps a time ago you’d mentioned your favorite movie to your boyfriend, though the topic wasn’t all too serious in your opinion.

For Jae, however, this was war, this unspeakable quiz verifying if he knew you better than Chris, knew the answer the other man knew like the back of his hand and then some.

You both know the champion title would always rest in Chris’s hands. 

That you kept quiet about.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t know her favorite movie.”

Cocky, Chris is. 

And dammit, the tick of his jaw is unfairly attractive.

“It’s Tangled, now give me the remote and both of you grow up.”

It’s your turn to answer, having grown sick and tired of these childish taunts before snatching the remote from Jae’s grasp with a shared, scolding glower towards the both of them.

Comedically enough, they shrink like dejected puppies.

Fortunately, the movie helps distract you for a while, long enough that a nap becomes a decision not on your own accord—body slumping against Jae’s.

Unfortunately, Jae flipping Chris off from the couch and mouthing a “loser” beneath his breath escalates things to a level you don’t like to imagine.

Perhaps that’s the cause for either black eye decorating their face and Chris’s busted lip the next morning.

.

.

.

Trust, waking up to black and blue boys roaming the house was a sight hard not to laugh at.

“Did you guys.. fight?”

“Fight? I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve got a black eye, Jae.”

By the time the last day rolls around, those arguments, petty behavior, childish games become something you want to hold onto, June and July drifting past too quickly for you to chase after.

And while you had some grasp of their fight three days ago, only half of it has been made knowledgeable.

Chris would like to keep it that way for a multitude of reasons.

The favorite movie of yours served as the gasoline, and you had foretold the inferno to come.

“It’s not my fault you can’t let go of something that was never yours!”

Chris shoves Jae’s suitcase in the back of your car harder than need be, the other boy’s words ringing in his head as if some dreaded deadline.

“She’s- she’s not something to be owned like an object! I don’t want to possess her, I want to love her! And my god if you could get that through your head I think things would become a lot easier for both of us!”

A worthy argument on his own part, Chris would argue.

“You know what needs to get through your head?” Chris recalls the events similar to replays in sports, nearly able to feel the anger that had been coursing through his veins when Jae retaliated.

Storming straight up in his face where they stood on the beach, the night sky as their audience.

“You lost your chance, Chris. Waited too fucking long to confess and now you’re acting like a little kid just ‘cause you didn’t have the balls to say something, get it?” 

Jae spat his name like a cursed pseudonym, and a snort of satisfaction exhales from his frame envisioning the sucker-punch he gave the boy after that.

Followed by the clench of his fist, observing your laughter while talking with your boyfriend from afar.

Boyfriend.

Dammit.

Then the last part, before they both went tumbling into the sand in a mixture of fury-filled shouts and flying limbs.

“She’s not yours, Chris. Deal with it.”

His reply?

“Hurt her, break her heart, and I’ll give you a matching black eye.”

Who knew such a day would come so soon.

Maybe you should’ve known better.

Or that’s what you try to explain to yourself using. Some sad excuse to make up for the scene witnessed just minutes earlier.

Six months, not even half a year, and two months after traveling to Sydney together.

Stopping at crappy restaurants during the boresome ride, cracking jokes, laughing until your bellies hurt. Kissing, sex.

Was it the whole tension with Chris? Your mind rationalizes, frantically searching for some reason, rhyme. 

Trick question. There is no rhyme or reason in love.

Now, Jae professes all of it amounted to nothing while staying silent at the same time.

Him kissing another girl in front of your dormitory proved that.

Cheater.

And within the few minutes you bask in realization, you wish so terribly you could unleash that wrath on him. Scream in frustration or land similar punches the two battered each other with in Sydney.

Kick him in the shins, yell manically enough to scare the sadness out of your body.

But honestly, you just want to cry.

A sharp inhale, battling the sob threatening to run free with the beep of your phone’s keypad, serving as your only companion.

Until Chris picks up the call, and shit.

You break.

“What.. What was I thinking-“

It’s a job and a half sniffling up the cries, and for once, you feel embarrassed calling Chris crying—even with this being far from the first time.

Why involve someone else in your own problems?

Realistically, a part of you knew such a happening both could and, stupidly enough, would occur, knew this placated vision of peacefulness was a meager mask, acting as a film to the truth behind the blurry camera lens.

You can’t stay ignorant to him, and there isn’t a particle of happiness in unrequited pining, no matter trying to ease the pain with someone else who’ll eventually hurt you.

Fuck.

Because you love him. That’s all.

There, said and done. 

In your mind, at least. But saying that aloud results in your tongue feeling like lead, results in more crying.

“Y/N,” His voice, and you feel the coldness in your fingertips warm up, as if wrapped in his embrace. A long, safe hug.

“Answer me two things.”

Your additionally embarrassing, whimpered sound of agreement affirms his offer. 

“Was this Jae?”

No it was—

Yes. Honestly, truthfully, it was. 

No more pretending, excuses. Sixteen was over.

“Mhm,” Wiping your snotty nose on the back of your hand, a miniscule amount of relief comes from leaning against the wall behind you.

“And do you want me there or just want to talk?” That lilt of his tone, tender. 

 He’s good at making you want to cry. Though never due to meanness. 

Sucking in a shuddering breath, you calm your voice as much as possible.

“Here. Here, please.”

Then a realization.

“But you’re, like, ten hours awa-“

“That doesn’t matter. I’ll make it five. Right now, go back to your dorm, get some good takeout, and turn on Tangled, okay? Find something relaxing and don’t think about anything for a moment. I’ll be right there, alright?”

Longing lies in the way you press the phone to your cheek, savoring his voice like a soothing balm.

Let’s go back, let’s try this one more time.

First that time he asked you to prom in highschool, the second in his bedroom, allowing yourselves intimacy with each other for the first time.

You’ve never heard of a third chance before. 

For him, you’re willing to try.

That said, Chris held tight to his word, the rattling truck of his a miracle in managing to get here—no less get here two hours earlier than most did on the drive to Brisbane from Sydney, alerting you from the comfort of your dorm’s bed with its puttering engine and creaking brakes.

Surprisingly, however, he doesn’t spare you a word whilst rushing past, seemingly having chosen perfect timing in rushing to the dorms where a rather unlucky Jae steps out.

You don’t think you’ve heard a more dreadful noise than the crunch of Jae’s nose beneath Chris’s fist, the force alone sending the boy bowling to the ground before he’s being picked up again by the collar, your best friend downright seething.

“What did I tell you, hm?” A growl, his arm poised for another blow you can’t bring yourself to watch. 

“Hurt her, break her heart, and I’ll give you a matching black eye.” Chris repeats, nothing but white-hot rage charging through his veins. 

Jae, satisfyingly enough, looks terrified.

Good, Chris internally muses. Because simply pulling in, he saw all he needed to. The puffiness of your eyes, your shuddering sniffles. 

And all of a sudden it feels like that time in second grade, where Chris and a few of his friends had gotten redemption on the kid who stole your favorite popsicle flavor purposefully.

And for you, you feel like you’re watching that missing-toothed, sunburnt boy stand up for you again.

“I think another black eye might compliment the nose,” He snarls, momentarily catching your gaze.

The subtle shake of your head dissipates every angry instinct simultaneously, deciding to harshly shove Jae back to the ground alternatively and, at last, gather you in his arms for a hug that felt long overdue.

Occasionally you come to think there are connections that reach deeper than love — being the connection of souls in the most intimate of moments. Being your fingertips threading through blond curls, kissing at his lips clumsily—unlearned.

Right now, this hug. Nosing into the scent of his detergent, finding comfort in the place you were meant to be in, the arms you weren’t meant to be held in.

It had always been unlearned, but it was Chris, so you didn’t mind.

Oh, you loved it.

Loved him.

A bloody-nosed Jae could wait, because the last hour of Tangled needed to be watched, and the curl of his fingers in yours coaxed you along without a chance of stopping.

.

.

.

Senior year and soon to be graduates. Grown up, maybe just physically.

“Chris.”

The words are nearly inaudible, drapes of the canopy bed sole privacy to the man lingering above you, blond curls just as you remembered, eyes that same, heart-stopping chocolate hue.

Your hands find themselves reaching up, tentative to touch warm skin. Golden. 

Chris is always golden.

“Please hold me.”

And those arms that were always meant for you, lips kissing at your chin, pulls you into a rip current you had no intention of leaving.

Yours, his.

Messy, unlearned. Down to experience eventual problems.

But it was Chris, so you didn’t mind.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[feeder86]

The Curse of Deansgate

An understudy for Chris Peterson? Most of Ned’s friends could not believe it. Nor could Ned, to be fair. The fact that Chris was even doing Broadway was almost just as unbelievable. Hollywood superstars, like him, rarely gave up the time for a twelve-week stint in a production like ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’. It was going to be, without a doubt, the hottest ticket in town.

Ned watched through some of Chris’ old movies before rehearsals began. He devoured them all: the romantic comedies, the science fiction classics, as well as the action hero thrillers where Chris’ shirt was pleasingly absent for multiple scenes. Ned swooned, still feeling unable to comprehend his good luck. He’d done the Broadway circuit for a few years now and was slowly building a name for himself. A major role in his last show had earned him the attention he craved within the industry, despite the show actually selling rather poorly. But Ned simply loved the theatre and couldn’t wait to see Chris in action on stage. He imagined that the guy would feel quite nervous performing to a large crowd every night, especially after exclusively working on movies for so many years. And, as his understudy, Ned would be sure to support him. He fantasised about them becoming best friends and forging a bond like no other. He felt the bubbling excitement in his stomach as the days ticked down, getting closer and closer to the beginning.

The media coverage was already everywhere, even before the two week rehearsal period. ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ was a rarely performed production due to the superstition surrounding its commercial failures in the past. Written in the early twentieth century, ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ had apparently never once completed a full run in any theatre; although Ned doubted that to be completely true. Like all superstitions, it made Ned laugh to think that the play would make the usually level-headed investors go weak at the knees; much like all the actors he had met over the years, too superstitious to utter the words ‘Macbeth’ on stage. But a ‘cursed’ play certainly made for an awful lot of clickbait; cleverly helping to fuel the audience’s anticipation, as well as the advanced ticket sales.

However, there was also another reason why the play was being discussed so much; one that Ned felt a little more nervous about. The director would be the incredibly talented Gordon Harrison; an absolute master; especially here on Broadway, crafting incredible productions over a career that spanned decades. He had once played the lead in ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ back when he was in his twenties, and was resurrecting it now, perhaps as a form of nostalgia for himself. However, if anyone was to meet Gordon, it might not have been his ingenious directing creativity that they first noticed. Gordon was known to be one of the largest men working in the industry; a ginormous gut and wide butt, weighing in at a waddling five hundred pounds or more. 

Ned was sure that many people had probably made fun of Gordon’s weight over the years, but none so publicly as Chris Peterson. It had apparently happened early on in Chris’ career, when he was still making a name for himself, playing a small role in one of Gordon’s rare movie productions. When asked what he thought of the renowned director, a young, pretty-boy Chris had been less than complimentary, remarking to a journalist about how grotesquely greedy and lazy the fat director was on set; rarely getting out of his reinforced chair to offer notes to the hardworking performers and crew surrounding him; also referring to him as just another ‘failed actor’ who had shifted to directing once his first career ended. They were throwaway comments, but even Ned remembered the media storm that inevitably came from it. 

Perhaps not for the right reasons, Chris Peterson undoubtedly became better known afterwards. He’d been remembered and picked for bad boy roles where a little edge to the character’s personality was definitely a requirement. From there, he’d only gone from strength to strength, after his management eventually taught him to hold his tongue a little more when it came to badmouthing people he had worked with. Now, the director’s offer of the lead role in this play had been widely seen as an olive branch to the handsome actor, as a way to leave the past behind them; one that had been graciously accepted by Chris’ management team who convinced him to sign up straight away. And so, for the first time ever, the money was pouring in from investors, hoping to get a slice of success as ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ was about to be performed to the public for the first time in thirty years.

Some men just had that aura about them. It was the thing Ned most remembered about Chris Peterson, the first time he strolled into the theatre. Like any Hollywood hunk, he was painfully handsome, not to mention stylish. But Chris was also incredibly tall and muscular, giving the perception that he could have turned his hand to any sport at all, had the acting career not worked out so well for him. Ned remembered how aroused he was, sitting in the wings, watching the final act, when Chris rehearsed the penultimate scene, completely shirtless: the broad back, the stunning chest, the insane six pack. Not that Ned was a stranger to the gym himself, it was pretty much given in his line of work, but there was just something so awe-inspiring about the physique of a true Hollywood leading man.

Unlike any other production Ned had ever been involved in, there were journalists waiting outside from day one of rehearsals. Gordon had made it clear that no one was to talk to them or pose for pictures, but that didn’t stop them shouting for attention each time the cast walked out. Usually they wanted to know about Chris, or about how Gordon was doing, working with a guy who had so badly insulted him almost ten years ago. If Ned had been allowed to answer them, he could have told them that, in fact, everything was absolutely fine. Ever the professional, a now twenty-seven year old Chris took to the theatre work with ease, and Gordon didn’t seem in the least bit resentful towards him at all. Perhaps that was the point. The reality was so fundamentally boring, keeping the air of mystery kept the media writing about the play and building that appetite for it.

As for Ned’s dreams of becoming best friends with Chris Peterson, well, that had always been unlikely. Although the man had learned all their names and was friendly enough, Chris kept himself to himself during break times and retained that Holwood mystique with the rest of the cast; continuing to be one of the only people Ned knew who could get away with wearing sunglasses indoors and still look sexy. But, in regards to being an understudy for him, Gordon had told Ned straight out that it was never going to happen. People were coming to this production to see Chris and that was exactly what they would get. It was the investors who had insisted on there being an understudy, just in case, but Ned was never going to actually get the chance to perform to an audience. He would simply stick to his significantly smaller role, dying before the end of the first act each and every night.

“Break a leg!” Ned smiled at Chris as the curtain was about to go up on their first night. He still got butterflies each time he had the opportunity to talk to the guy, even after the long rehearsals.

Chris smiled back, seeming as cool as could be; as if none of this phased him in the slightest. Then, with a final intake of breath, he stepped onto the stage, in front of a cheering crowd, surreptitiously dotted with some of New York’s harshest critics.

There was the strangest of feelings in the theatre that night; like an unheard frequency that was somehow ringing in the ears. Chris’ performance was powerful and moving; rising above anything they had witnessed in the rehearsals. Ned could already see the awards and accolades the Hollywood star was about to amass. The final act was a marvel, and Ned saw their large, oversized director sitting in an extra large chair on the front row, smiling with pride the entire time. When the final curtain fell, the audience rose to their feet, but Gordon remained seated. He looked pleased with himself, like he had just accomplished something he had been working towards for many, many years.

At the afterparty that evening, the excitement was electric. Everybody knew that the show was a hit; perhaps the biggest success they would ever be involved in; the pinnacle of their careers. Their director stood, having graciously acknowledged everyone in the cast and crew for all they had done, only leaving one final man to congratulate. He called Chris to stand beside him and slipped his big, heavy arm over the hunk’s broad shoulders.

“You’ve joined a very exclusive club this evening,” Gordon smiled. “There are very few ‘Gentlemen of Deansgate’ out there!” he nodded; acknowledging the fact that he too had once played the part, some twenty-five years ago. “You’re never going to be the same after this.” 

The grin on Gordon’s face was a little too perplexing for Ned. He couldn’t quite make it out. He held Chris’ stare for an almost uncomfortable time, until finally raising his glass and toasting the biggest Broadway smash in many, many years.

The reviews the next morning sang with praise, just as they had all expected. Ned poured over them all, hoping for even a brief mention of his own performance. Instead, Chris had stolen the show, and the promotional image of him in the final scene, shirtless and steamy, dominated much of the pages that were dedicated to the reviews. By lunchtime, Ned could recite almost all of them word for word. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had felt the curious atmosphere in the theatre that first night. Each review, every single one, seemed to comment on it in some form; like some magical awakening of acting greatness. Still, Ned cut every last one of them out, saving them all for his own personal scrapbook.

“Do me a favour,” Gordon insisted, raising his hand to get Ned’s attention as everyone else busied themselves backstage for the second night. “Drop these off with Chris, will you?” he insisted, thrusting a box of doughnuts towards Ned.

“What? Take them to his dressing room?” Ned asked, delighted and nervous about getting the opportunity to go and see Chris before the curtain went up. “Does he even eat doughnuts?”

Gordon chuckled. “Oh, he eats them alright!” he smirked, already waddling away to deal with something more pressing.

Ned held the large tray of doughnuts in his hands, feeling empowered, simply to go and see the star of the show before he went on stage. He raced along the corridor like a man on a mission and knocked firmly on the door until he heard Chris’ deep, masculine voice telling him to come inside.

Half dressed, Chris’ fine torso was on show as he collected all of his bits for the first act. Ned felt like he had entered at the absolute perfect time. “Um, Gordon sent these over,” he mumbled, trying to think straight and not stare too much at the gorgeous man in front of him. Just how many people would have paid serious cash to be standing exactly where he was right then?

“What are they? Doughnuts?” Chris asked, dropping his belt on the floor and heading straight over. He reached in and grabbed one with each hand, pushing one immediately into his mouth with the biggest bite Ned had ever seen. He moaned aloud and chewed quickly, as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

“I didn’t know you were so keen on doughnuts,” Ned chuckled awkwardly, simply standing there, holding the box, not knowing where he could put it down. Chris was still purposefully in front of him, seemingly getting ready to take another round.

Chris didn’t answer. He simply moaned as he gorged on doughnut after doughnut; not even caring that his mouth was now covered in sugar. Ned stood there, watching the car crash in slow motion as the entire box was devoured in less than three minutes flat.

“Fuck!” Chris chuckled, swallowing the last of it all. “I had no idea I could do that!” he smirked, turning to look at himself in the mirror, then laughing at how immediately bloated his stomach had become. “Bring me another one of those trays after the show and I’ll let you suck me off,” Chris suddenly declared, reaching his hand down to his crotch and readjusting the suddenly obvious erection that was pressing against his purposefully tight pants. 

“What?” Ned asked; his heart beating faster than ever before. Had he heard that right?

“Don’t act coy,” Chris shot back. “You heard me. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Bring me another tray of doughnuts after the show and I’ll let you suck me dry,” he repeated, reaching for Ned’s limp hand and placing it directly across to his boner. “Deal?” Chris asked, knowing that there was no way Ned would ever refuse him.

Ned left Chris’ dressing room almost shaking with elation. Was this really happening? The hottest, straight hunk in the world was going to let him go down on him after the show? Surely this was just a dream? 

With the first act soon over with, Ned snuck out to the doughnut place across the street and bought the exact same tray of treats that had been delivered earlier. He stood around, pretending to wait purposefully in the corridor, having concealed the order under a pile of clothes in his small, shared changing area. 

The next thing Ned knew, he was back on stage for the curtain call. He’d started to doubt himself; to dispute reality. He was going insane. Chris hadn’t really made such an advance on him, nor made the bizarre request! He was just slowly succumbing to madness. But as they all cheered their way off the stage, Ned felt a very firm hand on his shoulder and the Hollywood superstar bringing his mouth close to his ear, whispering. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

After the buzz of the first night, the second night always felt anticlimactic, with people darting off quickly after the show ended. Ned waited until there was a slight lull in the noisy corridor, until he stood outside Chris’ dressing room holding the doughnut tray, knocking until he heard the call for him to enter.

This time, Chris was sitting. already stroking himself in his chair; legs parted and pants removed, ready for Ned to do what he had come here for. Of course he had a large penis, Ned thought to himself, watching the sexy guy stroking it like he was filming a porn scene. 

“Give them to me!” Chris demanded, having eyes only for the tray that Ned was carrying. He reached out, ripped them from him and immediately began gorging, like he had before. Then, with only a nod of his head, he ordered Ned down to his crotch.

Slipping onto his knees, Ned could hardly believe what he was about to do; something he never imagined could be done. He started slowly, determined to get it exactly right; to give Chris as much pleasure as he could. If he delivered Chris the best blow job of his life, he would. He pursed his lips and worked his tongue to perfection, hearing Chris moan with pleasure as he pushed those doughnuts into his mouth. He felt the guy’s large, sticky, icing-covered hand press onto the top of his head, pushing him deeper into his crotch. Ned obliged, willing himself not to gag as his throat opened further. Then, absolute magic. He’d done it. He’d made the Hollywood superstar climax in what sounded like the most intense orgasm imaginable. 

Ned stood, feeling proud, looking down on the hunk slouched in the chair. The man was a mess, covered in icing and sugar all around his face; his toned stomach now bloated and hard. The man seemed dazed, either from the eating, or the intense relief of having ejaculated so forcefully. He sighed multiple times and began tapping his own face as if to bring himself back into reality. “Fuck! That was good!” the man growled, before sitting up and casually feeding himself the larger fragments of doughnut that had fallen onto his chest during his rampant gorging minutes earlier.

Grinning, Ned knew that this was a tale he would be able to recount for the rest of his life: the day he sucked off Chris Peterson in his dressing room!

“What are you doing this evening?” Chris asked, finally getting to his feet.

“Um, nothing much,” Ned replied, feeling the shadow of the large man cross over him.

“You know this city, don’t you?” Chris pondered. “You’re from here, aren’t you? You can take me out.”

“Yes,” Ned answered, without evening thinking; his heart almost leaping out of his chest. “But I wouldn’t know where to take a Hollywood star like you. We’d be harrassed by journalists the whole time if I took you to the bars I usually go to.”

“Then don’t take me to the bars,” Chris shot back. “Take me back to your place and order in.”

“You… you want to come back to my apartment?” Ned spluttered, overjoyed and simultaneously embarrassed by the thought of hosting Chris Peterson in the miniscule space he rented in the city. Still, he had kept the place fairly clean… Maybe Chris just wanted another opportunity for them to be alone together again.

“Is it far from here?” Chris asked, already gathering all that he needed and slipping a few items of clothing back on. 

“Not far,” Ned replied, realising that he didn’t really have a choice either way. “We can head out through the back and be there in five minutes.”

“Good,” the man nodded, already pushing Ned towards the door. “Lead on.”

Just over an hour later, Ned was accepting the second delivery at his apartment whilst Chris lounged on his couch, gorging himself on the pizzas that had arrived five minutes earlier. The moment he went back in, Chris dropped his greasy pizza down and made to grab the bag of Chinese food, not caring that the slice landed topside up on the couch, leaking the oily residue into the material. 

“I didn’t know that you were such a foodie,” Ned sighed, hoping that Chris’ hunger wasn’t going to get in the way of them having more fun later on. He ran to grab a cloth and began attempting to get the stain out.

Chris’s kisses were passionate and arousing after all the food. Ned had seen some bizarre Hollywood diets in his time, but this binge eating of Chris’ had bloated his stomach up like nothing he had ever known. He was gentle around the man in the bedroom, wondering whether he might throw up should things get a little energetic. Hosting a Hollywood superstar, making him climax in his very own apartment, it felt like a moment Ned had been waiting for his entire life; an experience he could boast about for years to come. Had Chris wanted to stay the night, Ned would have been more than delighted, but the man seemed restless and keen to get back to the hotel he was staying in, ordering himself a ride and bidding Ned a goodnight.

Gordon didn’t seem to care when Chris didn’t show in time for their pre-show meetings, rolling in with just enough time to get into costume and get on stage. For the first time, the backstage crew began to grumble about him, knowing that they were only one week in, with another eleven long weeks to go. But just as the lead actor had seemingly lost all passion for it, so had their esteemed director; no longer bothered by the silly little mistakes that were made by the lighting department on the fifth night, nor the fact that Chris had missed his cue several times by the start of week two.

On their opening night, the show had felt like a slick, well-oiled and ambitious machine. Now things were getting sloppy and haphazard. The excellent reviews of the previous week were being replaced by curious clippings in gossip columns about Chris’ amateurish performances. Not only that, but a rogue cell phone had snapped a picture of Chris during his shirtless scene looking significantly thicker than he had seemed in the promotional shots. Ned had seen it first hand as he continued to slip into Chris’ dressing room after a performance for some fun. He’d known that the make-up department had painted on a six-pack for the last three performances. However, nothing could mask the unmistakable width of Chris as he turned to his side; a distinct paunch starting to form. All of a sudden, that one picture seemed to be everywhere and all of the press interest in the play turned directly towards Chris’ weight gain.

“There’ll probably be more people trying to get pictures of you tomorrow,” Ned warned as he snuck into Chris’ dressing room and caught the guy gorging himself on a couple of boxes of cookies that had been left in there for him.

Chris scowled and nodded for Ned to lock the door behind him. “That’s tomorrow’s problem,” he grumbled, sliding down in his chair and pulling out his hardness for Ned to suck on as he ate.

Ned assumed the position, noticing the roll of stomach fat that was beginning to encircle Chris’ waist. His fingers slipped onto it as he took Chris’ hardness in his mouth, noticing the soft and doughy nature of it, slyly ruining the ultimate Hollywood sixpack. Ned knew he was in some way enabling Chris by not walking away and failing to challenge him on his eating but when else in his life was he going to have the chance to be with a global superstar like this?

With the doughnuts gone, Chris stood up and removed the last of his clothes, ready to fuck Ned over the table at the back of the room. Ned obliged, catching the view of Chris’ softer glutes in the mirror as they began kissing; the back fat standing out so much, the skin starting to roll. “Chris…” Ned started, knowing that he could no longer stay silent. “Don’t you think you need to do something about this?” he asked, pinching the actual lovehandles that had blossomed in just over a week.

“Do you want to get fucked, or not?” Chris growled back, clearly too consumed with arousal to think of anything else. Discussions about the guy’s weight were clearly off the table. Ned, lay across his table, spread his legs and allowed the horny glutton to at last get some exercise.

Their esteemed director seemed slightly different over the following days. Unlike Chis’ stomach, which seemed to grow more prominent each day, Gordon appeared to be deflating. His large gut didn’t seem quite so extreme as he strolled about at a faster pace, going from department to department. There was a twinkle in his eye as he saw Ned and a look that suggested that he knew exactly what went on between him and Chris behind the closed doors of the dressing room.

The man had rejected calls for the shirtless scene to be altered so that Chris could cover himself with a shirt, positively laughing at all the press that surrounded the hunk’s sudden gains. “All publicity is good publicity,” he grinned as if he hoped for a boost in ticket sales from it all; not that there was any need. The show had been booked out for weeks before they’d even started rehearsals. 

News outlets began reporting that Gordon had insisted Chris diet immediately and that he had threatened to kick him out from the show should he not comply. However, none of it was true. Of all the people working on that production, the director was the only one who was not in the least bit flustered by it all, even as Chris’ management seemed determined to find a way to get him out of the play and end this constant barrage of bad publicity. 

Ned felt it all very personally, having fallen for Chris during this strange period of his life. But with so much gossip and speculation flying around, how much longer could his fling with Chris stay a secret? A public ‘outting’ was absolutely the last thing either of them needed right then.

“Eight more weeks to go!” Gordon sang, almost tauntingly at them all as Chris stepped up behind the curtain, a rounded stomach pressing out, ready for the shirtless scene. Gordon appeared to wait, listening intently for the inevitable gasps of the stunned audience as the former hunk went out on stage. Then the director would chuckle to himself and stroll happily away.

Getting in to see Chris was becoming harder and harder. A team of people seemed to surround the man the entire time he was at the theatre; men and women who had been flown over from Hollywood to kick Chris into touch. None of it seemed to be working. Even under the strict eyes of his babysitters, Chris’ stomach seemed to be expanding daily. Tensions with the director seemed to flare up as Gordon failed time and time again to renegotiate the star’s watertight contract. The looming fear that the play would end hung like a dark cloud over all of them. As Chris’s belly blossomed into a small, stout and rounded beer gut, each of them looked at each other and sighed. Would this be their last show? How much longer could this insanity continue?

Like a petulant child, Chris appeared to detest all the fussing around him. Sometimes, at night, he would appear at Ned’s apartment, having snuck out undetected from his hotel. He’d order take-out, complain bitterly about his situation and completely fail to show any self-awareness of his own part in the evolving crisis that surrounded him; even as he gorged on pizza after pizza. He’d drawn Ned in, making him feel like the only one in the world who could sympathise with him; the one sane person in his life whilst all the madness threatened to consume him. Ned had been flattered. He felt special. And even though he could see the giant ball of stomach fat growing larger and larger; even as a double chin began to spread itself under Chris’s handsome face and his tight glutes softened with each passing day, Ned still fell for him and stayed up late into the night, pleasing him in any way he could.

It was week four when everything seemed to crash around them. Ned saw the news flash up on his cell phone before anyone at the play got in contact with him to let him know. Chris had left the production, paying a hefty, multi-million dollar fee for exiting early and ending the show.

“You’re up!” Gordon sang down the phone an hour or so later. “You’re my Gentleman of Deansgate!”

“But I thought…” Ned mumbled back; his head spinning.

“One last performance!” Gordon exclaimed excitedly. “Chris’ team were quite insistent upon it as they added a nice buffer into the cheque they signed this morning to get him out of his contract.”

“Why?” Ned asked, remembering how adamant Gordon had once been that he would never allow Ned to understudy for Chris. “What does it matter to them?”

“Just be here early,” Gordon replied, immediately ending the phone call.

Ned didn’t know how to feel. The last few weeks had been the strangest of his life. On the one hand, he felt elated that he was about to have the biggest career highlight to date, seeing his name appearing in the articles about Chris’ sudden departure as the Gordon’s team sent out their official press release about the final show. However, he also knew that he was unlikely to see Chris ever again. The media had already reported that he had left New York for his home in Los Angeles. Just like that, it was all over.

Gordon positively skipped about backstage, racing between the different departments. There was no denying that he had lost a significant amount of weight in the last few weeks and the spring in his step seemed to catch everyone off-guard. Everything had to be perfect once more and the sloppiness of the last few weeks had to end immediately. Yet, despite all the demands and high standards Gordon was insisting upon, there was still a smug, sickly grin plastered all over his face.

“He’s just had a massive payout from Chris’ people,” whispered one of the lighting guys as Ned watched the man with obvious confusion etched across his face. “I was here late last night when they were all negotiating.”

“Well, I expect it must be a relief for him now all the tickets will have to be refunded for the rest of the run,” Ned nodded.

“That stuff’s all covered,” the backstage man replied, shaking his head at Ned’s misunderstanding. “I mean Gordon himself. He’s just had over five million dollars from Chris to let him go early and to ensure there’s this last performance tonight.”

“They paid Gordon personally?” Ned asked. “But that makes no sense!”

Twenty minutes later and the crowds were starting to move into the theatre, bitterly disappointed that the main attraction for attending this play had inexplicably left the production. Ned had no doubt that he wouldn’t be able to please the audience, no matter what he did that night. Ned had braced himself for Gordon’s assertive approach to managing him, yet the man had barely uttered more than a few words. Despite micromanaging everyone else, as the new lead actor, Ned felt almost as if he was going into the whole thing blind. Gordon stood behind him as the music began to rumble into life, placing his hand on Ned’s shoulder just before his cue. The role had been Gordon’s once, many, many years ago. Perhaps he felt like he knew how Ned was feeling. “Welcome to the club,” he whispered, grinning excitedly and nudging Ned onto the stage.

If Ned could have found the words to describe the feeling as he acted on stage that night, his explanation would have been akin to the accounts of out-of-body experiences. It was as if he no longer needed to recall the lines of dialogue; like they simply flowed through his body. His movements did not feel like his own; his walk and stature had altered. It was as if he embodied the character and had no control over any of it at all. In the papers the next morning, they would criticise him for mimicking Chris’ performance to the very last detail, but in Ned’s mind, the only thing he had actually done was to step out onto that stage. Everything else had been autopilot.

Unlike the final show of every other production Ned had ever been in, the mood that night was too low to celebrate afterwards. People hugged backstage and collected all their things, knowing that they would not have an opportunity to do so at any other time. Meanwhile, after all the obligatory praise, Ned headed back into the main dressing room as if his mind had drifted below a dense fog. He simply sat in his chair, staring at his reflection in the mirror. What on earth had come over him?

Half an hour later, a drunken Gordon came skipping into the room, holding a glass of champagne for himself. “You did wonderfully!” he beamed at Ned, despite the fact that Ned had already been told that Gordon hadn’t seen a moment of it; too busy celebrating backstage. “And now, no one else will perform this play for many decades to come!” he beamed. “‘The Curse of Deansgate’ has struck again! An incomplete run, just like every other time it’s been attempted. No financial backers will go near it again,” he laughed, as if this had all been such a vast, cunning plan from the very beginning.

“Everything worked out pretty well for you, though,” Ned managed to utter, catching the scent of something sweet down the corridor and suddenly feeling remarkably hungry. 

“Even better than I expected,” Gordon nodded emphatically, running his hand down his surprisingly deflated gut. “But the curse has never been about financial ruin, has it?” he laughed. “The curse has always been something much more insidious. I taught that arrogant fuck a lesson and got a very decent payout at the same time.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror, seeming pleased with what he saw. “It’s been a very successful few weeks!”

“You never really did forgive Chris, did you?” Ned asked, feeling the strangest sense of familiarity with Gordon. The man’s last words to him before he had gone on stage had been to welcome him to the Deansgate ‘club’ and now that Ned was there, he felt as if he could ask Gordon anything and be told the exact truth.

Goron closed the door that he had been propping open with his large body and stepped inside so that he could not be overheard. “Of course not,” he laughed. “And you sealed your fate the moment you started sucking him off back here after each performance.” He looked down at Ned disapprovingly. “You’re a serious actor. You should have known better than that!” he scolded him. “Perhaps I should have fired you then and saved you from all this.”

Ned dropped his head. Gordon was certainly right there.

“I hadn’t ever planned to let you take the lead. But when Chris Peterson’s management figured things out, the opportunity to throw you under the bus was simply too easy.” He looked down at Ned with triumph dancing in his eyes. “Lay down with dogs and you get fleas.”

“What did they figure out?” Ned asked, having the strangest feeling that the way his mind was so clouded at that moment was all related to something much larger.

“Here,” Gordon grunted, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “I’ve been told to give you this.”

An envelope was thrown into Ned’s lap without Gordon even making an effort to step forwards. Ned opened it up and found a plane ticket to Los Angeles, departing at 2.05am. 

“Lover Boy wants to see you!” Gordon explained, holding back a snarl.

Silently, Ned felt elated. From the moment he’d read that Chris had left New York, he had believed that their fling was over. Now he was realising that he hadn’t been forgotten after all. “Well, I guess there’s no point in sticking around here these next few days, anyway” he sighed, looking around the dressing room he would have to vacat shortly.

“No, I quite agree,” Gordon smirked. “I’ll message him to let him know that you’re on your way.” He placed his hand on Ned’s shoulder. “Now that you’re the very latest Gentleman of Deansgate instead, I have a feeling that you’re about to meet the real Chris Peterson at long last…”

Ned felt eyes on him the entire time as he made his way to the airport and flew across the country, not really knowing what was going to happen when he finally arrived. In the arrivals lounge, a driver was waiting, holding up a banner with his name written across it. Ned’s only backpack was taken off his shoulders as he made his way to the expensive car that was to carry him away. 

They pulled up forty minutes later at the most obscene residence, overlooking the Hollywood hills. The whole residence seemed llavish beyond words. Unlike the chill of a New York winter, the sun shone gently on Ned’s face and he sighed in appreciation at his own good fortune.

A member of Chris’ extensive team came straight out to greet him, ushering him inside almost as if he was expecting a team of photographers to ambush them from the gates . Everywhere was pristine and surprisingly immaculate, from the large marble pillars to the extensive windows at the back of the property, overlooking an enormous swimming pool and the incredible view across the valley.

Ned sat down at the large breakfast bar in the kitchen, where pastries and snacks filled several plates for the members of Chris’ entourage. He was told to help himself whilst the man left the room to let Chris know that he had arrived. Whilst Ned ate, he heard the splash of someone emerging from the pool and suddenly saw the large, looming shape of Chris Peterson marching across the terrace towards the expansive kitchen. Dressed in only his swim shorts with a towel lazily draped over his shoulders, Chris moved with an assertive speed that Ned had not seen from him before; although, his fat stomach popped out in front of him, firm and rounded under his large pecs.

“Excellent!” Chris cheered, spotting Ned and striding straight over to place his hands on his secret lover’s shoulders as he ate. Chris’ strong fingers massaged Ned’s shoulders, not offering any other sign of affection, most likely because his team were all so close by. “Did anyone see him arriving?” Chris asked someone behind them.

“No, sir. It was all very fast and discreet,” replied a deep masculine voice.

“Good,” Chris replied, his hands massaging more softly now and leaning in to whisper into Ned’s ear. “I bet you’re hungry after all that travelling.”

Chris suddenly stood bolt upright and marched about once more, heading to the refrigerator and pulling out as many things as he could.

“Sir, sir…” counselled a woman from his staff. “You don’t need to do that. We’ve got this covered. You can head back to the pool. We’ll look after Ned.”

Chris looked across at Ned, as if calculating whether he could trust his entourage to do what they were promising. “Fine,” he spat, turning around and marching straight out, clearly in a mood about something. “But I need results. I need all of this mess sorting out now!”

Coming down from the high of his great performance the night before was almost impossible. Ned had hardly slept at all on the plane and he had the remarkable feeling of being almost drunk. Time seemed like nothing at all as Chris’ friendly team fussed around him. He was led out onto the terrace to watch Chris’ gruelling swimming training with his coach. Every now and then, the unnecessarily angry actor would call out to his team any time he looked up and saw that Ned wasn’t being looked after with something to eat or drink.

“You’ve got one fucking job!” he yelled from the pool, making them all rush about to serve Ned something else.

Ned was half asleep when he heard Chris’ voice mumbling around him. “Fucking wake him up then!” he ordered one of his team, before huffing and coming over himself. “Ned… Neddy…” he called out in a voice that was barely soothing. “It’s dinner time, buddy!”

Ned opened his eyes.

“He’s awake,” Chris nodded to two guys, who promptly lifted the back of Ned’s deckchair up so that he was sitting upright. “It’s time to eat now, buddy,” Chris explained to Ned, like he was a toddler, using the kindest voice he had heard from him all day. “Mmmm! Look at all this!” he cooed, as a perfect height table was rolled underneath the deck chair so that a table sat just in front of Ned, loaded with different items.

Overcome with hunger, Ned set to work without questioning any of it. Once food was in front of him, nothing else seemed to matter.

“Good. This is good,” Chris nodded again at his team, as he looked back and forth between them and Ned. “He seems to like this the best,” he pointed at one of the dishes, as if that was a cue for them to get more. 

Faced with so much food, Ned found it hard to concentrate. He was given large, chocolate flavoured drinks that were thick and almost difficult to swallow, however Chris seemed to nod his head in approval each time Ned managed to get one down.

Ned wished that everyone else would disappear. He felt so uncontrollably horny for Chris, yet there were always people around, making it impossible for them to come together. Something about the food seemed almost… erotic. He’d never felt this way before, nor eaten so much in only a few short hours; although he wasn’t quite sure how much that was.

As night time approached, Chris entered Ned’s bedroom carrying a large tray of doughnuts. “A little treat before bed!” he winked charmingly, throwing them down on the mattress.

Ned felt his body lunge for them and he began stuffing the first one into his mouth. Chris hopped on beside him, throwing his arm over Ned’s shoulders like they were old friends, rather than lovers.

“That fucking play, huh?” he grumbled to Ned as the guy ate. “Gordon did us both dirty with that one… and I had no fucking idea!” he laughed, like he had had some lucky escape. “That’s why it’s always important to have people looking out for you behind the scenes. That could have been the end of my whole career!”

Chris noticed a large piece of Ned’s third doughnut break off as the houseguest ate a little too fast. Chris picked it up, not caring about the sticky icing that had spread across the sheets, but keen that Ned should get it down him. 

“I’m afraid I’m not going to try and stop you eating, like you did with me.” He looked down at his own, stout gut and sighed. “Look at all this!” he complained, grabbing a large wedge of it. “How the hell did you ever let me fuck you, looking like this? It’s disgusting!”

“You’re beautiful,” Ned mumbled through a mouthful of food, spitting a little out.

Chris tutted and exhaled in frustration. “You’re wasting it!” he growled in annoyance. Getting more fed up when Ned tried to apologise and did the same thing again. “Look, just sit back a bit more and let me take care of this,” he insisted, handing Ned yet another doughnut and feeling his hand into the eager guy’s crotch, grabbing at the hardness, but not stroking until Ned started to eat. 

Ned had never known bliss like it: the tastes on his tongue and the pleasure down below. Each time he swallowed and opened his mouth to moan, in went a fresh doughnut. There were multiple points when he felt like he could have climaxed, yet Chris seemed to hold him back until the very last moment. He came, feeling like a strong jet had erupted from his groin, opening his eyes moments later to see Chris dropping the emptied doughnut tray onto the floor and wiping his hands on the bed sheets. “Was that nice?” he asked, returning to that slightly patronising tone.

Ned nodded, feeling utterly spent.

“Good,” Chris smiled. “Would you like the same again tomorrow?” Chris asked, like he was trying to bargain something out of Ned. So when Ned nodded, stuffed full of food and bloated, the man couldn’t help but chuckle, heading back to his own master suite.

Chris had lost weight. With all his training and determination, Ned had never seen a belly shrink so quickly. Yet, over the coming days, he felt an onslaught of fat begin to slide onto his own stomach, inflating it with softness in an unnaturally speedy manner. Sometimes he would wake from an afternoon nap to find a measuring tape had been wrapped around his arm or thigh, by a member of Chris’ staff; no one seeming in the least bit surprised at the sudden transformation, despite monitoring it closely.

Ned knew he should be paying more attention to his body. But food was everywhere and his brain felt like it was in such a fog. Dressed only in a pair of swim shorts, he couldn’t detect a stretching in his clothes, nor remember where he had even put his cell phone to communicate with the rest of the world outside of Chris’ incredible house. Nothing he seemed to do from that point on appeared to annoy Chris, with the man’s face lighting up each time he saw a shirtless Ned lazily trotting towards the breakfast bar to eat. The other staff were relaxing too, with fewer of them there in the day now. The ‘crisis mode’ of the previous week was now over. 

Chris lifted his arm and still felt a slight stubborn clinging of fat around his love handles. “Do you want some ice cream?” he asked Ned, as if this would somehow remedy the problem. Without waiting for an answer, he headed over to the freezer to fetch it and dumped the complete tub in front of Ned, along with a large spoon. 

Back Chris went to the mirror, turning and flexing, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Ned.

“It’s almost time for you to go home soon,” he smiled. “A couple more days and things should have worked themselves out.”

“I don’t think I want to go home,” Ned replied, feeling his heart sink.

Chris laughed and came over to pat his chubby friend on his back. “I know. I know,” he smiled. “But what am I supposed to do with you once I’m back to my old shape?” He looked down at Ned’s shirtless body and seemed to grimace at the rolls of fresh blubber along his side. “You’ll just be getting more and more out of shape and I don’t really want that hanging around outside by the pool.” He ruffled Ned’s hair playfully. “I’m sure you can understand that,” he laughed, pulling a fresh bottle of water out from the refrigerator and sliding a bowl of potato chips closer to Ned instead. Then, off he went onto the terrace, diving into his pool once more.

Ned didn’t see Chris after that. The guy had disappeared later that afternoon after a lucrative advertising deal had emerged. He read later on that Chris had claimed his appearance in the play had been caused by some form of abdominal distension, unrelated to weight gain. Several so-called ‘experts’ disputed that, but when the hunk reappeared in beach shots looking just as fit as ever only a few days later, all other explanations seemed to be implausible.

No such rapid recovery came for Ned, however. Once home, his ravenous appetite seemed to consume him and he was dropped by his agent only six months later after piling on a ridiculous amount of weight in that period. And, although he could never prove it, Ned always had a suspicion that Chris Peterson’s team had been at least partly behind his declining career; desperately wanting to reduce his influence after everything that had happened with their golden boy.

Ned’s handsome face seemed to bloat and his chiselled jawline was engulfed and framed by an unflattering amount of neck fat. His pecs drooped within a month and his stomach fat swelled into a giant ball of surprisingly squishy blubber. Pants were hard to come by, given how wide his rear had become after the first year. Ned found that he had to detach himself from his old life and form something new; taking inspiration from the only other man he had known to have gone through the same experience….

It was thirty years later when Ned sat in the same old theatre where they had performed ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ all those years ago. It had taken him decades to finance a new run and convince his investors. But, at long last, the show was ready to audition the lead roles. 

Years ago, after Ned had had time to think and understand it all, unemployed and gaining pounds and pounds of lard by the day, he wrote it all down; every last detail of that play he would one day hope to direct: the lighting, the sound, the timings, the instruments. He didn’t know which parts were important to whatever power fuelled the curse that he had lived with for so long; transforming him into the gluttonous man he had been all these years. Everything had to be perfect.

“I’m very grateful to you for coming all the way over here to audition,” Ned smiled at the handsome, young hopeful standing on the stage: the image of his beautiful father. 

“I’m very flattered that you wanted me,” the athletic twenty-seven year old replied. “I believe you were the understudy for my father when he performed here? It was his only Broadway appearance.”

“Yes, yes,” Ned nodded. “That seems like a lifetime ago!” he lied. “And I’m sure your father would be very proud to see you standing there now, ready to fill his shoes,” he smiled, pretending to be sorry that Chris Peterson’s drug-fuelled car crash had claimed his life five years earlier.

The audition went well; not that Ned had ever seriously considered anyone else for the role. Revenge could come in many forms, but few as sweet as this poor boy.

“I think this show is going to be a huge success!” Ned grinned, eyeing his new lead actor’s cute butt as he skipped out of the theatre having just signed a watertight contract. “I can’t wait to get started!”

[staybabblingbaby]

Best Friend Protocol #14 (Team Meeting part)

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: You're Felix's childhood friend, and you and he have been planning a visit to see him for his birthday for what feels like years now. Unfortunately, SKZ is a very busy group, and the week-long vacation you'd planned for doesn't seem possible.Until Felix decides to ask his bandmates a favor...

Word Count: 2672

Notes: IT'S FINALLY HERE! ALL HAIL THE LEGENDARY FIRST WRITTEN PART OF BFP! I meant to have this out over a week ago, but it's here now! I will be attempting to get a regular chapter out here shortly to fulfil my promised 4 november chapters. Wish me luck! Huge shout out to one of my beautiful beloved betas, @brbwritingfanfic for taking the time to make sense of this damn thing lmao. I appreciate you spotting all my errors, you a real one <3 For those familiar with my archive style and curious, this is A3D2 for this chapter. It was kicking my ASS. If enough folks are interested I don't mind releasing the other attempts, but BFP is a bit divorced from the usual archive proceedings, so I'll leave that up to y'all. I actually really loved how Felix's character came through here, and i'm pretty pleased with how the dialogue turned out. My poor fiance had to sit through like 5 separate rants about how i could not roll back the details enough and kept having to scrap dialogue so it sounded less like AI attempting classical literature.

Warnings: She/Her Reader. Sort of? Polyamory negotiations. More like, the possibility is tossed out there.

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks

Additional Note: I'm always taking interaction requests. Just fyi

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The meeting goes something like this;

They pile into the living room of his and Seungmin’s shiny new dorm without discussion. It makes Felix both nervous and grateful. They’ve always had these meetings wherever Chris happened to be, before. It feels like an unspoken declaration of allegiance. Like they’re letting Felix take the lead, here.

The pressure is kind of getting to him already, as they all settle in. He doesn’t even know how he feels about it all himself, making a decision doesn’t seem like something he should be in charge of right now.

Still, he’s grateful. They’re being so mindful of him in this, and he kind of wants to cry about it. He feels seen, and loved. A bit too seen, maybe, but as embarrassing as it is he’s still a bit gooey inside about it.

Felix drags a beanbag over to where Hyunjin has settled on the couch, plopping down to lean against the other man’s legs. A hand automatically goes to bury itself in his hair, like an anchor against Felix’s stormy thoughts.

The grounding warmth of one of his best friends soothes Felix as Chris calls the meeting to order.  

“So!” Their leader casts an inquiring gaze around the room, “Who wants to start? Where are we at right now?”

A few glances are cast Felix’s way, but he tips his head back against Hyunjin’s knees to avoid their eyes. Everyone must get the message, because no one prompts him.

Jisung is the one who eventually bites the bullet, and Felix sends a silent ‘thank you’ to his birthday buddy.

“Well, I’d like to clarify everyone’s, like, goal in this?” Jisung puts forward tentatively, “Because I’m at the point where it’s more of a ‘I’d like to get to know her’ thing than a ‘I want to date her’ thing.” he shrugs to himself, “I haven’t talked to her much yet, I just think she’s cool.”

“I’m a little bit smitten,” Changbin admits from across the room. He gives Felix an apologetic grimace, but all Felix can do is wave him off with a worried smile. 

“We talked for quite a while the other day and, I dunno... We clicked? I guess? I feel like we did, anyway. I kind of want to see where that could go if we let it.” 

Changbin sends an almost appealing look to Felix as he speaks, and honestly? Super awkward for Felix right now.

Because, see, Felix’s first instinct is to get super defensive and shut everything down. He doesn’t really want to be talking about this, and it scratches at something delicate and boyish in him that they’re having this discussion at all.

It’s embarrassing to know that the feelings he’s kept so close to his chest for so many years are out in the open. It feels a bit like a betrayal that this meeting is about the fact that most of his friends have feelings for the girl he’s had a crush on basically his whole life, instead of planning how to get him to stop being stupid about said crush.

It’s just... Uncomfortable. On so many levels. An ugly monster wants to tear out of Felix’s throat as he locks eyes with Changbin, but a light scratch at his scalp from Hyunjin stalls the beast.

Right. Felix reminds himself that these aren’t any old friends. These aren’t just some acquaintances he could burn bridges with, or strange men he had to protect his angel from.

No, these were his brothers, the people he’d shed blood, sweat, and tears with. The men he’d lived with, grown with, the guys who’d seen more of him than any other person in the world.

Felix finds it in himself to spare Changbin a strained smile. He means it to be reassuring, but he’s so tangled up in his thoughts right now that it’s the best he can offer. The older man seems grateful for it anyway.

He turns his gaze up to Hyunjin, the catalyst of all this, and Felix’s current rock in the storm. He tries to keep in mind how much he loves these people as he moves the conversation forward.

He has to hear them out, at least.

“Thoughts, Hyun?” Felix gently inquires. 

Hyunjin briefly presses his lips together, gathering his thoughts into words. 

“I’ve been pretty open in my flirtation from the start, I think.” he finally says, “So I guess I’m more surprised that anyone else is? Surprised, I mean.”

Felix has to hand him that one. For all that his ‘no flirting’ rule had been mostly a joke, it did mean that he’d expected them to flirt with her. 

He wonders what makes things different now? He’d been okay with the flirting when he’d thought everyone was just joking around, has anything really changed now that he knows it’s real?

Felix sits with that thought while Minho throws his two cents in.

“I don’t think surprised is the right word,” their second eldest ponders aloud, “I’m personally more... worried about how this might work out.” He draws the words out slowly, like he’s tasting the flavor of them before he speaks.

It’s off-putting to hear Minho speak so cautiously- he’s usually so blunt with his words. 

“I’m more worried about how this will affect us as a group,” Minho admits, “I mean, I like her, she’s fun, but I don’t want her if it’s going to cause issues among us.”

And the older man has a point. Anything that causes discord in a group like theirs is a disaster waiting to happen. Especially something like this, where a misstep could lead to long-term resentments and jealousies.

Felix feels pressured by the group’s regard for him all over again. One word from him, and he knows it all ends. The moment he says he can’t handle this is the moment that the rest back off. The emotions won’t fade, Felix knows, but they’d do it anyways.

Because they love him.

He loves them right back.

“I really like her,” Seungmin pipes in, face blank. His eyes cast toward the floor for a moment, before rising again to meet Felix’s. “I really like her,” He repeats, “I don’t know that I would be okay with letting go without trying.”

Felix pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nods at the younger man. His head tips toward his lap while he thinks, brow furrowing as he loses himself to his tumultuous thoughts.

It helps to hear everyone’s feelings put so bluntly, Felix thinks. Having everyone’s stances laid out clearly like a map in his mind’s eye. 

Han, who’s not invested but interested anyways.

Changbin, who’s probably in deeper than he’d really like to be.

Hyunjin, who’d been open about his intentions from the start.

Minho, who the fact that he’s even considering her means more than Felix thinks the man realizes. And yet, he’d give her up at the first seed of discord among the group.

It’s kind of heartwarming, when Felix thinks about how much love their second eldest had shown them with those words. 

Finally, there’s Seungmin. A man whose compliments are hard earned, and whose feelings are closely guarded. A man who’d just handed Felix his heart on a silver platter, trust and love etched in every word, spoken and not.

Felix’s first instinct is still to shut them down. His clouded heart tells him to scoop up his angel and hide her away like a dragon with its hoard. To claim her as his and his alone, and feel slighted if anyone tried to contest that.

But that’s not fair. Not to his members and not to her. Not even to himself.

They’d shown him respect and care every step of the way, the least he could do is give them more than a knee-jerk reaction.

“Is it really all that complicated?” Jeongin ponders aloud.

Their maknae looks almost bored from his armchair, staring at them all. His furrowed brow gives away his worry, as does the way he allows Chris to pull him into the elder’s side with an arm around his shoulders.

“I mean, it’s up to her in the end, isn’t it?” their youngest continues, “she’s the only one that can really make a final call.”

“Could we handle that?” Felix finally speaks up. It’s a little scary having everyone’s attention snap to him like that, but this is the crux of the matter, he thinks.

“If she chooses one of us, could we handle that?” he elaborates.

A contemplative silence descends over the room. Felix kind of wishes he could peek into the member’s brains at this moment. He wants to know if they’re as worried as he is, if they’re worried about the same things he is. 

Because, quite honestly, the more he thinks about it the less he really minds if they flirt with his angel.

It’s taken him this long to untangle the ugly knot of emotions in his chest, and he still can’t see all of it for what it is, but the core of it all, he thinks, is fear.

He’s afraid that, at the end of it all, he’ll be left behind. That he’ll lose two of his very best friends, his favorite people in the world, to each other.

He doesn’t think he could handle that.

It’s an unjustified fear, Felix knows. His bonds with all of these people, the seven present in the room with him and one halfway across the world, are stronger than anything. Forged in fire and elastic with time, he’s sure there’s nothing that could ever truly break them.

That doesn’t stop anxiety from creeping up his spine.

Felix lets his eyes wander around the room, landing on each of his members in turn. It’s like something in him believes that they could guide him in this, just by looking at them, the way his gaze lands heavily on each of their forms.

Hyunjin’s hand drops from his head to knead at the base of his neck, and Felix feels himself soften. A little bit of the anxiety drains from him at the comforting touch, and with it gone he can see something new under the miasma of fear and uncertainty.

It’s bright, like hope, and a bit more exciting. A giddy little thought bubbles up with it-

“What if she chose more than one of us?” Han beats him to the punch. His eyes flick between them all anxiously, looking very much like the rodent he’s nicknamed for, and when he’s met with six confused stares and Felix’s suppressed grin, he starts to babble.

“I- I mean, we’ve all shared partners before. Like, sexually, at least. I just- I mean- We’re not strangers to sharing, is all I’m tryna say!” Han explains himself.

His shoulders rise up to cherry-red ears under the weight of their stares. Minho places a calming hand on his thigh, even as he pokes holes in the other man’s claim.

“We’ve never shared romantic partners though,” He points out, annoyingly reasonable, “That’s a completely different thing.” 

“I’d be willing to give it a shot,” Hyunjin shrugs when all eyes turn to him.

He was, admittedly, the last of them Felix had expected to back the idea. Hyunjin was the most romantic of them all, and the least likely to indulge one of them in sharing a partner or two.

“I love you guys, and I really like her,” Hyunjin states plainly, “I don’t see an issue with it.”

“So.. what? We try for, like, a.. polycule kinda thing if she wants?” Changbin questions. He scrunches up his face in concern at the concept, pointing out, “That feels a little unbalanced, doesn't it? Is it fair to hinge the whole thing on her?”

“It's going to hinge on her whether it's fair or not,” Jeongin interjects, “You all have crushes on her, not on eachother.”

“I just don’t know how comfortable I can be with that,” Changbin explains, “There’s one of her, and currently six of us. I don’t think it’s humanly possible for her to split her time enough for all of us, and it’s really unfair of us to expect it of her.”

“It could be a good thing, though,” Han argues, “None of us have the time to dedicate to a relationship how we should. Having more than one of us to turn to could be a good thing.”

“Okay, but you’re all forgetting something very important in this hypothetical,” Jeongin stresses the word, making pointed eye contact with his hyungs, “situation. She has to agree to it too. We can’t make a decision without her.”

Felix can't help but be proud of their youngest for reminding them of y/n’s place in all this. It’s not like they’d forgotten, but it was a good reminder anyway. It did feel a bit icky to be talking about their relationship with her like it was a foregone conclusion.

“I’m just saying!” Han proclaims, throwing his hands in the air, “It’s a possibility that we should be open to if it happens!”

Finally, Chris loudly claps to get everyone's attention and forestall any oncoming argument.

“Oh-kay!” he enthuses, “Let’s refocus. Show of hands, are we okay with everyone flirting with her if they want to?”

All hands go up, none of them opposed to anyone else shooting their shot. Felix pretends like all eyes aren’t on him as he easily raises his arm.

“Alright, next” Chris pushes on, “Do we think we can handle it if she chooses one of us?”

Hesitant murmurs sound around the room at this, but Felix has come to an understanding with himself during this meeting, so he speaks confidently when he says, “I think we’ll be okay.”

His words seem to reassure the others, and a ripple of agreement and gentle ribbing starts circling the room.

“Alright,” Chris nods to himself, interrupting the wave before they could get started with any mischief. He really does know them too well.

“And finally,” he starts, an indecipherable expression crossing his face, “show of hands, who’s alright with the poly thing if it comes to it?”

This subject is more divisive, Han, Hyujin, and Felix’s hands going up, but Minho and Changbin stay quiet with worried faces. Seungmin holds his arm out in front of him with his thumb held out sideways. When questioned, he just says he’s not sure how he feels about it yet.

“We’ll circle back on that later, then.” Chris decides, “I think that’s one of those things we need to be unanimous on.”

Agreements sound out, and the atmosphere relaxes. The evening quickly devolves into an impromptu game night, the group quickly descending upon Felix’s console games like a pack of hyenas.

Felix gets up to switch the TV over to his switch, intentions of strong-arming everyone into playing Mario Party in mind. Chris grabs him by the elbow as he walks by, nodding over to the kitchen. Felix follows him over, already unbearably fond. 

“You sure you're good?” Chris asks lowly, “You've been her friend the longest, and we quite literally thought you were dating her already for a while there. They'll back off if you ask, you know.” 

Felix nods, smiling softly at their leader’s care. “I'm good I promise.” he swears, “I meant it when I said I liked it when my favorite people get along.”

He turns to look through the doorway back at the living room. Despite the strange and personal nature of their conversation, jokes and laughter flow easily now. As if there was never any tension at all. 

Felix can feel himself practically melt as he looks at them, a sentiment he knows their leader shares.

“It would hurt,” Felix admits, “If she chose someone else. But there’s no one I’d trust to hurt me more, y’know?”

Chris doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t really need to. He squeezes Felix’s elbow gently as the younger dives back into the chaos, and Felix knows he’s been understood.

Worm List <3 :

@thatgirlangelb , @hyeon-yi, @velvetmoonlght, @missvanjiii, @hanniemylovelyquokka, @vegetablesarefuntables, @scribblesnsketches05, @kkamismom12, @alexateurmom, @baribaaari, @tayla2351, @heart-trees, @unicornwhisperer666, @aalexyuuuhm, @stilldontknowhoiam, @brbwritingfanfic, @kaciebello, @ririzisblu

Perma Tag List <3 : @mbioooo0000

[rosenkranz-isnt-dead]

rewatched The Field Where I Died and got so enraged that I went to search for some scalding reviews of it. this is one of the things that bothered me about the episode (Mulder telling Skinner that Melissa has multiple personality disorder)

like the reviewer says, this is against everything we know about Mulder, who is always committed to telling the truth, no matter how ridiculous it might sound. even for a show with such inconsistent writing, this episode feels very out of character. (I'll put the rest under the cut because it's getting long)

the response to the episode's not-so-great reception seemed to be "oh the shippers don't understand anything":

this isn't what makes me personally dislike the episode so much, but let's unpack that. Scully's role in the episode is far from "substantial": she makes a few skeptical remarks, but mostly she's there to be pretty and stand quietly next to Mulder. and knowing that they cut the part that justified Scully's viewpoint doesn't make me feel any better. this episode is Mulder and Melissa centric -- but no, not even that. this episode is Glen Morgan and Kristen Cloke centric, so it wasn't even written with Mulder in mind. this is basically Morgan's self insert fanfiction. it's nice that Morgan believes in soulmates, but imo he didn't do a very convincing job selling the idea. shipping aside, the x files' writers had very strange arguments for why Mulder and Scully couldn't be together. Chris Carter seemed to think that being friends and lovers at the same time is impossible, or that there can be no hanky panky between colleagues. or maybe he just didn't want to let go of his initial idea of Mulder and Scully as this buddy cop duo, so when he was backed into the corner and forced to make them a couple, he made sure they were as miserable as possible, and divorced them when the show got brought back. in The Field Where I Died, Glenn Morgan projects his ideas of soulmates onto Mulder and Melissa, and Scully is... also there, as Mulder's father. a win for feminism: a woman can be your dad too, I suppose. both writers seems to agree on one thing: friendship/partnership and romance are two separate entities. this is a very boring way to view love, but I'm no expert.

that is not to say the episode is a lost cause: Rob Bowman did an excellent job directing it, it's truly one of the most gorgeous episodes in the series. past lives as a concept is also fascinating to me, I'm just not a fan of how the idea was executed here. the notion that you can love someone just because you were together in a past life is ridiculous to me: so much of you is shaped by your experiences, your environment, your family and friends. in your past life your experiences were completely different, you're not that person anymore.

and then there's this:

Mulder never raises his voice at Scully. he can be an asshole sometimes, sure, but not to the point of screaming at her because she... what? says that it's wrong to disturb this mentally ill woman even more? episodes that treat Scully as a secondary character are my least favorite, and when she gets ridiculed by Mulder and by the narrative for doing her job... well, that's not as progressive as the show wants to appear. In another Morgan & Wong episode, Never Again, Scully is given more agency, and yet gets punished by the narrative for experiencing desire, which, I'm sorry to say, doesn't make me want to sing praises to this duo like the rest of the fandom.

in short: 12/10 visuals, 5/10 story.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 45!

what a week... i'm greatly enjoying all of the post-8x06 buddie fic (many more recs to come!) and took some time to revisit old favourites, which can be found in previous rec lists. enjoy!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

all that we need | not1_2write | 26.4k | M

When Buck buys a Powerball lottery ticket he doesn't think much beyond his need for change to air up his tire. He forgets all about the ticket until word spreads that the winning ticket was sold in LA and hasn't been claimed yet and pretty much dismisses it. After all, there's no way he won the lottery. Turns out no, he really did win the Powerball, to the tune of 295 million dollars and just in time for Christmas. He's going to make sure the 118 has the best Christmas of their lives. And just maybe he'll have a good one too. idk about all of you but i do dream about winning the lottery regularly (way too often for someone who's never bought a ticket, that's for sure). this is such a lovely look at what buck would do with a whole lot of money <3

i take this magnetic force of a man | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 9k | M

Turns out, he isn’t actually afraid of commitment. He’s just afraid of committing to the wrong thing, or the wrong person. Ana, obviously, had been a mistake, because he hadn’t been ready, and he’d put other people’s expectations above his own wants and needs. With Marisol, he’s done the same thing. Moved too fast, doing what he thinks is the right thing according to who? His parents? For Chris’s benefit? Again, pushing past his own comfort, discarding any doubt because it doesn’t fit like… Like Buck. blanket rec for one of my favourite authors who has been posting incredible fics lately!! this one in particular is so beautifully written and so romantic and just so very buddie <3

if i need to rearrange my particules i will for you | thelikesofus/@thelikesofus | 7.9k | GA

Eddie catches a cold and Buck takes care of him while having a minor, non-platonic emotional crisis. this is definitely influenced by the fact that i've been ill myself but wow truly nothing hits as hard as buddie taking care of each other when one of them isn't feeling well. the bed sharing in this is so good <3

let me | facewithoutheart/@facewithoutheart | 1.6k | T

Eddie doesn't think he needs romance. Buck, respectfully, disagrees. AKA the fic where Buck picks Eddie up and kisses him breathless against a wall. and buck is so right for doing that!! i love it when buck turns eddie to jello <3 so lovely!

second child, restless child | lesbianrobin/@lesbianrobin | 23k and counting| M

how Evan and Maddie make it out of Pennsylvania, and Buck and Maddie build a family. okay so listen these past few weeks i've been doing this thing where i only rec finished fics, and every time i scroll through my ao3 history for these rec lists, i come across this one and go oh i wish i could rec this already. and then i realised wait it's my rec list i can do whatever i want, and so then i did. anyway, mind the tags for this one, but wow are you in for a treat here! i love the character dynamics (chim is brilliant in this!! and maddie!!) and i'm so so excited to see the rest of this fic unfold <3

said that i was fine, said it from my coffin | justhockey/tumblr | 7.3k | T

And it doesn’t matter that he feels like he’s dying. Like the version of himself that he’s always been is suddenly a stranger to him - just a mask he’d spent his entire life hiding behind, without ever even realising he was wearing it. It doesn’t matter that Eddie is…that he’s gay. Because he knows - as surely as he knows that the sun will rise again tomorrow - that the only person he has ever, and will ever, truly love is Buck. And Buck isn’t his to love. another blanket rec for an author who's been posting incredible fics!! this one in particular has such brilliant eddie characterisation and i just devoured it the second i got that little ao3 email hehe

there's no place like home-spun | icewhisper | 4.1k | GA

Buck has spent most of his life trying to find something to settle fidgeting hands and the restless need for a home. He found the key to the latter when he was thirteen. He finds the former in a cozy home on South Bedford Street with two of his favorite people. (AKA the Buck-crochets fic that literally no one asked for.). this fic makes me want to learn how to crochet. i am the least crafty person ever and i have like minus time but just know that if two weeks from now i'm posting about yarn and crochet hooks and whatnot, it's all thanks to this fic. i love buck who crochets so very much <3

you get your dreams for free | llovely/@butchdiaz| 14.9k | T

five times buck and eddie cuddle drunk and one time they cuddle sober. buddie bed sharing my absolute favourite. i read this late at night curled up under three blankets and it hit just right <3

[riririnnnn]

Personally, I think the most wasted potential in Blue Lock is Reo.

His main ability, copy, is pretty overpowered, y'know.

Yes, yes, I understand that he can't generate the exact 100% ability of someone, but it's still hella goated! Just imagine having Sae as your opponent and when you finally think you have broke past him, another person who is like Sae suddenly appears in front of you—(almost) double Sae in the same team!

You getting my point?

Reo really has what it takes to be the top contender for the place of World's Best Striker. And those who have read the Light Novel know how quickly he learned everything about soccer and nearly aced everything. He has a great physique which has become better under Chris' guidance, and he is smart too. Also, we can NOT forget that it's has not been long since he started playing—compared to other Blue Lock-ers who have been playing for like a decade—so if given enough time, Reo can indeed be a great soccer player!

...

And that's where the issue, I think and guess, arises.

You see, Reo never dreamt of being a great striker or a soccer player. He, simply, has always said from the start that he wants to win the World Cup, which also explains his so called obsession with Nagi.

(I think I'll make another post for the above Nagi statement.)

Furthermore, I think he has what I like to call, "Not-the-main-character syndrome". And it basically means that doesn't matter how cool you are or how cool are the things you do, you'll forever remain outshined 'cause you are not the main character.

No, I'm not complaining that Isagi is stealing Reo's spotlight or something—Isagi is the main character, so obviously he should be treated like one otherwise what's the point, y'know.

However, I do kinda wish I could see more of this ability of Reo. I mean, this copy ability is so explore-able, and we can easily imagine how well it could've been written if it were an ability of, the main character, Isagi. For example: metavision. If it weren't an ability of Isagi's, then it would've just been an extraordinary ability of extraordinary players like Kaiser and Aiku. But that isn't the case! It's an ability of Isagi! So it's well-explored and well-written, which makes me ponder over what we have missed about copy ability.

You getting me?

[yannig]

Miscommunication is the entire point, actually

I've complained about the total and complete lack of communication between Charlie and Babe, because I don't like miscommunication tropes on principle. They're rarely done well, and even then they frustrate me a lot.

However, after some time to cool off, and some nice reminders from people on here that said miscommunication is very much in character, I am pretty confident the show is going somewhere with said trope, and not just struggling to find conflict in the story.

(which, considering the kind of show Pit Babe is, would be a pretty big red flag, especially that early in the season)

First of all, it's more than just Babe and Charlie struggling to communicate about Willy. It's also Jeff straight up refusing to tell Alan that his visions are coming back, even when he asks. It's Sonic avoiding North and dancing around whatever the actual issue is.

That makes 3 (romantic) relationships hindered by miscommunication! Out of... well arguably 3, at this point in the story. Pete and Chris aren't anything yet, and Kim and Kenta still haven't been on screen together this season!

That's not a coincidence or laziness, that's a deliberate theme. The writers clearly have a point to make.

Which is reassuring, because there is nothing more frustrating (and worrying) than a theme that seems to exist on accident, or a plot-line that writers don't seem invested in.

The second reason I'm certain this is deliberate is because some characters in this show can communicate, and are written in a very pointed way.

The first one is Kim, because my man has always been very straightforward about who he is and what he wants, telling Alan he's changing team because, as much as they're pack friends, X-Hunter is not what he needs as an athlete. He's both very open and clear about why he's leaving, and reassuring that they're still friends and it doesn't change anything off the track (though the fact that he didn't appear in ep2 does diminish that a bit). Great job, 10/10, communication goals, you'll need at least that to get through Kenta.

The second one is Alan, who is trying very hard to model healthy communication for Jeff, even if it doesn't seem to be working yet. It's the way he tells Jeff that he can come to him about anything, but doesn't push when Jeff deflects. It's the way he tells Jeff he's sad about Kim leaving and lets himself be comforted. It's also the way he shows Jeff by including him in all his decisions: Jeff clearly knows before anyone else about North's promotion and Dean's return, and we see him with Alan and Dean in the kitchen when Dean first arrives (I would not bet on Jeff waking Alan up in the opposite situation).

The third one is North, trying desperately to reach Sonic over the entire canyon Sonic has unexpectedly dug between them. It's the way he change the subject himself when Sonic doesn't answer his question about the phone call, the way he offers a group meal since Sonic seems uncomfortable with him, the way he ends up asking clearly if Sonic is avoiding him when nothing else seems to work, the way he's still trying to find the right thing to say even as Sonic is leaving. He wants so desperately to get some footing with Sonic he's trying every possible approach, reaching toward him again and again and again. It's not working, but boy is the poor man trying to open communication back up.

So yeah. This feels very pointed. There are just too many elements that revolve around communication for it to not be deliberate.

At this point, I'm pretty convinced communication is gonna the central plot-point and theme of the season and probably half the character arcs. Is there scheming going on with Tony and Willy, plus all the research for the serum? Yes. But it's all gonna hang on how the characters can or cannot communicate with each other.

Mind you, deliberation doesn't guarantee quality. But we do get a much better chance at an interesting development. And the fact that this theme is so obvious so early makes me pretty confident they know where they are going.

[bitbugbites-re]

𝚅𝚒𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 | 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

headcanons on how different RE men would take your virginity !

tumblr exclusive!

characters: Albert Wesker, Carlos Oliveira, Chris Redfield, Ethan Winters, Leon S. Kennedy

gender: gn! reader

cw: NSFW, FLUFF // virginity // ktober

a/n: to everyone reading this, i hope you have/had a good day today! <3

𝕬𝖑𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖙 𝖂𝖊𝖘𝖐𝖊𝖗 (any rendition)

Do you need to be in a relationship first?

No, it wouldn't be important to Wesker if you were in a relationship or not first. He doesn't come off as the type of guy to believe the notion that first times are sacred

Who initiates?

Probably you. I can't see him being too pushy/eager to have sex, as he seems like he would have a fairly tame-to-low sex drive tbh

Although, that doesn't mean he's against it or other displays of affection. He's just not horny 24/7 (for some reason, despite all of the smut that i've written, i am utterly and completely intimidated by the word "horny." this word is my achilles heel. i fear that i will never escape it's incredible power to make me want to fall to the floor and sob at its horrific-ness. however, today, i have powered through it for you, with only a few tears and trembles involved).

What kind of foreplay?

I feel like his go-to foreplay in this situation would be kissing and fingering, honestly. Very basic foreplay, nothing too insane.

He'd probably make eye contact with you the entire time he fingered you, too.

How long does it last?

The entire ordeal, from foreplay to finishing, would probably last less than 30 mins. I feel like he'd be skilled at both foreplay and penetration itself, and would get straight to the point.

I also feel like he would be a little nicer and more sweet during your first as compared to any other time

I doubt he would drag things out/tease you too much for your first time, unless you wanted him to

Is it good?

Yeah, it'd be good sex. Although, if you're a romantic, it might be a little disappointing if you have an idealized "first time" in mind

Overall? Probably a 7/10. Somewhere between average to pretty decent sex

𝕮𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖔𝖘 𝕺𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖎𝖗𝖆 (re3r)

Do you need to be in a relationship first?

If he knows you're a virgin? Yeah. If he doesn't know? Nope!

Tbh I feel like he would forget to ask, and would just automatically assume you've done-the-deed before. Although, he'd probably figure out at some point building up to penetration, in which case, he'd most likely pull back and offer to get to know you better first

Who initiates?

Could go either way. I can see him respecting that first times are important, and thus not bringing it up until you mention it or get overly touchy. However, he likely would try to gently tip-toe around the topic -- he'd make a lot of jokes about it, get a little touchy, put himself out there more by dressing or smelling nice -- all to gauge where you're at or to put the idea in your head

What kind of foreplay?

Anything. Everything. Whatever you want -- getting oral, being fingered, sucking him off or fingering him (if you're into that) -- he'd do it.

HOWEVER. There would be some limits -- I don't think he'd do anything too crazy. He would try to keep it fairly vanilla for your first time. He'd tell you that he'd be willing to do whatever in the future (WITHIN BOUNDS...), but your first time should be like a 'trial period' or something like that

How long does it last?

I feel like out of every other character on this list, sex with Carlos would take the longest. And most of it would probably be foreplay

I'd also bet that he'd be able to last a good amount of time during penetration as well. He knows his limits, and if he starts getting close, he'll change positions or use some other method to prolong intercourse.

Is it good?

YES. I feel like if you like passionate, whirlwind-like displays of affection, then Carlos would be the best one for you out of all the other characters on this list. He knows what he's doing, and he knows where to touch in order to make you feel good

Overall? Around an 8 or 9/10. He would not fail to sweep you off your feet

𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖑𝖉 (re8)

Do you need to be in a relationship first?

For RE8 Chris? No, probably not. If you want to go, he's ready -- relationship or not.

Who initiates?

In a lot of scenarios, most likely Chris. I see it being a very, "Are you ready yet? How about now?" kind of thing (dude's got a high sex drive lmao)

What kind of foreplay?

He'd probably prefer having you give him oral. If you wanted something too, though, he'd be willing to do it -- fingering, oral, etc.

Not too into kissing -- he'd rather make eye contact with you while playing with you or touching you in general

I don't think he'd make a big deal out of it if you wanted to do kinkier stuff for your first time. He'd likely go along with it, thinking that since it's your first time, and you asked, it'd be fine (he'd also probably be impressed that you wanted to ramp it up lol)

How long does it last?

An average amount of time. Not too long, not too short.

Same goes for how long he lasts during penetration. He doesn't seem like he would try to hold his orgasm back, so when it comes, it comes. Although, again, it wouldn't be quick, either

Is it good?

Yeah, it's not bad. If you're looking for someone to be a little more rough with you for your first time (not recommended LOL) then Chris is your guy

Overall, it's a solid 6 or 7/10. Very average sex -- and if you do it again in the future, it's going to be fairly the same. Little to no special treatment for your first time :p

𝕰𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝖂𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 (re7, re8)

Do you need to be in a relationship first?

Yep -- partially because Ethan views first times as special, but also because he isn't the type to sleep around. He'd require a relationship first for both your and his sake

Who initiates?

Ethan, and it's planned. I doubt he'd spring it on you, either -- the two of you would talk it out first, plan a date beforehand, and then after the date...well, you know (yes, I would like to preorder one sex please!)

What kind of foreplay?

Very romantic, sensual foreplay. Kissing, soft touching, etc.

I feel like he'd be open to the basics -- oral for either person (although he'd ensure you it's about you and he doesn't need it), fingering, etc.

How long does it last?

Anywhere from a normal amount of time to slightly more than what's to be expected. I feel like he would really take his time with foreplay, as well as go slow during penetration

Is it good?

Yes! If you're a romantic at heart, Ethan's going to give you the best first time -- he's going to make sure he does everything right

Overall, probably an 8 or 9/10. This dude's got it DOWN for deflowering mfs

𝕷𝖊𝖔𝖓 𝕾. 𝕶𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖉𝖞 (re2r)

Do you need to be in a relationship first?

...maybe. I'm gonna say yeah, just because I feel like he'd be a virgin at this point of time too, LOL. He seems like he'd value romantics and wouldn't really sleep around outside of a relationship unless he had very strong feelings for you

Who initiates?

If you're in a relationship and it's been a decent amount of time since you started dating, probably him. He'd ask you about it and then...yeah.

However, if you're not in a relationship (and he likes you a lot), or you just recently started dating, it'll have to be you who initiates. He's a little reserved, so in either of these scenarios, he won't be the one to ask first

What kind of foreplay?

Lots of kissing, gentle touching, neck kissing

Would be fine with oral and fingering on either sides. Out of all the options, though, his preferred pick would be going down on you. Not just for you, but also because he seems like the kind of guy who gets off by seeing his partner get off

How long does it last?

...oh brother. Anywhere from short to long

Long because it'd probably take the two of you a while to figure out wtf you were both doing...

...and short because that man probably is not going to last long penetration-wise (LMAO im so sorry)

He'd offer to go another round to make up for it though??? Dw, one way or another, he'd make sure you still got off

Is it good?

...it would GET good. But at the beginning? It's gonna be awkward and clumsy (don't worry, he's a fast learner -- in fact, it likely wouldn't take long in your relationship for him to get the hang of it)

Overall...I'm going to have to give the man a 6/10. I'M SO SORRY. He gets an A for effort, but buddy 'ol pal, that man is not gonna know how to wield the friend in his pants right off the bat !!!

For the official and original Kinktober 23 prompts, check here. Credits to @kinktober2023 for the ideas!

[buddiequeerbait]

Frankly the way they've treated Chris this season is fucking ableist as shit. Like using a disabled character as a literal prop and in the process infantalizing him even though in the past couple seasons he's been able to grow wayyy beyond just being the cute kid is really shitty. Does he have any feelings or thoughts of his own? Did he actually choose to go to El paso or give a single shit about moving back to LA? Guess we'll never know. He's not a little kid anymore yet theyre writing him with far less agency than they did when he was 7 years old and pretty much there just to be cute. I think this is a problem with the show recently in general is at the beginning they were really committed to telling a diverse story with lots of different types of characters and directly pointed it out but pretty much once they brought Gerrard back (and tbh tommy) they kinda forgot that and seem to want to be a "post racial" type story where none of the characters identities matter (i think Ortiz is a really good and nasty example) but they mattered quite a lot in the past so now when they shaft these storylines, well it feels pretty fucking gross. Like how am I not supposed to think making a whole storyline where a black lesbian couple's child is taken away by an evil Latina and the saving grace is a racist old white guy is racist? It makes me feel pretty bad for the cast too because most of them share these identities with the characters. Gavin is a visibly disabled person. All the characters of color are written with respect to the actors actual background. Like to a specific degree where it's not just generally "Asian guy" or "Latino guy" but Chim is actually Korean-American specifically like Kenny and Eddie is actually half Mexican like Ryan and they've spoken about how meaningful these characters are so it feels pretty insidious for this white (presumably able bodied) showrunner to fuck them over so much. Especially with how he's jerked around Ryan making him not know if he actually has a job. Like it's just overall shitty and I think has lost some of the earnestness in it's pointed attempt at diversity and inclusion which...yeah feels especially bad right now. Bi buck was sort of the last beacon of hope and who knows how they'll handle that going forward considering he hasn't even been allowed to call himself bi yet and that whole fucking glee speech like yikes.

agree 100% man

[alpaca-clouds]

The Limitations of Masculinity

A couple of days ago I saw this study done on young men, that basically found one thing: A lot of them were looking for role models to provide them with a more healthy outlook on masculinity - but they were not finding it.

And this I absolutely do get.

Because here is the thing: Media sucks in regards of depicting male characters. Like, we are constantly bitching about how women are are basically reduced to love interests and sexy lamps - which is correct and all. But the thing that does not get acknowledged enough is that there is absolutely no diversity in the depicitions of male characters, ESPECIALLY white male characters.

Look, personally I could do well without watching another series featuring a white, abled, cis male character for another 10 years. Mainly because I personally do not need a white character to identify with. However, I do get the issue.

I mean, just look at the Marvel movies. Because frankly, most of the male heroes in the MCU are THE SAME FUCKING CHARACTER. They are narcissistic menchildren, who have a character arc about learning to grow up and be a bit more self-sacrificial - something that will then usually be flipped around, because the characters need to stick around for the sequels after all. Tony, Thor, Peter Quill, Rocket, Steven Strange... They all kinda fit into this one character mold. And while Steve was a bit of a different character, he was also far from a nuanced male character, given that he was pretty much reduced on "being a very strong and virtuous, stoic man". Which is not really a good reference for young men, I am sorry.

Generally speaking, male characters in western media tend to come in one of three flavours:

The manchild (who is a bit of an asshole and has to learn to think of others)

The nerd (who is also a bit of an asshole and has to learn a bit - but not too much - empathy)

The stoic masculine (who idealizes usually the soldier's virtues)

And that really, really is an issue. Especially as this goes double for white, cis male characters.

I can absolutely think about some characters from anime/manga that do break out of this, but as soon as I am thinking of western media? Castlevania has good male characters who are a lot more vulnerable than the average. And I can think of some games. But that's... pretty much it. Oh, yeah, and technically I guess I can also count Peacemaker into this. But that is then the end of it.

Don't get me wrong. I love how much great female characters we are getting in recent times. Like media for girls has really gone somewhere.

But we do need some media for boys too with cis white male characters, that are breaking out of the three stereotypes defined above.

I kinda have the hope that James Gunn will provide a bit more of those characters with his DCU. Because - despite me really not like the worst Chris - I do think that of the man child variety Peter Quill definitely is the best written in the MCU. And James Gunn is one of the few writers who seem to really get the dangers of toxic masculinity. But yeah... Right now? It is a bit dark.

[sunboki]

⎯ what remains unspoken. (teaser) ⟡ featuring c. bahng

🪝 : Christopher Bahng x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. best friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, jealousy, angst, two idiots chasing their own tails believing their love is unrequited (ㅠㅠ), based in australia, summer! au, beachhouse! au

WORD COUNT. estimated to be around 4k-7k words

WARNINGS. cursing, jealousy/shame, reader moves away, mentions of drunkenness at a party, nondesc smut

AUG'S NOTES. my annual summer pieces are unearthing themselves as we speak and i’m so so so excited. i began this as a tiny snippet of thought while on the train :) who knew it’d be developed into a fic! although this is just a teaser, please let me know your thoughts!!

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Attached to the hip, you and Chris might as well have been twins in a past life. And yet, it’s always that tiny inkling, so many years where one of the two wants something more. So when you bring home a boyfriend one summer and both you and Chris begin drifting apart, you wonder if that denial will become something permanent.

or alternatively :

Until when do you stop pretending?

Among many things, Chris likes to think there was an “oh shit” moment to his life. One, exactly.

Over the years he tried pinpointing when that would be, what that would be. 

And then you brought a boyfriend home. His home. To a beach house you two would occupy together. Making shadow puppets with your hands and running out to the beach in the early mornings.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Making sand castles, running into the water with your clothes on and running out giggling messes.

For two weeks every summer, always. Together.

Never with a plus one.

He debated upon subtly sizing up the guy or appearing overly friendly, but not an ounce of his face seemed to move. Steely.

Cold.

Chris was never cold, and he felt that pang in his chest—guilt—seeing you notice it. That miniature knit of your brow, the purse of your lips.

Did he know you like Chris did? Know when you were angry, or frustrated. What your favorite song was, or how you preferred your hair when you were focused?

He wanted to hate comparison, he used to hate comparison.

And now he’s hating himself for being too late, letting you slip from his grasp like sand between his fingers.

When you were once protagonists of a novel written with a happy ending, that love interest was now home to another. 

And he was a bystander to a love story that was never his, watching you smile at someone else. 

Someone that wasn’t him.

Breakfast is hellish, not to mention the sleeping arrangements. This boyfriend of yours in the guest bedroom, while he sleeps in his.

Alone. Without you, or your pretty hair, or your pretty eyes. Void of your warm body snuggled up to his, where you used to make silly jokes beneath covers and muffle laughter in turn.

A part of him wants to cry, wants to ask you what you two used to be. What was under the covers? 

“Ah.. Chris..” The soft moan of yours, all those years back. Stupid, seventeen, single. A cursed pair of “S”’s he hadn’t realized would come to haunt him each time he closed his eyes. 

What was your pretty sounds, his face between your thighs those five years back?

Was it all pretend? Exploration as friends? 

No, you were smarter than that.

So he tells himself he was too late, and endures. 

Because maybe, maybe they’ll be a plot twist one chapter. Where you fall for the side character. 

No, no book ends like that.

It all started in an editing firm’s office. 

Well, not literally, considering you hadn’t even been in your mother’s mind until Jessica Bahng—mother of a four-month old Chris Bahng—held back a poor woman’s hair while she belched into a toilet.

That poor woman being your mother, who found out she was pregnant that evening after work.

And through a few Saturday’s at the corner cafe and prolonged conversation by the office’s monitors, the two became the best of friends. Watching little Chris grow into a toddling one year old, and in the process welcoming you into the world nearly ten months later.

From there, almost every waking moment consisted of time together. Chris as the lanky teenager with his brown hair sweeping across a tanned forehead, and you, following after him each step he took at less than a year younger. Kindergarten, Primary School.

Although, in the midst of the friendship, your father had found a better job opportunity in Brisbane, a decent ten-hour drive from the Bahng household you’d found second home in.

Though, after plenty of crocodile tears and mumbled “I’ll miss you”’s tumbling from an eighth grade mouth too absorbed in worrying about the matter of leaving rather than the fact you’d likely visit every month, you departed, off to a city so different from the Sydney you had known of. 

Even if it was Australia all the same.

And in turn, the annual summer visits began.

Summer before your freshman year of high school, where Chris finally got his braces off in his sophomore year and you soaked up every ounce of information given on surviving the first few days of school.

Then your own sophomore year, filled with feelings and discoveries and struggles unearthed you didn’t think could be experienced so vividly, expectations in need of fulfillment the board expected a sixteen year old to answer immediately.

What do you want to do with your life? Any plans for college? What about taking these extra classes? They look good on a résumé.

And simultaneously rip the ounces of childhood from your fingertips, but no school board puts that in the papers.

So the moment the car door opens after hellish voyaging to Sydney, you allow your lungs to inhale each ounce of salty air the Bahng family house offers, the childishness allowed for once amid crushing pressure. 

It is a meager five minute walk to the lapsing shoreline after all, and the ocean keeps good secrets within the sand, washing away your footprints as to flush away traces of whatever happenings occurred there. 

Yet, never truly forgotten. Instead, taken into the waters for little children to tell their mother of whom never believe the ocean spilled someone’s precious secrets.

“Chris.”

June eighteenth of your second year in high school, pajama-clad knees curl close into your body, lashes dusting open in the sparsely lit room to focus on him.

A dilation of the pupils, a hitch of the breath when he turns to you.

High school has changed Chris, but not in a foul manner. Blond curls, he’s exchanged from his usual russet locks. Round cheeks shifting in tandem with a sculptors hand, the marble of his skin a bit more toned, defined.

His jaw that clicks when he grows angered—not often, sometimes at his gaming system. 

Thickened brows furrowing and knitting in concentration.

Though those eyes are the same, and always will be. No other will have eyes like his, and you know in any life, in any state of amnesia, they would be recognized.

An “aha” moment where a switch flips in your brain, formulating a mere sentence involuntarily.

I love this boy, and I hope for forever he’ll look back at me.

And for that, you’re selfish. But honest.

If Christopher was a stranger, a look into that gaze and you think you’d know him instantaneously.

How silly.

But just as you had spoken, you’re reminded that childishness was something found each time you visited this place regardless of your actions. You’d hold onto that.

“I don’t want to grow up.”

The bit of fat at his under-eyes cause his eyes to form into crescent moons when he smiles, wrinkles at the corner of thick lashes crinkling.

Chris has always liked the moon.

A warm hand of his reaches forward, cupping your cheek as if the first time.

You think you like this more.

“Then don’t.”

A stroke of his thumb, and you snort a laugh when the cold of your nose bumps against the digit.

“And when you want to go back to being sixteen, come to see me, okay?”

Little did you both know that the future had a way of testing just how long sixteen would last.

Until when do you stop pretending?

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[tm-trx]

Pit Babe 2, ep 4

Live Reaction Notes:

(warning: may will contain inconsistent punctuation/capitalization, stream of consciousness reactions, and rampant speculation)

now it's Babe's turn to be the protective boyfriend love it

lol Chris - all these emotions are getting in the way of his science

Jeff has a secret now? is he pregnant?!

ah no just another vision - borrring! also I thought he’d told them everything already

of course Willy showed up at the same gym

too distracted by Babe/Pavel working out; can’t concentrate on what they're saying

::brief pause for appreciation::

and we’re back: “what did i do to you?” he’s playing the clueless card, but not believably, sorry kid

IG photo alibi, okay sure

okay but was Babe lying about ‘sorry i misjudged you’ and why did Willy have that look on his face? is he catching actual feelings?

plot cliche that I loathe alert: the loud over-reaction to someone clearly trying to be stealthy and/or keep a secret just so another character notices and joins the scene

put a ring on it Charlie!

that’s the second “not until after the serum is complete” - fishy

Hey Pete, you know this isn’t Way, right? The way he’s pursuing Chris makes me wonder.

Pete has a speakeasy in his basement: nice.

That’s right Chris, they weren’t even boyfriends. Run. Away.

oh that was intriguing; I'm trying not to over-analyze every time Chris’ face changes while Pete is telling him about his history with Way.

love me a pool table scene

um wow did they just . . . ?!?

Kim and Kenta: Team Cockblock

ah so cute - he really put “Mama” on the cake lol

flowers, candles, etc is usually too cheesy for me to take seriously but this is nicely done and Babe loved it; i love them

and then Tony ruins the vibe by corrupting Winner completely yikes; I suspected that other guy was doomed but not like this.

Final Thoughts:

current Tony Mole count:

Willy (obviously is)

Kenta (also obvious but unlikely)

Chris (still might be Way)

Dean (stealth option)

Has anyone written up a lore guide for this show yet? I have thoughts about the world they’re in and how the senses work in everyday life. I know why the characters want an erasing serum, but what would a layperson think of the whole idea? Pretty sure they’d be horrified by what both Charlie and Tony are doing. I’m trying not to think too deeply about it because that’s a whole can of meta worms to get into.

This show is giving me all the romance cliches and I am eating them up. Babe, sitting beside Charlie’s bed for hours, waiting for him to wake up but scared he never will. Delicious.

I was very confused about what Jeff was worried about now, because I thought last episode brought everything out in the open. Turns out he hadn’t been totally honest about what all he’s seen.

I went back to rewatch the gym scene to figure out what is going on with Willy and got distracted again. >.< I’m desperately curious about what is up with him. Is he developing feelings for Babe? Is it hero worship? Do they have history that Babe doesn’t know about? And does Babe really believe the social media alibi or is he stringing Willy along to get info?

Pete and Chris - Holy shit, chemistry! I’m really starting to think that Chris might actually be Way. Or Way’s brother? Could be his brother. His reaction when Pete said that he left Way behind with Tony was telling. Yes, Pete was telling him something horrible, but that looked like a personal reaction. And what was he starting to say to Pete, when the doorbell rang??

I really thought Kenta somehow had proof that Chris was Way and that’s why he needed to get ahold of Pete so urgently. Total letdown to find out he just wanted to go investigate Tony. LOL

Babe’s face when Charlie said no, these aren’t marriage rings. He wants to be married so bad. I’m glad Charlie picked up on that and reassured him, but if we don’t end with a marriage epilogue or at least a proposal I’m going to be just as disappointed as Babe.

Winner - oof - The actor played that scene so so well, wow. Desperation, disgust, and fear were all over Winner’s face while he was killing Tony’s guy. But mostly desperation. He is stuck and he knows it. And unless he swallows his pride and reaches out to the X-Hunter team, I don't see a way out for him.

So, who's taking odds that Tony kidnaps Chris to fix his serum problems?

My Pit Babe 2 recaps: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13

[picnokinesis]

Thoughts on Different Types of Representation in Doctor Who (and how fandom responds to it)

So I watched Rogue last night and - okay first, oh my days, absolutely ADORED it, this is definitely my favourite episode of this season, it was just so much FUN and it hooked me right from the start. And then the queerness! I was actually thinking to myself whilst watching it how wonderful it was because it felt like a queer story in a way that wasn't like, showboating about how progressive it was? [editorial aside: this is not comparing it to anything in particular, just a general observation]. The characters were just queer, within this wild and wonderful sci-fi story, but also their queerness wasn't the Only Character Trait they had and their story didn't resolve around their queerness, but their queerness was crucial to the plot in a way that was just lovely to see - and as a writer myself, it's personally the way I love to see our stories being told.

But then I made the mistake of going into the tag - always a foolish thing to do, because for some reason everyone loves to praise this era by criticising the previous era (as if it hasn't been criticised enough...like we know most of y'all hate Chris Chibnall for committing no worse crimes than Moffat and RTD before him...we know). And I found a couple of folks talking about how this episode alone did more for queer representation than the entirety of thirteen's era, whiiiiich at first really Peeved Me Off - like didn't these people understand how important Yaz's arc (especially Eve of the Daleks) was to a LOT of people? But then I was like 'well actually this is interesting', right? Because I think there's two very different kinds of representation going on here - and they're both very important in different ways, but one tends to get lauded as brilliant rep and one always gets put down as not good enough, or even bad rep. And what's the main difference? Whether the characters have a gay kiss or not.

So I just thought I'd share some of my thoughts and feelings on this, and why I think both these kinds of rep are equally important! To be clear from the get-go though - this is definitely not me ragging on anyone who likes more about one than the other (in fact, I think everyone likes one more than the other). This is merely a personal essay about it and the frustrations that comes when people in general do lift one up over the other. I'm gonna put it under the cut though, because it might get a bit long!

So, back when Eve of the Daleks aired, I remember having a lot of conversations about the representation in that episode - in particular with a very good friend of mine, who is a lesbian. And we realised that when it came to rep, we both actually wanted pretty different things. I'm aroace and genderfluid, and so a lot of what I saw in how thirteen was written - especially in terms of her gender (or lack thereof), and also her apparent lack of attraction (at least, in how I read it) was just incredibly affirming to me. I've never EVER seen a character on screen that I could see myself in both in terms of sexuality and gender. Whereas my friend saw things quite differently - thirteen was a lesbian, and they wanted to see that kiss between these two characters, because for them too, it was so rare to see that, and, in their words, they wanted to have their cake and eat it too. And we both realised that the reason that queer representation can feel so intense and important is, simply, because there isn't enough of it. We're all desperately reaching for the same small portion - and none of it is ever going to please everyone, or resonate with everyone. The stakes are too high.

So then, when there wasn't this dramatic romantic ending to Yaz's story, when there was no queer kiss, I was very sad for my friend, who didn't get that representation, but so painfully relieved for myself - because I got mine. So then it sucked a lot to see a lot of people getting really angry that this wasn't queer representation, that this was even homophobic - I even had someone tell me that aromantic representation in this regard was always going to be homophobic, because no-one would ever write it to be aro rep, and would instead only ever write it to avoid writing a gay kiss. And the thing that got me the most was that, REGARDLESS of whether they kissed or not, regardless of how you read either of the characters, there was one thing that was certain:

Yaz was queer. In text. Her emotional plotline centred around her realising that she was attracted to the Doctor (who was presenting as a woman - although, again, I don't think she really identified as such). The fact that she and the Doctor didn't get together by the end does not erase that fact.

They didn't kiss - but so what? Are queer people only queer when they're kissing someone of the same gender, or having gay sex? Are queer people not queer in their day to day lives, when they're not doing any of those things? Are queer people not queer when they're not dating? Are queer people not queer when they're trans, when they're ace, when they're aro, when their queerness doesn't resolve around attraction to the same gender?

And, to be honest, I think a lot of my feelings around this stem from the sort of exclusionist rhetoric that we saw a LOT of towards the ace/aro community back in 2012 that we still see now, that we're seeing towards the trans community now, that we're still seeing towards bi people, for pete's sake. It's this in-community infighting, pushing each other down to try and get up to the top, to keep all the "resources" for "the people who really need it", and it causes a serious amount of harm - but the truth is (and to bring this back to doctor who) that it all comes back to what me and my friend were discussing. We're all scared, all desperate to be seen - and when we are seen, it's the most incredible experience and the idea of losing that (or having someone else undermine it) feels inexpressibly awful. Having the thirteenth doctor...I suddenly realised this is what all the straight cis white dudes get all the time. She was like me, and that was indescribable. And then losing her - and having RTD not even be able to have a man wear her clothes because he was too worried about what the tabloids would say to be able to show a gnc person on tv...and then constantly described her as The Woman Doctor for the next entire episode - that hurt. A lot.

I've spoken to other friends who felt so seen in the character of Yaz - those people who realised they were queer later in life, those who fall in love with people and it doesn't end up going anywhere, those who don't get the whirlwind queer romances that people often call 'good representation'. Myself and many of my aspec friends have felt so seen in thirteen's almost entirely romance-less arc, and myself and my trans/genderqueer friends felt very seen in the way that thirteen's character would have been exactly the same if she'd been a man - the only difference was how the other characters around her interacted with her. Gender was something that happened to her. And when I watch episodes like Rogue, even though I don't relate to that representation, I just feel overwhelmed with joy because I know how important it will be to others that I care about. I think my sadness then comes from the fact that the way Thirteen and Yaz were written are just as important to me and many people that I know, but because they didn't kiss, it's not considered queer enough. Am I not queer enough, then? Are my friends not queer enough?

We need more episodes like Rogue, like The Parting of Ways, like Praxeus, like The Doctor Falls, because they are unquestionably and unapologetically queer, in a way that can't be avoided. We also need more episodes like Eve of the Daleks, like The Haunting of the Villa Diodati, like the rest of thirteen's era where the representation is an undercurrent throughout the whole story - but also undeniable, in a way that Yaz's story arc is, even if it doesn't end in a kiss, even if it doesn't end neatly and happily. Personally, I definitely would love to see more stories focused on aromanticism and on transness (especially ones that are written by trans people for trans people, rather than by cis people for cis people), but that's probably going to be down to people like me and other writers that I know actually getting into the script writing industry - and that depends on the people who are already there letting us in. One thing that I've always appreciated about Chibnall is that, after leaving Doctor Who, he began a programme for training up new showrunners with ITV, because: "showrunners are the gatekeepers and too many of the gatekeepers look like me."

Anyway, I probably have more thoughts that I've forgotten, but that's generally the gist of it. I think the more we fight over whether rep is 'good' or 'bad', relating to whether we see ourselves in it or not (rather than 'is this genuinely harmful or unhelpful', which I think is a more crucial question) the more the waters get muddied. We have different needs and wants, and no single episode is going to represent every facet of our community. But each episode, each story like this is a step in the right direction - and even rep that isn't perfect (I have thoughts about The Star Beast, for example) is still extremely positive and important, and definitely something that should be celebrated, even as we keep looking to the future for what we would like to see done differently, done better. And some day, I hope, there'll be so much queer rep, it'll be so normal, that those stakes won't feel so high anymore. It won't feel like everything hangs on how a certain show or storyline or episode is written. We'll all be seen. And that will be absolutely fantastic.

[scarscribblesstuff]

Just in Case

Fandom: Redacted Audio

Characters: Treasure, Sam, Darlin

Pairings: Treasure/Porter (mentioned), Sam/Darlin

Song: https://open.spotify.com/track/3VjysqtxS79bPm4hAjqwwW?si=4W-E7luISr6tLKr-mZO3yw

Pretty angsty in Treasure's self reflection. Unreliable narrator oops. Kinda wrote this up whilst prepping for a bigger writing piece I have planned. Hope y'all enjoy!

Please do not feed to AI, claim as your own, or repost to other platforms without my permission. The characters belong to Redacted Audio and this is a fan work.

(Fic below cut)

And just like that he was out the door.

Treasure doesn’t know how long they stood like that, staring at an open doorway to dark streets. It didn't take long for their small apartment to turn cold, not that there was much warmth in there at the moment.

They’d had an arm held out to him at one point they think. Bitterly kicking a shirt on the floor they realise how common a motif that had become for their life. How long had they been clawing at closed doors begging to be loved; bird in their teeth still fluttering weakly.

How quickly had Porter filled their life, and how quickly had they forgotten the cold.

But they couldn't forget it now. With the wind seeping in through the literal and metaphorical gaping hole he had left.

Finally they close the door. Now it's cold and quiet. And both have a way of getting in their bones.

They sink down against the door and hold themselves with shaking hands, as if they could stop the sobs from breaking them apart.

~

Hours passed since the fight. Then days. Their apartment was still messy. Never dirty but always messy, enough to get by but enough to be judged. If they ever had guests anyway.

It took a week to realise that outside of work, they hadn't spoken to anyone. All their waking hours afterwards had been devoted to looking for a glimpse of a smooth talking vampire, and praying to every god he would hear them out.

Should they be begging for forgiveness? They weren't in the right, they'd pushed too far. But they surely didn't deserve to be insulted like that. Did they? No they didn't.

Did they?

They shake their head, desperate to get some of the constant noise out.

Resolving to try and change one thing, fuck it they're going to investigate.

They had vaguely remembered one evening, Porter coming in looking frantic. He'd written down an address in their phone.

For you, Treasure. Just in case.

The words that night held promises they were terrified of, but their attempts to soothe him were cut off with harsh kisses that faded into the warmth of his touch.

So now here they were. Just in case. Like a fool. In front of a cozy looking house in the middle of nowhere. Pickup truck in the driveway and porch empty. Pausing with their hand raised to knock, they take a moment to breathe in the night air for a moment. Quiet. Whether that was a good thing or not; they guessed they were about to see.

~

Knock knock.

Sam startled as he looked up from his keyboard. Shooting a confused glance at Darlin sat opposite, he slowly closes the laptop.

“You expecting anyone, Darlin? One of the pack stopping by today?”

They shake their head. “No. Vincent or Sparky coming over?”

“Nope.” He looks to the door. “Let's hope it ain't bad news.”

Opening the door reveals a Treasure shivering slightly in the cool night air. He and Darlin exchange a look at the sight of them: unempowered.

“Well hi there, how can I help you tonight?” He asks, hospitable tone unable to fully conceal his unease.

“Um.” Internally Treasure was screaming, what was their plan again? “Hi.”

“Hi.” Darlin leans in the doorway with crossed arms, eyebrows raised as they look Treasure up and down.

“I'm sorry to bother you so late at night.” They swallow thickly, taking half a step back. “But I'm looking for Porter.”

Another look between the two in the doorway.

“What do you want with that prick?” Darlin grumbles.

“He said to come here, if I ever needed. Just in case.” Treasure asserts, beginning to stand their ground.

“Did something happen?” Sam immediately scans the road behind them, searching for anything lurking the shadows.

“We had an argument. And I haven't heard from him since. I don't know. Sorry I shouldn't have come here for that.” They shake their head reality hitting them. How could just in case possibly apply to an argument? “I just wanted to know if he was okay.” They whisper as they turn back to their small car.

“Wait.” Sam calls after them. “Why don't we chat? I could make some tea or something.”

“...Are you sure?” Treasure questions, keeping a hesitant eye on Darlin.

“I wouldn't offer if I wasn't sure.” He says with a wry smile.

“Well, a lot of people would, so.” They shrug before realising what they said. “Not that I'm casting doubts on you or anything, sorry.”

Only Sam notices, but Darlin twitches softening a little towards the stranger.

“Um can I ask… are you guys, uh…”

“Yes we’re together.” Darlin says proudly.

“Oh I was going to ask if you guys were… special, like Porter b-but that's also nice. Congratulations?” Treasure tilts their head to the side.

Sam snorts, earning an elbow to the side from Darlin. “Just come inside already.” They call out behind them as they make their way back to the kitchen table.

Treasure tentatively follows behind the pair. Their eyes are draw to the small but tender touches. The way Darlin always seems to be connected to Sam in someway, the way Sam looks at Darlin like they hung the stars in the sky. They wonder if P- they shake their head - you've already messed that up.

“Is Porter alright?” Sam asks, his back to them as he boils the kettle.

“I don't know.” They confess quietly. “I haven't seen him for a while.”

“How long?”

“Nearly a month and a half.”

Yet another glance between the two, and they felt something inside of them twitch.

“So you are ‘special’ like him. You know why he was particularly upset.” They fight to keep their voice even.

“I am like him, in some ways. In the way you mean at least.” Sam confirms solemnly, placing a cup of tea in front of them. “And it's a… complex situation. Not one that's my place to tell.”

“Then why invite me in?” They take a sip, recoiling a little as they burn their tongue.

“Because you look like shit.” Darlin cuts in.

“In lack of better phrasing.” Sam snorts.

“I'm sure I do.” Treasure feels themselves relax a bit, laughing bitterly. “I'm sorry I've had no one to say this to for ages now - but I cannot fucking believe vampires are real.”

They watch as the two soften into laughter and the room warms. Treasure takes another sip of tea, much more pleasant as it slips down their throat.

“Why do you want to see him again?” Darlin asks after a moment of the quiet settling between them.

“What?” Treasure and Sam ask at rhe same time.

“Just,” Darlin avoids eye contact with Sam for a moment, “he’s not your only option, he shouldn't be.”

They feel Sam’s hand on their shoulder, and lean into it almost imperceptibly.

“We're working things out.” Treasure says carefully. “If he comes back that is. Who else I have is none of your business.”

“Just don't try and do something stupid alone. Fucking, call us if you have to or something. I don't know.” They stop themselves with a sigh, standing up.

“Darlin.” Sam cups their face delicately.

“I'm fine, I just need to go for a run.” They assure him, pressing their forehead against his.

“Okay. Be safe.” He breathes as he lets them go.

“I'm sorry I didn't mean-” Treasure awkwardly half stands too.

“You're fine.” Darlin shakes their head. “Me stuff.”

And just like that they're gone, along with the warmth in the room that had only just settled.

“I- I'm sorry.” They swallow. “I should go.”

Running away, ironic.

“If you need to go, I won't stop you - but they weren't lying to you.” He says quietly.

“Thank you. Um…?”

“Sam.”

“Thank you Sam.” They half smile. “If you see Porter…” they shake their head. “Goodbye.”

And they hurry out the front door, leaving it open, half empty mug still the table, warm.

[sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan]

Introducing…

Ex!BSF/BF!Matt x Reader

Warnings/Contents: fluff, mentions of characters being hurt – physically, mentally, & emotionally, internet trolls, break up, ANGST !

Note: This is an original idea of mine. Please inbox or personal message me if you'd like to use any of these characters as 'inspiration' of some sort !

(If any of this seems familiar, like you've already read it before – you most likely have! I took bits and pieces of a previously written work called 'Silently Suffering' and either copied it or edited it to fit the background information of this introduction)

To read more about this au, click here !

I do NOT give permission for my work(s) to be copied, translated, or re-uploaded to ANY site !

Want more like this? Visit my masterlist !

Taglist: @forgottxen @ariastur9z @watercolorskyy @daniel-is-bae

Comment, personal message, or ask via my inbox to be added to my taglist !

Reblogs are always appreciated, but never needed :)

The divider is by a random Pinterest creator

Enjoy 💜💙🧡 ☆ :) $

How It All Started

Reader and the triplets all grew up together in Somerville, Massachusetts – going to the same school and everything.

One day while at recess, little kindergartner Reader was simply swinging on the playground's swing, minding her own business.

Meanwhile, the triplets were kicking and passing around a soccer ball – their mom had wanted to sign them up for soccer that evening.

All of a sudden, Nick made a bad pass to Chris. The ball went flying ��� straight into the back of Reader's head.

She looked around the playground, trying to find the reason for her now throbbing head. She picked up the ball and marched over to them, angrily ready to tell them off.

Her anger faltered, confusion glazed over her expression just slightly. It appeared as if she were seeing triple. Three same faced, slightly freckled dirty-blonde boys stood in a row, eyeing her sheepishly.

She tossed the ball onto the ground as she spoke sassily, "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to hit girls?” One of the boys at the end spoke up, "It was an accident, we swear!"

She had rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest with her foot, tapping the mulch angrily. “Well, I expect an apology because that hurt!” Her eyes had drifted towards the boy standing in the middle.

His eyes stared back at her with this look of intensity in them that caused her stomach to churn with butterflies. "I'm sorry about that. Our brother, Nick, isn't very athletic like Chris and I,” the boy had said, pointing to his brother on one side, then at his other before holding his hand out for her to shake.

"I'm Matt, by the way. And yes, before you ask, we are triplets,” she couldn't help but laugh at his words. She was sure they were constantly getting asked that.

She took his hand in hers, shaking up and down once before quickly letting go. His hand was warm, presumably from working up a sweat playing soccer. Hers were clammy too from gripping the handles of the swing. “Wanna play with us?” Nick had offered.

She quickly agreed, kicking and passing the ball around with the three brothers. From then on, the four of them remained close. Like a tight-knit group of friends.

How They Got Together

Throughout elementary and middle school, they all remained good friends. That was until around sixth or seventh grade, when Reader caught feelings for Matt.

Sure, he was attractive and pretty to the eyes, but that wasn't what drew her near to him. It was the kindness of his heart. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about one of his interests. It was his smile. The one that made her heart absolutely melt anytime she saw it.

She always kept her feelings to herself. Not wanting to ruin the friendship between her and him. Or even mess up the dynamic between her and his brothers.

But anyone could see it. The way she stared at him, like he was the only person in the room. Even if it was crowded, her eyes always looked for him.

When freshman year of high school started for the four of them, that's when it all changed. Matt had finally noticed her – in more than a friendly way.

It was soccer season again. Matt and Chris never dropped the sport they grew to love in kindergarten. Nick and Reader did though. They were in the photography club together. The only two.

Because Nick was Chris and Matt's triplet, he had to go to their games anyway. So he thought, 'why not take photos of the team for the school's yearbook?'

Of course, being the only other person in the club, as well as being best friends with the boys, Reader had decided to tag along to assist with the photos.

The rain was pouring down hard during a particularly close match. Matt was a striker along with Chris. He was about to score, a good strong pass from a midfielder aiming straight towards him.

Until he slipped. He ended up landing oddly on his ankle. Reader ran onto the field, ignoring the protests of the people around her or the way that the rain was beating down onto her skin. All she cared about was making sure Matt was okay.

When she got to him, he was lying on the ground, groaning out in pain. She dropped to her knees, gently placing his head in her lap. She held his cheeks as she looked down at him with worry.

Matt smiled up at her, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears. Reader couldn't tell though. It was raining too harshly. His hand weakly reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, staring into her eyes lovingly.

That's when it happened. Matt had leaned up, connecting their lips in a soft, tender kiss. He tried putting all his emotions into it. Reader was shocked at first, and did not kiss him back. His confidence faltered – 'had I been reading this wrong the entire time?' – so he tried pulling away.

Only to be met with her lips right back on his. Her pent-up emotions – the frustration of having to hold back how she truly felt for so long, the love and desire to be his, the longing of wanting, needing to be his, all of it – seeped into the second kiss they shared.

When they pulled away, they were breathless and smiling. MaryLou and Jimmy had rushed onto the field with Nick following closely behind. Chris was too busy goofing off with his teammates, telling them all about how he just knew Matt and Reader would be together.

Where It All Went Wrong

When the triplets had started their group socials, Reader had created her own. About the same time that the boys were going viral, so was Reader. They were featured on each other's platforms quite often in the early parts of their careers.

They each told the viewers from the beginning – Matt and Reader were together. They loved each other dearly.

When the boys moved to LA, so did Reader. Matt and his brothers bought their house and had a manager oversee everything, while Reader maintained her things by herself.

Reader had an apartment not far from the Sturniolo's new home. A five-minute drive – if that. It was within walking distance. Which Matt and Reader both enjoyed and took full advantage of.

The first few months with the four of them in Los Angeles were going well. They were thriving, living their life exactly how they had always dreamed.

Until, five months into their new lives in LA, things went downhill. Fast. Madi, their manager's daughter, had started to receive extreme hate from the triplet's fanbase. As was Reader.

Reader couldn't take it anymore. So she broke up with him. She broke up with Matt, much in the same way she got together with him.

It was a rainy day out, the sky a dark, sad, shade of gray that fit the mood of the Sturniolo Triplet's home quite well. Reader had told Matt that she couldn't – wouldn't – handle all of this negativity from his fans any longer.

Matt's reaction was heartbreaking. He was upset, and understandably so. The love of his life wanted to walk away. Wanted to call it quits. He couldn't deal. His eyes showed the pain he was feeling. The way he was hurting.

As Reader walked out the door for the last time, Matt broke down. She didn't spare him a final glance like he'd hoped. She was done. Done with the relentless hate that she was receiving, simply for loving and being Matt's partner.

They were both broken. Both hurt. Every social media post, every video felt empty without the other by their side. Not only had Reader and Matt lost each other romantically, they had also lost each other in a friendly way too.

Reader didn't even talk to Nick or Chris anymore either. All communication, all ties leading to the triplets, had been cut off. Permanently.

What Are They Doing Now?

It's been three months. Three painful months of not having the other by their side. Three excruciating months of having to act like they are fine. Like their worlds weren't crumbling to the ground. Neither Matt nor Reader was okay.

They tried to hide it. Tried to pretend that they were fine. That there was no hurt. That there was no anguish. But that's a lie. Not only are they lying to themselves, but they are lying to those around them as well.

Reader and Matt made other friends in LA. Other influencers and people besides each other. Reader had these other friends besides the Sturniolo's. But it wasn't the same. The connection wasn't the same.

Reader missed Nick's sass. Reader missed the way he wouldn't be afraid to call someone out about something, no matter what the situation may have been. Reader missed the way they were able to tell each other anything. Like how in high school, Reader was one of the first people Nick came out to – even before his own brothers.

Reader missed Chris's goofy personality. Reader missed the way he was always able to make her laugh, no matter what the situation may have been. Reader missed the fact that he was the first person to support the relationship between her and Matt. Like the time Matt took Reader to New York just a month before they broke up. It was just the two of them. Chris immediately supported the idea.

Most of all, though, Reader missed Matt. Reader missed everything about Matt. From the way that his hair fell into his eyes when it needed to be cut to the way that he drank his coffee. She missed it all. Everything. Every detail, big and small. She missed it. She missed him.

The boys had missed her too, but it was Matt who sat up in his room at late hours of the night. Wondering where he went wrong. Wondering what he could've done differently to make her stay. Wondering who exactly was to blame for their separation. Wondering when these intense feelings of hurt and pain would end. Wondering why the world – specifically the Internet – had to be so cruel to push away the love of his life. Wondering how he could possibly fix it, possibly erase the damage.

It was frustrating. Watching the other pretend on a screen for their millions of fans watching. Watching the other pretend that everything was fine. Watching but not talking. Watching but not touching. Watching but not holding. It was frustrating.

There was no going back. Not attempting to make up for the lost time from the past three months. The days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds – all this time that had passed. None of it would be taken back. None of the wreckage – from their hearts, their minds, or even their souls – would ever be mended.

People could tell. People could see. People could notice. People were aware of just how miserable Reader and Matt truly were. But neither ever said a word. Neither ever told anyone how they were truly feeling inside. Inside their minds. Inside their hearts. Inside their souls.