#ergo 'making out' must be sex
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⸻ YOU'RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH
. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader
warnings — porn with some plot, sacrilege, a copious amount of religious themes, priest! reader, virgin reader ergo loss of virginity, allusion to homophobia / internalised homophobia, unprotected sex, blowjob (r receiving), deepthroating, fingering, riding, creampie, toji lowkey has a corruption kink, use of the nickname 'angel', toji refers to the reader as father once but that is entirely in a religious sense . ✦ . wc — 2.1k . ✦ . notes — we'll all pretend that didn't just happen!! anyway!! i'm so so normal about toji...and !! i don't know what exactly falls under dark content but seeing as this contains sacrilege you've been warned nevertheless. not proof read bc t**blr stressed me out
“what does —” he stops himself mid-sentence to motion upwards, “the big man upstairs think about homosexuality?”
you swallow hard, your adam’s apple bobbing. you hadn’t expected the question, naturally. especially from the likes of toji fushiguro of all people. but you answer anyway. “well,” you murmur, averting your gaze so that you’d stare out the window as the first signs of winter begin to settle in for its extended stay instead of being forced to meet toji’s pointed gaze. “we all are subject to desires that may or may not reflect god’s light, but these desires aren’t sinful unless you act or encourage others to act on them.”
he nods almost absentmindedly in response before following up with: “…even you, i imagine, as a man of god, could fall victim to such desires?”
and you pause for a beat, your jaw tightening as an image escapes the dark recesses of your mind; the neat box you’ve forced what you deemed unpleasant thoughts into.
the man in your mind didn’t look quite like anyone you knew at first. he was just a man without a name or a face — similarly to the world before god’s divine intervention, he too was without form. but then, by chance, you met toji fushiguro and his teenage son. then the man who’d haunt your thoughts began to change.
he was older, weathered by life experiences and parenting, and taller, maybe 6’2, with messy black hair that fell over his brows. his hair reminded you of the cloudless, starless night sky. then there was that scar on the corner of his right lip. you’d imagined yourself on more than one occasion leaning toward him, pressing your lips against it before he’d open his mouth and let you explore the wet cavern.
though you shake your head as if that would dismiss your thoughts, fingers curling defensively around the window’s ledge. “everyone encounters temptation in their day-to-day, but, like god’s son, we must resist.” you counter eventually. “you’re not one for idle chatter.”
“i’m not,” he agrees, his voice smooth, something akin to the feeling of silk against your skin. it gives you goosebumps and makes the hairs stand up. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, his gaze intent. you can feel him burning holes into the back of your head. “you know, i think i’m long overdue for a confession.”
“as you wish.”
“our heavenly father has declared the following in the book of james, chapter five, verse sixteen: ‘therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective’. now, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit, amen.”
silence — and then toji sucks in a breath, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite grasp but has you shifting in your seat on the other side of the confessional booth anyway. you’re, on some level, disgusted by your behaviour. it’s unprofessional at best, or perhaps the beginning of your unravelling at worst. you fear it’s the latter.
“bless me, father, for i have sinned,” the words slide off his tongue with ease, “it has been two months since my last confession.” and your eyes flutter closed, or maybe you forced them closed because you feel no better than a pervert by the way you ache at every sound that comes out of his mouth.
either way, you don’t notice the way the door creaks as toji lets himself out of his side of the confessional booth and opens the door to yours until he’s kneeling in front of you, the pads of his fingers digging into your sides. the skin of his fingers is rough, worn out from the different tasks he takes on to keep himself and megumi afloat, you think. he’s become something of a handyman around town.
“to be honest, father,” he says, now directly addressing you. “i came here fer’ your guidance…you see, i’ve been havin’ thoughts lately that i don’t think align with what god wants.” and you find yourself at a loss, your eyes still closed, though your adam’s apple bobs again as you swallow your suppressed thoughts. “my guidance?” you repeat quietly, “confess your…thoughts…then, and seek forgiveness. it’s not a sin unless you act on those thoughts.”
he lets out a pleased hum at that, leaning forward so that his face is practically buried in your clothed crotch. “so,” he counters, “if my understanding is correct, would it be a sin if i told you to spread your legs f’me?”
you don’t trust yourself to speak right now — not when your thoughts are all muddled. so, you simply nod and toji clicks his tongue. “but sin or not, you’re going to anyway because you and i both know how we feel about each other, right? c’mon, use your big boy words and tell me.”
the smart thing—no, the right thing to do here would be to say no. adamantly deny the lingering touches and glances that the two of you had come to share. affection between two men could only go so far. but then again, you’ve gone so much farther in the safety of your bedroom long after the sun has set. how much longer could you shamelessly show your face to the other members of the church and listen to them confess their deepest secrets to you? you’re parading as a righteous man when you’re anything but.
if it turns out to be as bad of a sin as they say, god will strike you down.
turns out it’s not as bad of a sin as they say — or maybe it is and you’ve yet to receive divine punishment.
“god works in mysterious ways,” you say under your breath but toji hears it anyway. how could he not when you’re in such proximity to each other? you hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it doesn’t matter. and toji (ever the charmer) takes it upon himself to respond, “maybe he brought us together for a reason…or maybe i’m one of lucifer’s lackeys sent to seduce you.”
you make the conscious decision to ignore that which seems to entertain toji even more. he’s ridiculous in ways you can’t fathom. like…the way he’s got your legs spread, back pressed firmly against the wood of the confessional, your thighs trembling as he clicks his tongue, “spread yer’ legs a little wider f’me angel, s’not enough f’me to suck that pretty cock.”
he… he knows what he’s doing. whereas you were clumsy and inexperienced. but, to be fair, you had taken a vow of celibacy when you were twelve.
now, though, you’re experiencing true pleasure for the first time — and with a man, no less. you tilt your head back in what little space the confessional affords you as toji gives your balls tentative touches, maybe light squeezes, as he aligns the head of your leaking cock with his mouth. you’re embarrassed, warmth flooding your cheeks, but you can’t look away. not when this is all you’ve ever wanted.
there’s pre-cum on his lips; your pre-cum. it’s there, as clear as day, and he’s entirely unbothered. all of his attention is on your cock. your cock that’s throbbing as he sucks on it. pre-cum and saliva mixing. it’s all so new to you.
as for him…well isn’t this cute? you’re trying your hardest to stifle those needy moans of yours, he can tell. but no matter how much you bite down on your lower lip or how you press your hands against your mouth those pretty sounds you make always find a way of escaping. part of him, somewhere deep down, feels guilty for corrupting you like this. but perhaps he doesn’t feel guilty enough.
he continues to work on your cock, sucking on it whilst simultaneously fondling with your balls. you’re quivering, rutting your hips forward now and then. occasionally you go too far and it scares you at first — you didn’t mean to push your cock all the way to the back of his throat! ever the unbothered, though, he welcomes it until you’re spurting your load down his throat. and he swallows, utterly content.
then he coos at you, bringing a thumb up to your face, and tracing the outline of your jaw. “don’t worry about me, angel, you’re not going to hurt me. what you’re going to do f’me is let me reposition us so i can see your pretty boy hole, m’kay? my boy can do that f’me, right?”
my boy. the idea of being his. after so long…it only feels right. so, you allow him to readjust your position so that you’re straddling his lap and somewhere in the process you both disregard your clothes.
“you’ve been thinking about my cock? that’s why yer’ hole is winking f’me? all ready to take my cock like a big boy?” he asks and you nod your head eagerly. every word that comes out of his mouth is dirty but your reactions are the icing on the cake. you’re not the quiet, unassuming priest he met by chance all those months back. and to think that he’s the reason why.
well, he doesn’t linger on the thought. you’re impatient, squirming on his thighs in search of friction. but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t get him going and he may be many things but he would not force himself into you without properly preparing you to take him.
so as much as you whine about it, he ultimately takes his time with you. the nearest lubricant happened to be some sort of oil, but he made sure that it was safe to use before coating his fingers in a generous amount. then he oh so carefully drags his finger across your hole. it makes you shudder, but after a few minutes of this, you find yourself unprepared for the stretch of fitting a singular digit in. it hurts and the moment you so much as whimper toji’s pressing his lips against yours. the same lips that were around your cock only moments ago. his lips are gentle, soothing, even.
and he keeps it like that — his lips against yours as he slowly introduces more fingers into your ass. it takes a while but your pained whimpers soon morph into more desperate, filthy little noises as he drags his fingers in and out of your hole before curling them, tips grazing your prostate.
you want it, you decide. his cock, that is. you want his cock in your ass beyond a reasonable doubt. it’s all you need. bouncing on his fingers feels good but you just know that his cock would feel so much better.
“this is a sin, we’re both sinning,” you announce, your words strong but your delivery coming in between laboured gasps as his fingers continue to graze your prostate. “so i expect you to fuck me like you mean it.”
and he doesn’t need to be told twice. with a scoff — one that sounds more amused than annoyed — he pulls his fingers out of you. shaking his head as you whimper at the loss. but it’s soon replaced by something bigger and much thicker. it’s his cock, covered in the same oil, and you almost can’t believe it when he’s aligning it with your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.
you have to take a few breaks before you fully sink on him with a low groan. he makes you feel so full and he hasn’t even moved yet. and when you take it upon yourself to ride him you revert to the softheaded boy he makes you out to be.
your movements are clumsy — mediocre, you’re sure of it. but toji doesn’t intervene. he simply leans back, big, warm hands on your hips, while you figure out your rhythm. and after a few failed attempts you find one that works for both of you. it feels good, it feels great even. his hard cock filling you to the brim while you all but mindlessly bounce on his cock, your walls clenching around his throbbing length.
you’re going to cum soon, you’re sure of it. and when you do eventually watch through teary eyes as your cock spurts ropes of cum onto his stomach you’re not surprised whatsoever. toji, however, takes a lot longer to cum. you’ve probably cum at least two more times by the time toji takes control, his grip on your hips tightening as he angles you just the right way to hit your prostate with each thrust of his hips upwards. your toes curl, eyes half-lidded, and you just barely acknowledge the warmth of his semen in your ass.
all you can think of, and just barely manage to stutter out is: “you’ve fucked me,” and he stares up at you with a smug smile, chest heaving as he copes with his orgasm that has been a long time coming, “yeah, i’ve fucked yer’ pretty boy hole.”
#x male reader smut#x bottom male reader#toji x male reader#jjk smut#jjk x you#toji x you#toji x y/n#jjk x y/n#x sub male reader#jjk x male reader#toji fushiguro#toji smut
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Love is Better the Second Time Around ep 4
Photo Credit : Love is Better the Second Time Around Promotional Account on Twitter | https://x.com/koi_nido/status/1772596502365356096?s=46
Gosh, this episode really made me so happy. It really compensated the massive emotional blue balls which I had because of Cherry Magic the Anime episode 11
SHORT REVIEW HERE WE GO ! SPOILERS SPOILERS!!!! DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU WANT TO BE SURPRISED BY THE PLOT
The biggest thing that popped up to me from the episode is the Sukida vs Aishiteru difference in Japanese. Before watching the episode, I had this understanding that, okay, Japanese people prefer to just use Sukida as the stand-in for "I Love You" rather than using the actual phrase of Aishiteru. Even when Hitro described how much he always loves crab cream croquette, he used the word Sukida - chuto sukidasteo -, instead of Aishiteru, granted that he was describing how he loves an inanimate object, not a person. In the cold open, Hiro used the noun form of love, which is "Koi". OH and the nighttime postdate pier confrontation. I really would love to understand which words Takashi actually used. "まずは さ僕と恋をしてみようよ" - Takashi actually used the noun form of love - koi -, the second time in the show. "のに 君が思ってる以上に僕もずいぶん君にはまってるよ" was what Takashi said before the date, here he used the word "into you" or more literally "addicted to you". But then, during the sex scene, while Hiro was riding Takashi I MUST ADD, I was so shocked that Takashi actually said "Aishiteru". The notion of Japanese people being too afraid of standing out by saying "I Love You" really just blew out of my mind immediately. Of course, the context of the scene might actually describe the intensity of their love that crosses the mass mentality of conformity and hence, the utterance of "I Love You". And also, it happened very privately. Not in some streets where other people might judge you more, ergo lowering the bar of whether to say "I Love You" or not. This case of saying I Love You or not is very interesting for me, I really want to understand more Japanese speakers preferred dictions.
The second biggest thing that I noticed from the show is their way of saying Sex. My understanding is that in BL Japanese works, they will just flat out say "Sex" rather than coding it, like what happened in Tokyo in April is..., Straight J-Dramas, on the other hand, just used the word "it". In one of the episodes of Turn to Me Mukai-Kun, the only straight J-Drama that I've watched Mukai-kun talked with one of his previous sex partners, they used the word "it" to describe their no-strings-attached sex. Of course, it's just an observation, I have not watched that many straight J-dramas. However, it turns out, in this series, they much prefer to use the word "it" as well. In episode 3, when Hiro said, before leaving the onsen, "Just because we have done it, doesn't mean we're dating". I really thought it was just due to Hiro's disbelief that he had sex with his ex-boyfriend, hence the implicit shame in admitting, and uttering that he had "sex". But now, in episode 4, during Haru masturbation scene, he says "そもそも好きだししちゃったし", again, the use of "it" Even though, I think the context has shifted, Haru was slowly admitting his love and feelings to Takashi; hence, he may not see the sex as something to be ashamed of anymore. But again, this might come from a very amateur observer of Japanese linguistic culture, I mean, the use of "it" might actually signify the idea that Haru doesn't see what he does with Takashi as "Sex" maybe they see it as "making love" lol, I know, such a corny phrase. However, maybe, Haru is just not at the point of saying that they are making love yet, but not calling it something as casual as "sex", (I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman by Britney Spears playing in the background). But that hypothesis doesn't really stand as Hiro actually said the word "sex" as they were having sex. What exactly are the connotations of the word "sex" for Japanese speakers?
I really love the consent feature of this episode. Hiro was too drunk to give consent, so Takashi just entertained him in his house, and they went out after Hiro became sober. Weird that they didn't use the trope of being too drunk and being needed to be carried by your love interest lol.
I also love that they used Uke taking care of Seme trope. it happened in My Personal Weatherman, Sasaki to Miyano [not definitive], If It's with You [not definitive], to say the least. I know it's not good in equating all of these heteronormative gender roles to a gay couple, but I think it's a nice trope to show that Ukes have dignity and play such a crucial role in gay relationships. I think it's much better for Japanese viewers to understand the out-of-the-box ness of queer couples by showing more on how Semes can also take care of Ukes - like in The End of the World with You.
ALSO. My brain itch still stands!!!! HIRO REJECTED TAKASHI. NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND. Gosh, the unequal love trope was called back in this episode. Is this a new trend amongst Japanese BL works?
FURTHERMORE. How can Takashi be that rich? Are university lecturers in Japan paid that well? the apartment, the stuff? HE HAS HIS OWN OFFICE, like what?
P.S. I really love how just mid-wild the sex scene in the end is. It's so typical of this show to be crazily in the middle.
After Takashi proposed and they all got lovey-dovey, omg they look so cute in acting like newlyweds.
Of course, they're gonna break up before reuniting in the finale, wouldn't be a bl if it didn't have one. Gosh, I'm gonna cry so hard in the next episode.
#koi wo suru nara nidome ga joto#japan bl#bl live action#japanese language#linguistics#love is better the second time around
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Hey Peach, I’m going feral for this Jurdan idea and you’re the only TFOA blog I follow anymore. So, set when Jude is still high key just in it for the power and after they’ve started getting intimate. Jude kills her dad, or someone else does in front of her and she’s playing it off like this is a win bc he was trying to get the throne ergo against her. And she and Cardan walk back to his chambers and he’s trying to gauge how she’s doing bc she puts up a good front but that man raised her. She asks for sex (rough) and he goes along w it and they start making out and she just…. Slowly breaks down and starts sobbing and Cardan holds her and they just cuddle and she actually talks about her feelings and problems and then it’s sappy hurt comfort.
Thank you for your time, just had to get that out. Hope the kiddo is growing up nicely!
∞
A victory, Jude thinks to herself, though her hands shake and tremble when she slides the sword out of his chest. She feels dizzy, as every bone and organ scrape against the blade of Nightfell. She’s done it. He’d be proud of her, that she’s bested him. Of course he would – that is, after all, how he’s trained her.
Blood rushes in her ear and unable to help herself, her knees fall to the ground, beside him. She hesitates then closes Madoc’s eyes, seeing the stain of blood on her finger tips as she does so. She wonders, almost as if she’s not quite herself – as if she’s looking in on the scene from somewhere else – but she wonders if it would be fitting to dip his hood in the blood she’s spilled. There’s a thickness in her throat, Jude can’t quite swallow properly; it tightens and constricts at her rib. She wishes she was a little more human at the moment. Maybe then she’d know what prayer to say to send his soul off. I’m happy, she tells herself, forcing a smile. Safe.
But then, why do her tears feel heavy when they land on his chest?
She doesn’t really know how or when the calvary came, who had helped her up and declared her righteous in battle, who’d led her back to the palace and bathed her. Who’d scrubbed off the remainder of her father’s blood from her skin, and dressed her in finery. Doesn’t pay attention to the speech being made in her honor, doesn’t look to the remainder of her family, mourning his death. She nods and smile when she thinks it’s the right moment, raises her chalice and repeats whatever cheer has been said. She eats her food, but hardly tastes her meal.
When it’s over, Cardan is beside, her leading her to her room. She gives him a smile when he turns her to face him. The door is locked behind him and he tells her it’s only the two of them. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, I am,” Jude responds, “I’m splendid,” She doesn’t think she’s ever used that word before, because it feels so foreign. She thinks, perhaps, she hadn’t fully returned to her body since watching her father fall. She places a hand to Cardan’s neck. His pulse beats just fine, “Just absolutely fine,” she reaches up and kisses him, tasting the salt of her own tears on his lips before she’s even aware they had fallen. He holds her steady, pulling away in concern.
“Jude…” he manages to thumb at the corner of an eye before she turns her face from him.
“It’s a victory,” she can’t help but repeat, what must seem like the umpteenth time. She starts at the bobbles in her hair, sitting in front of the mirror. Her vision seems blury and her fingers get caught in the jewels. She sniffs, annoyed, but gentle hands are easing her digits away, taking out the rest of the adorning gold and pearls and gems. “Thanks,” she murmurs, watching him through the mirror, more than herself. She knows, she’d be unpleased to see the reflection of her red tinted eyes and swollen face. She doesn’t remember crying profusely at all, but why are all the symptoms there? She tests a smile, and if it hurts, she thinks she’s masked it pretty well. “Aren’t you happy?”
Cardan goes to the buttons that line the back of her gown, nimble fingers undoing them with ease. “I am happy you’re alive,” he tells her.
Jude rises, turning to face him, he pushes the dress down her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. He runs his eyes over her and Jude frowns when she’s realizes it’s not because she’s something pleasing to look at, but because he’s searching her for bruises and scrapes.
She yanks him by his head, forcing their lips to touch. Cardan lets out a startled noise, but rests his hands against her ribs, holding her steady as he mends his lips with hers, submits to her will, despite the taste of blood from the wound she’d inherently inflicted.
She’s managed to get him in bed, managed to rid of any remaining clothes, managed to get him behind her and inside of her, no foreplay or teasing, just, “Please, I want you –” I need you, she thinks.
“Jude…” Cardan’s hand had skimmed her body down to her mound, playing with the sensitive skin between her legs and he’d been so beautiful when she’d look back at him, with her back pressed to his chest, and Jude thought she didn’t deserve his tender look at all.
“No,” she had murmured, tugging at his hand, forcing it over her chest instead “Cardan, please…” When he’d given in, sinking his teeth in the crook of her neck as he fitted inside of her, Jude still wasn’t quite pleased. “Harder,” she’d whispers, now, digging her nails sharply into his bicep, wishing, hoping, begging that his blood would replace phantom residual from Madoc. “More,” she mumbles even though her eyes begin to sting. Cardan fists her hair, leaning her head against his shoulder, sucking harder at the tender skin until it breaks between his teeth. The iron in her blood is dizzying but she’s begging him, begging him, begging him – “Don’t stop…” between whimpers and mewls.
Cardan grabs hold of her arms, bringing them to cross behind her back, the hold is firm but not unbreakable. She sobs when he slams into her this time, hitting her womb at an angle, bruising the muscles so deliciously. He guides her forward, bending her until her face is pressed to the sheets. Jude lets loose a soft cry, fisting her hands so tightly, nails pierce the skin of her palms. More blood, she deliberates, to coat the grime she still feels.
“Cardan…” She manages, sounding broken. Her toes curl and her stomach tenses. She bites down on the linen, as he slows down enough that inch by inch of him is embedded to not just her memories but her flesh too. He pulls all the way out, when the shudders in her body feels utterly unbearable. He turns her over, but she grabs on to him and pulls him close, burying her face into his neck, breathing the mess of his curls, all before he can look at her face and see the worst of her.
“Oh Jude,” he murmurs, “My favorite warrior,” he lets her know, blindly reaching between them to guide himself back inside of her, more tender now, but it aches all the same. She weeps, wrapping her legs around him, gasping in pleasure at every slow thrust.
“Don’t go,” she whispers to him. “Please, don’t leave me,” she begs. He kisses the shell of her ear in promise, holding her slick body against his as they both reach climax and then some.
He still inside of her when he braces his elbow on either side of her head and brushes her hair back. She still pulses, coming down but not fully there yet. Cardan wipes under her eyes, giving her a small reassuring smile, “Let me get you cleaned,” he murmurs, lifting off of her, but she grabs hold of his arm, stilling him.
“Just for a moment,” she tells him quietly, twisting so when he lays back down, they’re both on their sides, facing each other. He fixes them more comfortably, pulling the covers over them as if to keep her secrets safe. They don’t sleep for a long while, don’t move for much longer. Then she begins to speak and Cardan listens intently as Jude walks through her thoughts, her emotions, the schism between how she should feel and what she actually feels. “I don’t think I’m okay,” she finally whispers.
“I know, Jude.” He places a kiss to her cheek, “I know.”
#asks#requests#jurdan#jurdan smut#soft vanilla but spicy#jude x cardan#jude duarte#cardan greenbriar#tfota#tfota au#tfota fic#the folk of the air#tcp#twk#tqon#the cruel prince#the wicked king#the queen of nothing#tqon au#maybe?#twk au#?#i guess its a bit angsty#dont mind me#just cleaning out my inbox i guessssss#sorry these asks been sitting kinda cute for a couple years#also sorry its not exactly what you asked for 🥲
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Ficlet: If You Don't Tell Me
Secret Crush on You. Toh/Nuea. Hurt/comfort. Unbeta'd.
Toh realizes that he inadvertently hurt Nuea during sex.
(Yes, Secret Crush on You, a drama I watched mainly for Billy Patchanon because, well, it's Billy Patchanon! *hands* I've carried this idea in my head ever since that last naughty scene when Toh asked to top and Nuea happily let him. And since I'm back to work tomorrow, it was to write it now or forever hold my peace. Ergo. Nobody will care, I bet, but needs must and all that jazz.)
***
Toh opens the bathroom door with apprehension. His heart is hammering so hard it’s making it difficult to breathe and his hands are cold and clammy. He’s feeling a little queasy - has been ever since he woke up and noticed the rusty stains on the bed sheet, little flecks of dried blood that meant…
That meant he hurt Nuea last night, while they had sex. He hurt Nuea. He hurt him. Toh swallows rapidly, he has to or he’s going to be sick.
Nuea is in there, in the bathroom, having just come out of the shower. He has a white towel wrapped around his hips and he’s drying his hair with another. When he sees Toh, he smiles wide at him, as if everything were in perfect order, as if Toh didn’t do the unspeakable last night.
“Good morning,” Nuea greets him cheerfully. “Sleep well?”
Toh just stares at him. He just stares because how can Nuea be so normal when… when Toh… when…
Nuea frowns a little, lowering his hands, hair still wet and unruly, when he notices the look on Toh’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asks with concern.
Toh has to say it out loud, he has to confess to his sin. “I hurt you. Last night,” he manages to get out without faltering.
And Nuea knows, he knows what this is about, of course he knows, but now he freezes and his eyes widen a little, as if he were the one caught doing something wrong, he!
A moment later, Nuea grins again but this time, it looks fake, it looks forced. He jerks his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “It’s nothing, really. Stuff happens, you know.” Then he turns away from Toh, towards the sink, and hides his face behind his towel again, rubbing, rubbing so hard he might have no hair left before he’s done.
Toh stares at him, at Nuea’s broad back, at the little love bites peppered across his skin, at the little bruises peeking from underneath the towel wrapped around his waist, and his heart is still galloping in his chest. And then he moves without thinking, because if he thought about it, he would never do it.
He steps up to Nuea, pulling the towel off his hips, and before Nuea can react, Toh shoves his hand between his cheeks and presses his fingers against Nuea’s hole, not in, just against the puckered rim, hard - and he stares at Nuea’s reflection in the mirror because he needs to know.
Nuea’s reaction is instantaneous. He drops his towel and grips the edge of the marble counter with his hands so hard his knuckles turn white. He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, making a soft, pained sound deep in his throat.
Toh immediately lets go, backing away, a look of sheer horror on his face. He… did that. He worships Nuea and he did… that to him.
It takes a moment before Nuea breathes through the pain and when he finally opens his eyes again and looks at Toh in the mirror, when he sees the look of terrible disdain on his face, he turns around quickly and takes a little step towards Toh, raising his hands as if trying to calm down a spooked animal.
“It’s alright, Toh, really,” Nuea says soothingly.
Alright? Alright? “It’s not alright, it’s really, really not alright!” Toh denies, his voice rising and breaking at the end. How can Nuea say that? How can he even think that?
Nuea takes another small step towards Toh as if he’s afraid that Toh might bolt - and Toh is very close to doing exactly that. “Look, stuff like that happens, it’s no big deal, really. Just a little tearing.” He reaches behind and grabs a little tube from the counter that Toh didn’t notice before. “Put a little ointment on it and I’ll be as good as new in no time.”
But his words, they don’t console Toh. He stares at the little tube with his throat tight. Little things are like puzzle pieces falling into place in his mind. Not just the fact that Nuea owns this thing in the first place but - it’s almost used up, the tube. And he knows - he knows! - that Nuea never used it on him. Because Toh never needed it. Because Nuea's always made sure that Toh didn’t get hurt. Which means…
Toh swallows and looks at Nuea who’s watching him a little uncertainly now, not knowing what’s running through Toh’s head. “This… this isn’t the first time, is it?” Toh croaks out painfully and feels like crying. “This isn’t the first time I hurt you. I just never noticed before.”
Nuea opens his mouth to say something, then he closes it again. Because he doesn’t know what to say without outright lying, Toh realizes.
“Shit,” Toh curses and this time he can’t stop the tears. And it feels like he can’t breathe because his throat is closing up and his nose is all stuffed. He’s filled with despair - for Nuea - and with anger - at himself. Because how could he have not known? How?
Nuea curses, too. He drops the tube on the counter and steps close to Toh, still naked, and he hugs Toh hard, running his hand through Toh’s hair and down his back to calm him down. And he keeps saying, over and over again, “Toh, Toh…”
Toh stands there with his arms hanging limply at his sides because he can’t make himself return the hug, he feels like he doesn’t have the right, not anymore. Because people don’t hurt people they love like this, it’s wrong, it’s so deeply, profoundly wrong that Toh doesn’t know what to do with it.
Pulling away a little, Nuea takes Toh by his shoulders and hunches down a little to catch his eyes. “Look, it’s really not that bad. And these things do happen during anal sex. I’m going to be just fine.”
“It-it never happens… when you top me,” Toh points out, breathing harshly between words, half-sobbing them out.
Nuea smiles at him. “Well, I do have a little more experience, you know?”
Yeah, and that’s the point, isn’t it? Toh grips Nuea’s wrists, pulls Nuea’s hands off his shoulders and holds them tight between them, looking at him imploringly. “Then you have to tell me, Nuea, you hear me? I still don’t really know what I’m doing here and if you don’t tell me things like this, how can I learn? How can I stop hurting you?”
Nuea tries to deny it. “You didn’t really–”
But Toh’s having none of it. “But I did. I did, Nuea. And if you don’t tell me when it hurts, then it will keep happening!” He pauses, then says with a surprising firmness, “If I can’t trust you to tell me when it hurts, then we’re not doing it again.”
Nuea blinks at him, disconcerted. “It’s really no big deal,” he tries to object. “I don’t mind–”
“I do!” Toh cries out, shaking Nuea’s hands a little. “I do, Nuea. Imagine if our roles were reversed, if I hid from you that you were hurting me. Think of how you would feel when you found out. That, that is how I’m feeling right now.”
Uneasy, Nuea opens his mouth and then closes it again, then his shoulders slump a little and he hangs his head.
“Even if you don’t mind, Nuea,” Toh pleads, “I do. Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me feel like-like… a monster. Please.”
Nuea takes a deep breath and extracts his hands from Toh’s gently. Then he takes Toh’s hands in his and brings them up to his lips to kiss them, looking down at Toh with so much love that it still steals Toh’s breath away, that this man loves him. Him!
“Alright,” Nuea agrees. “Alright, Toh. If it ever comes to that again, I will tell you.”
“Promise?” Toh insists, staring up at Nuea beseechingly.
He needs to know, he needs to be sure that Nuea will do it, that Nuea will tell him, that Nuea won’t allow himself to get hurt by Toh again. Toh needs to be absolutely sure of it if he ever dares to top Nuea again. If he can’t have that certainty, then he’s never, ever touching Nuea like that again.
Nuea smiles at him and strokes Toh’s cheek with his thumb tenderly. “I promise. I swear. I will never hide it from you again.”
Toh’s shoulders slump in relief. He still doesn’t think he will be ready to top Nuea anytime soon - the rusty stains are still there, raw in his mind’s eye - but Nuea’s promise makes some of his tension and fear dissipate. Because Nuea would never lie to him.
Nodding, Toh says, “Okay. And now," he straightens his shoulders and reaches for the little tube on the counter behind Nuea, "let me help you.”
“You don’t have to–” Nuea tries to protest.
“I do,” Toh insists. “I hurt you, I should take care of you.” He uncaps the tube, pouring a little of its contents on his fingers.
Watching the viscous liquid run down Toh’s fingers slowly, Nuea swallows hard. “Uh, this… this might go places you probably don’t intend to go right now,” he warns.
Toh blinks at him, puzzled, then he notices Nuea slowly hardening. Toh’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really? Just from that?”
Nuea pulls him close, breath hot against Toh’s ear. “I think you still don’t realize how sexy you are,” he purrs.
Toh’s heart skips a beat, and his own member twitches in his boxers. But then he forces himself to come to his senses. Clearing his throat, he says firmly, “That? Later. Now? Medicine. Turn around and bend over.”
Grinning, Nuea whispers, “Sweet talker.” But he does as he’s told.
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"For what reason do they see your hair curled with a comb, your face bright with cosmetic and too the soft wantonness of your eyes, also your manner of walking well-ordered with technique so that, of course, not a step of your foot wanders astray, unless because you expose your body for the purpose of sale. Look at me; I don’t know augury: I am not accustomed to command the heavenly region of astrologers, yet I can determine people’s character from their faces, and when I’ve seen a person walking, I know what they’re thinking. Therefore, if you are selling to us that which I seek, a buyer is ready, or if you act kindly, because it is courteous, make it so that we owe you a favor."
quo enim spectant flexae pectine comae, quo facies medicamine attrita et oculorum quoque mollis petulantia, quo incessus arte compositus et ne vestigia quidem pedum extra mensuram aberrantia, nisi quod formam prostituis ut vendas? vides me: nec auguria novi nec mathematicorum caelum curare soleo, ex vultibus tamen hominum mores colligo, et cum spatiantem vidi, quid cogitet scio. sive ergo nobis vendis quod peto, mercator paratus est, sive, quod humanius est, commodas, effice ut beneficium debeamus
–– Petronius' Satyrica, 126.2-3.
Spoken by Chrysis, the enslaved maid of the matron Circe. Chrysis must have seen Encolpius out and about and pegged him––no pun intended––as a sex worker based on his looks and the way he walks. Encolpius is pretending to be enslaved, which suits Chrysis because her mistress is only sexually interested in men of low social status.
#tagamemnon#Petronius#ancient#latin#roman#satyrica#satyricon#Ancient Rome#latin literature#lingua latina#roman history
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Mr. Here To Stay
Warning: Adult Languages ahead. Minor, please do not proceed.
PART 3 BONUS
Third Party POV
Marco blinking his eyes as his clock alarms. He grunts pushing his body to rise up. He look at the window with the sun peaking from its clouds. He decides to sit for couple of minutes while waiting for his internal organs to be ready for the day.
Another normal day, huh?
For the last couple of years, he has no one to wake up beside him. He looks at his side, enough to see how spacious his bed is. He chuckles as he thought, why did I buy this king bed when I'm the only one who sleeps here? He must gone crazy that day and buy the bed without thinking or the sales lady was really good at talking.
Out of the blue, his half-awake mind thought of you and your peace offering from yesterday. His lips quickly flashes a smile but his heart sadden.
For the first time, in the last couple of years, he is longing for someone. He needs someone...not just for sex but one that can hold him forever.
He shakes his head and get ready for the day.
--------
As he walk to his office, he receive a lot of greeting from nurses, staff, patients or strangers. He opens the door and put down his bag on the couch then sits down on his ergo chair. He closes his eyes for a minute until his phone vibrates. He grabs it from his pocket and reads the message.
The four horsemen
Thatch: @ everyone don't miss out my soft opening tonight!
*Thatch sent a selfie with his new restaurant as his background*
Ace: Hell yeah! I'll be there! I've been waiting for this!
Izo: Count me in.
Thatch: Marco? How about you?
Marco grins and type his answers.
Marco: Sorry, can't be there bro. I have a patient who really wants to fuck with me all night.
He let out a soft laughs as soon as the other three read his response.
Izo: god, Marco. Are you trying to revoke your license?
Ace: C'mon @ Izo, are you his real friend? Support him! Besides, no one will know. Right, Dr. @ Marco? 😉
Marco: I already made the patient signed a NDA.
Thatch: @ Marco, how many cunt do you want just to have you tonight? I'll hire them even it's out of the budget.
Ace: I want one. :D
Izo: Seriously?
Thatch: Do you have a pic @ Marco? I'd like to see the patient ☺️
Ace: I agree with Thatch. Brothers do share, right? 😈
Marco: Hell no! Go find someone else. Go screw with one of your staff. Like you always do.
Thatch: Already did last night. 😌
Izo: God help us.
Ace: 🙏
Marco laughs out loud making his head tilt up. It's their tradition, every weekend. They spare their schedules to catch up. Sometimes, they go to the beach or have a drink on whoever crib they decided to. Or book a flight to go somewhere.
Marco: Gotcha @ Thatch! I'm just messing up wit you, bro. Of course, I'll be there. I cleared my schedule for today.
Thatch: Fuck you @ Marco! 🖕
Marco locks his phone and put it down on his table. His phone continues to vibrate but ignores it. A faint knock on his, "Come in,"
"Dr. Marco, good morning!" secretary greeted him, "Here are the list of students who attended your small talk yesterday." The secretary handed the paper, "and here are the certificate of appreciation which you forgot to claim because of an emergency,"
He bolts from his seat, "Oh, right, right. Almost forgot this - yoi," The secretary blushes, "Is that all?" the secretary only nods, "thank you." The secretary exits the room with blush and a smile on the face.
He sighs and taps his fingers on his desk. There's nothing left for him to do. He stands up and proceed to the common room for doctors. They greet other doctors in there, "Hey, Dr. Marco? Do you have a minute? I would like to consult something,"
"Yeah, sure." The two doctors talk about a patient. The conversation lasted longer than he anticipated. From simple talk to finding a medical books and searching the topic then more doctors got involved as well but different cases.
After that consultation, he looks at his watch and it's 11:16am. He walks to the pantry and opens the refrigerator to grab his pineapple juice that he had left since Monday. He pauses seeing the cupcake you gave to him yesterday. His lips curls up. He grabs the cupcake along with the pineapple juice and return to his desk.
Marco didn't like chocolate. He only eats it when he craves for it. On a normal basis, He would just give the sweets to Ace however, this little cupcake is the exception. His not craving for it but he takes a bite. He nods as the cupcake smash on his tongue bringing out the flavor, "Hmm," He never thought that it'll be tastes this good. Not too sweet, not too chocolatey. This good, he thought to himself. He puts down the half-cupcake only to enjoy the sight of it. After savoring the cupcake, he drink his favorite juice.
With the sight of the cupcake, he thinks of you. His pretty little mind starts to think an excuse to get to you...to see you. His heart rejoice at the thought seeing you again.
He walks back to the common room, “Hey, is anyone here for reimbursements?” The doctors look at him and shake their heads no. Disappointed, “oh, okay.”
He sighs returning to his nest. Sighing in despair. Guess he’ll never get a chance to see you today. He looks at his whiteboard to see the schedule of the doctors who’s going somewhere for talks/seminars to attend. Unfortunately, the talk yesterday was the last talk for the month. He slowly leans back on his ergo. Thinking what other excuse to visit the department. Sadly, none come to his mind.
He lay down his right hands on his desk and notices that the texture is not familiar. He quickly glances and sees the certificate of appreciation. His lips slowly turns into a smile. Then, he remembers the small talk yesterday, he treated the seminars a snack because the participants were proactive. Answering interesting questions from the med students.
His hands rattle as he fills in the form. He swiftly stapler the receipts and dashes to the accounting department.
He giddily paces to the said department. He put his best smile as enters the room only to find that you're not in the station. Instantly, his smile turns into flat line.
"A. Rude, Sarcastic, and Bitch
B. Feral
Or C. Violence"
Hearing those negative comments, he's silent for a moment. He never thought that he'll experience more of your negative side this early. Regardless, he still wants to have a connection with you.
Well, he shouldn't be surprise, after all he's old enough to know that each human in the world has the good and bad side. His heart gets worked up to see that side of you. He answers, "D. All of the Above". Tugging that teasing smile of his, he enters the room gleefully.
"Then so be it..."
He likes it. There's no denying. He likes the dark aura you're giving especially the fury look in your eyes, making him pulling more closer into you. Making him want to tease you more, so he did. He did not break the eye contact, instead he gives you a happy, calm look in the eye.
In that heat of the moment, he feels something that he shouldn't. He feels his lower region getting turn on.
It seems he found a new kink.
He doesn't want to stop the staring moment but surrenders because if this thing still continues, he cannot help himself but to drag you out of the room and do the dirty deed.
---------
Marco unlocks his phone and opens the conversation with his brothers. He didn't bother to backread the message.
Marco: Hey @ Thatch, make time. Cook a meal for me.
Thatch: Woah there, bossy Dr.
Marco: I want the meal be here at lunchtime.
Thatch: @ Marco, are you out of your mind? That's like less than 30 minutes before lunch. I'm not a fucking fast food chain.
Marco: I'll be waiting.
Thatch: Look at this asshole.
*sent a groupie with Ace and Izo. With Ace messing up Thatch's kitchen while Izo checking out the utensils.*
Why don't you come here?
Why didn't I think of that?
He grabs his car keys and drive to Thatch's new restaurant. Upon arriving, Ace comes running to him and hugs him tightly saying how much he miss him. They go straight to the kitchen and cook.
"Hey man, do you have a post-it?"
"Sure, here." Thatch give Marco what he asks. As a doctor, he always have a pen on his pocket. He clicks it and starts to scribble the words. The three gather around him.
Peace Offering...for making you piss off earlier.
-Dr. Marco, the one who look like a pineapple
The three exchanges looks.
Putting it on the middle part of the lemonade drink. He then put it on a paper bag and goes outside. He book a grab driver beforehand, "Hey, thank you for waiting, could you deliver this to Y/N, Accounting Department of (Name of the Hospital)."
"Sure,"
Marco give the delivery guy the payment plus tip. He watches as the grab driver is out of his sight.
"So for who is it?"
Marco chuckles, "Just acquaintance-yoi..." He taps Thatch's chest and goes back inside to bond with the others.
Thatch gives a soft laugh, saying to himself, " 'Just acquaintance' my ass, Marco." He shakes his head and glances to the backdoor of the restaurant. Even though Marco didn't say anything yet...
Thatch already knew it.
#marco one piece#fushichou marco#thatch one piece#op marco#marco the phoenix#marco x you#portgas d ace#izou one piece#fire fist ace#whitebeard pirates#marco the pineapple#fanfic#modern au
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Their relationship seems to be poisoned with libertinism, as pure as it may seem at times. I have always felt as if they are beyond the barriers of adolescence to believe in sickly cloying concepts as true love and destiny, and can never be the kind to risk the career that they've devoted their lives to, can they? Dalliances like this occur in Asia as well, therefore it's not exactly a foreign concept to even the most conservative countries and their people. Besides, anyone can take a look at Jimin and can tell that he is a bloody sex kitten, and has that Brigette Bardot sex symbol, coquettish kind of effect which lures men and women in, like remember the Taemin-Jimin bleachers scène, like everyone knows they were flirting. Besides, see, in this way, Jungkook didn't have to risk his career and found a pretty paramour in his friend just to release his libido... but it's just the untamed lust for the fleshly pleasures, he is not in love with him, if he were, he wouldn't be practically sexting (or more like having video sex) with his hormonal female fans at the hours of darkness, arousing (no, like FEEDING it down their pharynx) their fantasies and neither would Jimin be displaying his promiscuousness to the world. Jimin should keep his paws off Jungkook, both should, actually, off each other. They are corrupted, and oh, by the way, Jungkook even listens to Cigarettes After Corruption, wonder if he reminisces Jimin whilst listening to them... Highly not! It's always Lalisa, the true lover. 🖤
Lalisa who??
The true lover...
Dracula is that you??
Dude I think you take this vampire business too seriously lose the fangs and the fake eye contacts c'mon!
Did several spit takes in between but in the end it gave me nothing but an anticlimatic shock wave which I must say is very disappointing. Had high hopes for you given how overly verbose and unnecessarily wordy this piece is.
Jimin is sexy Jungkook is a flirt ergo jungkook dont love Jimin but somehow he loves Lalisa is what you are saying?? Naa can't be, you smarter than this. Give me something not this cheap out of logic logical fallacy. Surely you can do better.
And I'm sorry but doesn't it follow the same logic then that if Jungkook is so shamelessly indiscriminately horny for Jimin then he is not horny for this Lalisa?? Perhaps because he doesn't find this Lalisa sexually attractive??
And if he doesn't love Jimin because he sex texts random unknown faces in his fandom, then surely he doesn't love Lalisa either. Surely Lalisa must be appalled by this conduct as well to see her bf flirt with Jimin and fans with no respect for their relationship. Someone needs to love herself and demand better from her BF.
And "true love" is overrated- at least the concept of it- really because there's no difference between that and platonic love💀
If he ain't banging you you are his friend and no different from his mother. Jungkook is not asexual. Neither is Jimin. Sex fulfills them just as much as love or money or fame. Stop with this medieval way of thinking about relationships and quit being a prude.
You seem to be self soothing when you say these things. Does it give you comfort to place less value on sexual attraction and more value on this vague concept of true love?
What is this true love you speak of?
Commitment? Protection? Provision? Loyalty? Affection? Care? Desire?? Reverence? Honor? Respect? If so then what Jikook have is true love and lizkook is a figment of your imagination.
Love is not a true emotion. It's a word we use to communicate a combination of other tangible feelings.
When people say they love others what they mean is, they have an emotional connection with them, or have a sexual attraction to them, or have a desire to be loyal and faithful to them, have a desire to commit to being a life companion to them, have a desire to make kids with them, or share their life with them, provide for them, a desire to protect them, be there for them.
Love is a very tangible emotion.
You should pay me for this but most people confuse their needs for love. They assume they love others when others fulfill a specific need in them. They grow attached to what the other person does for them. That's not love. That's codependency.
Only Jikook can explain what love means to them. In my opinion it's not difficult to ascertain what love means to someone like Jungkook with all his angst. If it's fake love it must at least be sexual, I want to lift up my partner and kiss them in that position at least once- sex plays an important role to him and it's one of the ways he expresses love and intimacy.
I'm holding on to something. Won't let go of you for nothing- to him love is about commitment and loyalty too. I should do a jikook love language pt2.
I digress.
Glad we can agree Jikook have the hots for eachother and Oh boy do they drill eachother's buttholes woof. Clutching your pearls yet??
Jimin gives Jungkook orgasms your Lalisa can never give him in his wildest dreams😭
Since Jungkook has a man why don't you ship your Lalisa with me. I'm single- well not at the moment but soon. My ex who is now my fwb gave me the cleanest bath ive ever had a few nights ago and blew my back out. If I knew she was this kinky we wouldn't have broken up in the first 😩
But still there's a lot we can do with this Lalisa. Hell I'll take her to the orgy I'm organizing for Jikook. I'll do Jimin, run my pumpum all over his face while Jungkook claps her cheeks. It's a win win. Since I hate cooking she can make us all something after while the rest of Army have their way with Jikook😊
Please tell her to love herself. She deserves a man who finds her sexually attractive to the point they won't look at other girls twice or very attractive men and someone who won't flirt with horny teenagers on the internet with a backdrop of a naked het couple copulating in the background.
Jikook shud stay away from eachother but really they don't want to so leave them alone. They are adults who decide whom to love and fuck. Jimin can love whomever he wants, fuck Jungkook for all I care- I just want him to cuddle me and lick my clitoris with his tongue whew. That thing can do damage if you know you know! Oh he can clap my cheeks too. It's called manifesting look it up.
And if I find out you are talking about Lisa from Blackpink I SWEAR TO GOD.
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I just followed u!! I've binge reading nonstop and I am really enjoyed. I mean it's rare to see people writing AOT girls such as Hitch,Nanaba,Rico,Petra with a male reader. If u are okay with it Can I have a sex HC’s about the girls mentioned above?
Your words are kind, thank you for being here!
Sex HC's ~ Hitch, Nanaba, Rico & Petra 💦
Male bodied reader. You must be 18+ smut.
Side note: I actually Canon Nanaba & Rico as gay but I'll still add them! No problem.
Hitch
Hitch is 110% a pillow princess.
You have the dick, now use it and make her feel good.
And if you're not doing a good enough job, damn she'll let you know.
If you're doing a good job, however... expect eye rolls, cute moans and squeaks. She won't let you stop and will demand more until she feels overly satisfied. She enjoys sex, a lot. Until her insides are swollen and sore, don't expect her to want to stop.
Lies on her back like a doll while you eat her out, which she will make you do. Hitch tastes very sweet and she's really tight. Her pussy is like pure heroin. It feels amazing, gripping you tightly and pulling you in.
She is an absolute brat through and through and the only way to get her to stop complaining is ramming your swollen hardness into any one of her holes.
Claws your back like there's no tomorrow and whines pretty loud.
Her insides milk you so good; something about her ridges and the way they spasm when she orgasms is just... ah its just heaven
The best part is, if you pleasure her enough, and push her into that hazy void of sex brain, she'll happily let you do anything you'd like to her. All with heavy eyes and a slack jaw, face flushed pink.
Nanaba
Nanaba is the type of woman who sees sex as a good release of stress and tension.
Expect a lot of quickies.
Bossy but not overly so; she likes what she likes and is quick to inform you what those things are.
Adores being bent over. Slam her from behind and grab the back of her neck and she'll be cuming around your length within moments.
Loves being fucked against walls too. It's less time fumbling with stuff on the bed. Just be hard and fast, so she can get back to work.
If she's feeling especially horny, she'll ride you and she is amazing at it. Her stamina is second to none, and you often see the lump of the end of your cock against her skin when she grinds.
Not too vocal but she pants and quietly groans. Her toes curl when she orgasms, and her legs shake. That's when you know you've done your job, soldier.
Smirks when she's getting close - she's a real vixen minx.
I can see her enjoying foot play. It's a hot way of her relaxing her feet after a long day.
Rico
Rico is very similar to Nanaba, in that she's usually far too busy with work to think about sex. It's a great way to de-stress and that's it.
She's so easy to read, however. When she wants you, her face flushes crimson. It only deepens the more you pleasure her.
Adores breast play. Her nipples are pretty sensitive.
She's definitely got more kinks than Nanaba. She has a stuffing fetish. Fill Rico as full as possible, until her lower belly is swollen and she'll cum again and again and again. She'll be a shaking, hazy and pleading mess.
Likes it rough. Tug her hair, bite her, dig your fingertips into her ass.
She can be persuaded easily into an all night session. Just make her orgasm and she'll cling to you like a kitten.
With her stuffing kink, she likes to be filled up as much as possible... ergo, she goes weak for anal.
Likes to have you fill her in every single hole - wants to feel like she's about to explode.
Petra
Shy, submissive and has to absolutely adore you for you to be allowed entry inside of her.
Tastes like honey. She's amazing.
Her big, Amber eyes gleaming up at you above her pink cheeks as she squirms beneath you is certainly a sight to see.
So, so so tight.
You'll have to be gentle and guide her. Poor innocent Petra has no idea how someone can make her feel so good. She wants it again and again.
Her legs come up as she whines into you, almost like fucking a ball. You slide in extra deep; she just wants to feel as close to you as possible.
Will happily, yet timidly do anything you ask. You make her feel so amazing she would never think of saying no. As long as its not rough sex she's happy to do it.
"Please... don't ever stop..." her breathy begging is often heard. "I don't ever want anyone else, only you can make me feel this good."
Squeaks your name a lot.
Before she takes you into her mouth, she does these adorable little kitten licks around the tip. She's just a perfect, sexy little thing who you can't wait to fucking ruin.
#snk#attack on titan#snk imagines#snk season 4#snk fandom#snk headcanons#attack on titan x you#snk smut#snk male bodied reader#aot x male reader#snk male reader#petra aot#nanaba aot
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atlas | kim dongyoung
pairing: doyoung x reader
words: 15.4k
summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.
or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.
genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff
warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,
prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️
song rec(s): playlist here !
a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)
In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.
You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.
When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of.
“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”
“And then what?”
“Fuck.”
So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.
Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low.
(Fun doesn’t.)
Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours.
And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget.
It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore.
It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume.
The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.
You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.
You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.
Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type.
You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises. If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.
You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts.
You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself.
You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)
“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.
“What?” you yell back.
“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.
You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”
Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”
“Loser.”
“No, you.”
“How clever.”
Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.
“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.
“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”
You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.
“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.
Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”
Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”
“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”
You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.
“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask.
You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it.
“Yeah.”
And the deal’s done.
It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.
Well, sort of.
You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it.
See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.
His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.
God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.
His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.
Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.
An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.
“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily.
The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year.
“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.
You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”
“In front of a wall?”
You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”
“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately.
To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.
“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”
You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.
“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”
“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.
Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).
Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.
Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one.
Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.
The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt.
He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.
“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.
“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.
Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.
He’s even better when he’s annoyed.
You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover.
Funny.
Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.
“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”
You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.
“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.
Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.
“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”
“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.
Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”
Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”
“One.”
He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours.
“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.
“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”
He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”
“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”
Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth.
“Who’s a virgin?”
Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words.
But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.
Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.
“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.
“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.
You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.
“Why not?”
“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”
He’s right.
“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table.
“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”
“Well, of course it is. I had your—”
Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”
You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.
“Where were you last night?”
You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.
“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.
You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.
(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)
Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”
You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.
“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”
“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.
“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”
You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”
They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad.
You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back.
“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.
“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing.
You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.
Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.
Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.
Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.
So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.
It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.
Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.
The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.
You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.
He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.
“How much lon—”
“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.
Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.
“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.
“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.
Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”
You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.
“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”
You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”
You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters.
“Are you guys… into each other or not?”
You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”
“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”
“No way.”
You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.
“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”
He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”
You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”
“You seem to like him though.”
“Who said that?”
Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”
“We’re not.”
“—or fucking—”
“Ten.”
“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”
“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”
“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”
“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”
Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”
You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”
Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”
You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.
“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”
“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”
“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.
“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”
“Well, we’re not.”
Ten shrugs.
“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”
He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”
“No.”
Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”
“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”
“It’s neither, promise.”
You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”
Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”
You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.
“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”
“What?”
“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”
“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”
“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”
“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”
“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”
“That sounds good to me.”
“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”
You roll your eyes.
“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”
“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”
“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”
“Don’t complete that sentence.”
“I was going to say something funny.”
Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.
“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”
“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”
You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”
“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.
There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.
Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.
Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)
The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.
“Hey.”
You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.
“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.
“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”
“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”
“No. A little bit. Not enough.”
You sigh. “How will you get home now?”
“I live here, idiot.”
“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.
“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”
“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”
Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”
You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.
“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.
“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”
There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.
“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.
“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”
You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.
“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”
He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.
“Linguistics,” he answers.
“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”
“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.
“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.
“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”
You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”
“Really now?”
“Yes,” you snap, looking away.
You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.
“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”
For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.
“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.
“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”
You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can.
“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off.
Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating.
“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”
“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.
He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.
“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.
“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”
He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.
“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”
You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”
“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”
“No way. You’re lying.”
“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”
“Hurts my ego.”
You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.
You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know.
How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.
Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young.
Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.
“Ow,” he mutters.
His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.
For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.
You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.
He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.
He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.
Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.
Doyoung’s out of breath.
“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.
“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”
Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”
“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.
“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”
“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.”
Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling.
“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”
“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.
After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”
“I know,” Doyoung mutters.
Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.
“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.
Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”
There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.
“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.
“What?” he whispers.
Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.
“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”
Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.
“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”
Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.
“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.
“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”
A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.
It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.
Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.
Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.
You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.
Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.
You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.
People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung.
He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.
“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”
“I’m busy,” he hisses.
Something’s wrong.
You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention.
Inviting him somewhere.
Rather sensually.
Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.
It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.
Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.
You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.
“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.
“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”
“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”
Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.
Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).
Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure.
You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.
“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”
“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”
He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more.
For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter?
“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”
He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”
Busy. Right.
“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”
“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.
“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”
“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.
“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”
You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”
“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”
“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.
“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.
“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.
“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”
You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him.
“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.
You blink.
“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.
He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.
“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.”
Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.
“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”
You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”
“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.”
You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.
“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”
“No,” you respond, checking your watch.
“Oh.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.
“Then we can- uh- we can—”
“Fuck?” you ask.
He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”
You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.
It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.
Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”
“Tell me you drove here.”
He holds up his car keys in response.
You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.
So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”
You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.
“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”
And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.
The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.
Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.
It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.
You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.
You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts.
You’re disappointing.
You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.
You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.
For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose.
Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.
Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps.
Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.
It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.
When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.
“Why are we doing this?” you ask.
The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.
Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”
Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.
You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.
“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.
“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”
“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you.
You feel something close to guilt.
“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”
The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.
“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.
“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”
You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”
“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.
Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.
“I guess you’re right.”
You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”
“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”
You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue.
“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.
“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.
You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”
“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.”
You blink. “Fresher… girls?”
“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.
You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”
You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.
“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”
Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you.
“You do that a lot,” he notes.
“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)
The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families.
“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”
You look up at Doyoung amused.
“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”
“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe.
It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.
The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.
“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.
“As what, the start point?”
A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”
You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard.
For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them.
So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.
“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.
“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.
You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.
Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out.
You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.
Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.
When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.
“(name). Is something wrong?”
“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure.
Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.
You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up.
He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.
“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.
You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt.
Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder.
“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”
For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart.
“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”
“I know,” he whispers.
Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.
He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.
“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it.
You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.
“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”
Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.
“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”
You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him.
Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.
“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.
You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.
“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.
Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”
“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”
“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”
You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.
“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”
“That’s it?” he asks.
You nod.
No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.
Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak.
A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.
“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.
The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.
You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.
There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.
You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.
And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.
You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time.
It’s hard to love the same way now.
You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional.
It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.
Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love.
The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.
The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved.
You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.
It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.
“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”
His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.
Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?
You sigh in response, nodding.
“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”
I’m here and I get it.
Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either.
Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.
Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.
And now, this has gotten complicated.
An end.
Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.
“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”
His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.
Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?
‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple.
He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.
But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.
The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.
He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.
“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”
Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action.
“Ten?”
He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.
“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t.
Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days.
“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.
When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.
“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.
Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.
“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”
Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”
“What the fuck happened?”
Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”
“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”
“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”
Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”
“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”
“You set that up?”
“(name) slept with Hyungmin.”
Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.
“So?”
Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”
“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.
Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.
“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”
“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”
It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.
Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by.
He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers.
So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.
With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever.
“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout.
Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”
“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”
He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”
You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”
“That’s exactly what I did!”
You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.
“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?”
You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.
“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”
You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this.
“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”
You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.
You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.
No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.
Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose.
For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.
You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.
Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.
“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.
“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.
Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.
“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”
“That you’re fucking other people?”
“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”
“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”
You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”
“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”
Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.
“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”
“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”
“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”
“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”
“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”
“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.
You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?
“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”
“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”
You bite down your lip. “What kind?”
Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”
It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.
“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”
“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.
You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.
“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”
You stare at your feet, unable to respond.
“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”
“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—”
“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”
Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.
“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”
You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder.
Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”
You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.
The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.
You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.
Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.
You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him.
‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.
Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too.
You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.
It’s December again.
This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.
You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?
Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.
There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.
You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling.
Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.
“(name).”
You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you.
“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.
He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”
“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.
It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.
“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.
“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.
He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care.
“Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.
“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.
The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there.
Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.
You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.
“You’re not smoking,” he notes.
“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.
Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”
“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”
Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”
A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.
“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”
Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”
You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”
“I loved you on purpose.”
You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes.
“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”
You scan his face for signs of lying.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally.
Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”
You let yourself crack a smile.
“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”
Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.
“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”
You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.
“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”
“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”
Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.
“You’re warm,” he says.
He’s warmer.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
You want to kiss him too.
“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.
“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”
Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”
You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”
Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”
The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer.
“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”
“Oh? I wonder what it was.”
“Kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got all the time for you.”
You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand.
#kim doie perfect man bye#doyoung x reader#nct x reader#nct doyoung scenarios#nct scenarios#nct imagines#doyoung imagines#nct fanfic#doyoung fanfic#nct angst#doyoung angst#nct 127 x reader#nct 127 angst#nct college au#moonwrites#okaaay idk what this is either#if you get annoyed midway thru the fic you are perfectly valid <3#i will literally never write smth like this ever again 🤡🤡🤡#if you notice inconsistency in character no u dont#(i had to fix up some earlier inconsistencies but it gave more inconsistencies maybe i should give up writing for good)
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By Your Doorstep (Part 2)
Summary: Dean lets Sam in on a secret of his as to why he’s previously sworn off all dating before he and the reader go on their first one together. But it’s not just a simple first date when they realize they have more in common than they originally thought...
Pairing: Doctor/Neighbor!Dean x reader
Masterlist
Word Count: 4,200ish
Warnings: language, mentioned past sexual assault (not graphic)/child abuse, talk about sex toys, self-worth issues
A/N: Enjoy!
_________
Dean’s POV
“Hey,” said Sam a little over an hour later as he walked in the front door. Dean nodded and put the pie he’d brought into the fridge, walking back over to take a seat on the other side of the wrap around couch. “Your eyes are red.”
“That’s what happens when you cry, genius,” said Dean. He sighed and pulled his blanket over himself, rolling his eyes when Sam got up and sat closer. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing was me being really sick when I was sixteen and shitting my pants and you didn’t say a damn thing about it other than you got me cleaned up. Dean nothing you can say will make me laugh. Fuck, I’m scared somebody…” said Sam.
“You’re gonna find out stuff about my sex life,” he said.
“You taught me about sex. Dean, I’m not gonna judge you.”
“I hooked up with a chick after work once. I had some meetings so I wore a dress shirt and tie that day. We got a room, it got heated, and my first mistake was letting her tie my hands to the headboard with that stupid tie. I shouldn’t have asked but I did. I must have been in a mood cause...I asked her to stick a finger up there cause it feels good with a blowjob. I told her the tip of a finger and she didn’t really seem to care when I told her to stop pushing inside with a dry fucking finger. She didn’t care when she shoved practically her whole hand up there no matter how much I told her to stop. Eventually once she realized my boner wasn’t coming back she washed up, untied me and left. I’ve always been leery of relationships but after that I said fuck no. Until I met this girl today. She seems sweet.”
Sam didn’t move and Dean threw his head back.
“Say something.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” said Sam quietly. Dean risked a glance over at him and was surprised to see Sam’s scrunched up face. “Did you ever say anything?”
“No and I don’t want to. It was over two years ago. I honestly forgot about it until today and I met that girl,” said Dean.
“I hope she’s a good fit,” said Sam.
“Me too.”
“Just um, for the record, doing that stuff isn’t weird. I’ve had my share of experiences,” said Sam.
“Thanks,” said Dean. “Don’t go on treating me any kind of way or anything, got it? This was a one time thing.”
“That’s what you said the last time,” said Sam before he gave Dean a hug.
“Loser,” said Dean as he returned it. “You staying the night? It’s pretty late.”
“Yeah if you don’t mind,” said Sam as he sat back. He stretched and Dean looked him over. “What?”
“You were at the office, weren’t you.”
“So,” he said with a shrug.
“Sammy you’re twenty seven. Friday nights are for fun or hanging out at home, not work. I told you I didn’t like that firm you work for.”
“It’s not a very kind place to work,” said Sam. “I’ve been thinking of leaving honestly, coming closer to home again.”
“Really?”
“I miss my friends, our friends. You’re alright too,” he said, Dean resisting the urge to tease him for it.
“Move in here. If you want your own place, you can find one with no rush. I wouldn’t mind company,” said Dean. “There’s plenty of law firms downtown. You’d have no problem getting a job.”
“I gotta stay another two months for them to finish paying off my loan,” said Sam. “But after that, yeah I think I’ll come back home. I just had to go out on my own without you watching my back, you know?”
“Yeah. I was still always watching your back though,” said Dean. “Don’t be trying to get me to eat all that healthy crap or I’ll kick your ass to the curb.”
“You are literally a doctor.”
“And doctors are literally the worst patients. Trust me,” said Dean with a smirk. “What kinda pie you bring me?”
“Blueberry,” said Sam.
“I gonna ruin whatever cleanse you’re on if you have a slice?”
“You got ice cream?”
“Always were a sucker for ice cream,” said Dean. He hopped up from the couch and hummed as he went over to the kitchen, Sam watching and following after a moment. Sam took a seat at the counter while Dean put a plate in front of him, putting the ice cream on top of the pie how he liked it. “There you go.”
“Thanks,” he said before he dug in. Dean took his time with his own piece, leaning back against the counter.
“Thanks for coming over tonight. Never told anyone before.”
“I’ll never say a word,” said Sam.
“I know you won’t, Sammy,” said Dean. He got out a pair of beers from the fridge and handed one to Sam with a smile. “You doing okay? Been awhile since we talked.”
“Mhm,” said Sam quickly.
“Want to tell me what it is? Whatever you’re not telling me? I think we established that-”
“Mom contacted me this week. At work. My number and picture was on the company website so she called there,” said Sam.
“What exactly did Mary have to say?” said Dean, setting down his plate and nursing his beer instead.
“She said she and dad have been together again for a few years. They went to couples counseling and dad stopped drinking and a whole bunch of other bullshit.”
“Wouldn’t happen to be the fact I’m a doctor and you’re a lawyer and her stay at home ass wants a nicer lifestyle, hm?” said Dean. “Tell her to shove it up her ass and to get a job if she wants money.”
“She sounded different, Dean. Like maybe she’s in trouble or something,” said Sam.
“That’s the same crap she pulled on you when you were eighteen and twenty one and twenty four and guess what, it’s three years later again. Time for her to lie to you, right on schedule.”
“She’s not the devil, Dean.”
“She slapped you in the face.”
“I was backtalking her. I deserved it.”
“You were an upset kid-”
“I was 14.”
“You were an upset kid and she hit you. That was the final straw for me and it should have been for you too,” said Dean. “You should stay away from her, Sam.”
“I’m not going to suddenly start hanging out with her. She just wanted to know if I’d consider meeting her and dad again and I told her I didn’t know and if I wanted to talk to them, I’d reach out, otherwise they could leave me alone. Happy?” Sam pushed his plate away and crossed his arms, pursing his lips while he stared at the counter.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Sammy. I wish our parents were normal. I’d kill to have had them. But they weren’t and they sucked and they’ve tried to manipulate us our entire lives. Just keep no contact and you’re better off.”
“Why don’t they ever contact you?” Sam looked up and Dean turned his head.
“They hate me. I hate them so that’s fine,” said Dean.
“But why-”
“I got custody of you. I took you from them in their eyes, ergo they hate me.”
“I mean, do you ever think about-”
“No. I don’t plan on speaking to either one of them for the rest of my life,” said Dean. He finished his beer and picked up his pie plate again. “I know you want-”
“I used to want a lot of things. It wasn’t what was best for me though and I shouldn’t have given you so much shit for taking me away as a teenager.”
“Well alright then,” said Dean, picking at his pie again.
“You ever gonna tell me how exactly you pulled that off? It was handled outside of court and I know you gotta have some shit or something on them,” said Sam.
“Maybe I’ll share someday but not tonight,” said Dean, his voice firm. “Why don’t you grab another couple beers and we’ll throw on a movie, alright? Polish off this pie.”
“Alright. I’m stealing some of your clothes though. I want to get out of this office crap,” said Sam. He stood up and headed for the stairs when Dean grunted. Sam looked back over his shoulder and Dean nodded.
“I’m glad you came over tonight,” said Dean.
“Me too. This girl must have made a hell of an impression.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Reader’s POV
“Tessa. Oh my God, it was fine the first time,” you said as she worked on your side braid again. “Dean’ll be here any minute.”
“Relax. Make him squirm,” she said. “How are you so shit at braiding hair anyways?”
“Cause mom never taught me, that’s why,” you said.
“I think it’s cause you’re just shit at it,” she said.
“You shouldn’t say shit all the time you know.”
“Seriously.”
“Just don’t do drugs and don’t get pregnant and I’m happy.”
“Well for the record, I’m a virgin,” she said.
“Good.”
“I actually do have a question.”
“You waited until I literally can’t move away, didn’t you,” you said as she moved your hair together.
“Yes, I did,” she smiled. “Um it’s kinda…”
“Go ahead and ask. I guarantee I had the same questions.”
“What’s a vibrator? One of the girls was talking about it in gym class and I didn’t...get it,” she said.
“Do you understand how girls masturbate?” you asked. She nodded and you bit your lip. “So you know how when you rub your...when you rub your clit it feels good, right? Some people like to use a vibrator which is normally a stick type thing that has different settings with a head end that’s rounded. If you put that against your clit, it can feel really, really good...and get you to orgasm pretty hard.”
“Oh. Okay,” she said as she finished with the braid. “So what’s a dildo?”
“Similar but basically a fake dick,” you said.
“Uh, what?” she said as the doorbell rang.
“How about we talk about all this stuff tomorrow, okay?” you said.
“Okay. I’m still hung up on the fake dick thing.”
“Block it out of your head for now,” you said, shaking your head. “If I’m not back by the time you head to Hailey’s lock up and remember to bring Toast’s bed with you this time, okay? He likes it better than the hard floor.”
“I know, I know,” she said. You jogged downstairs and opened the door, Dean in a pair of jeans and a black tee shirt.
“Howdy,” he said with a big smile.
“Hi Dean,” said Tessa out her window.
“Hello Tessa,” he chuckled. “Torturing your sister today?”
“Always,” she said. “You two kids have fun now!”
“Oh you don’t even know what a fake dick is,” you said. “Do not go looking that up on the internet either.”
She groaned as you grabbed your purse and locked up, Dean laughing to himself.
“Sorry. She decided to literally start asking about sex toys right before you got here.”
“Sounds fun,” he said. You hopped down your steps and saw a very nice muscle car parked out front. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I know the perfect place.”
“Okay, Winchester. I will respect your food truck game,” you said, munching on your taco. “Normally I’m leery but this is good.”
“Told you so,” he said. He took a big bite of his across from you, slurping down some lemonade. He burped and blushed, covering his mouth. “Excuse me.”
“You’re almost cute with that pink on your cheeks,” you said.
“I liked this better when you were the shy one,” he said. You smiled and ate quietly for a few minutes, Dean nodding when you were both finished. He took your hand and you started to walk around the big park in town, finding a walking trail after a few moments. “I like your hair. It’s cute.”
“My sister did it. I’m not you know, good at that stuff,” you said.
“I liked your hair yesterday too,” he said. “So how does one name a dog Toast?”
“I thought it’d be funny,” you said. “Tessa was on a limited diet at first at the hospital. Toast was the one thing she liked. When they talked to me about a service dog, I got in touch with some people and they were training a new litter so we got to name the dog and I picked Toast. It was just a goofy thing I suppose.”
“Is he always on duty?” he asked.
“No. His vest comes off at home and he’s a normal one mostly. Tessa’s staying with a friend tonight so he’ll go with her. He’s very protective of her. It’s why he ran home and got me yesterday.”
“Smart dog,” he said. “My brother always wanted a dog. It never quite fit with our life though.”
“How old is he?”
“A year younger than you. He might get one soon I think.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t think I’d be very good at it. My yard is big enough though,” he said. “I’m over on Fern Lane. The blue house.”
“You got that big cool balcony over the garage right?” you said.
“That’s the one,” he said. “I haven’t been there too long. It’s a nice neighborhood.”
“It is. We grew up here. I was out of the house but I moved back for Tessa. You from Lawrence?”
“Yeah. East side of town though. Always wanted to live over here,” he said. “Everything seemed so perfect over in the nice part.”
“Mostly,” you said.
“It does get easier. Trust me.”
“I hope so,” you said. He bumped your shoulder and you smiled. “So what kind of doctor are you?”
“Obviously I’m a brain surgeon,” he said. You rolled your eyes and he laughed. “General family practice. I’m boring, I know.”
“That is still way too hard for me,” you said.
“I bet you could do it if you really wanted to. So what do you do? I overheard you say to Tessa you got a new job.”
“I was a paralegal at a law firm. On Monday I start as a junior investor at Sandover, the big marketing firm.”
“My friend Charlie is head of IT there,” he said. “She says it’s a pretty decent place to work.”
“Oh. That’s good. I hope it works out,” you said.
“I bet it will. Just don’t let ‘em work you to death,” he said.
“I’m gonna try. I’m excited. This could be really good for us. Tessa doesn’t know how...tight things have been.”
“Leeman’s over on the east side, it’s a pretty cheap grocery store. It’s not fancy but we used to go all the time as a kid. Way cheaper than the box store over here,” he said.
“I’ll have to check it out,” you said. You looked him up and down, Dean smiling to himself. “You grew up kinda…”
“Poor? Yeah. It’s okay. It’s not a bad word,” he said. He ran his thumb over your hand and you smiled back at him. “You learn to get by. My brother’s a lawyer now so we don’t have to worry about that too much now.”
“Maybe Tessa’ll be a doctor,” you said. “That’d definitely help us.”
“I’m sure she’ll do something good. You can just tell she looks up to you. She won’t let you down.”
“Fingers crossed,” you said. “So why choose general medicine?”
“Thanks,” you said, sticking your arms through Dean’s flannel later that evening.You took his hand again, walking through downtown back towards his car.
“I don’t remember the last time I spent a Saturday like this, hanging out with someone,” he said.
“Been a while for me too,” you said.
“Is this still considered the first date?” he asked.
“Probably. Why?”
“You want to come over my place...for coffee?” he asked.
“Oh.”
“No, no. I mean like, literal coffee. I have pie at home and...if I was talking sex I’d be a big boy and just ask,” he said.
“Oh. Well in that case, sure,” you said. “Guys that want sex on the first date normally don’t end up getting a second one in my experience.”
“Well I definitely want a second one,” he smirked. “Also I really want some pie and I need to know your pie stance because this could impact the future of this relationship greatly.”
“I see,” you laughed. “I like a man who knows where his priorities lie.”
“Damn straight I do,” he said. He threw his arm over your shoulders and chuckled. “It’ll knock your socks off, I guarantee it.”
“Alright, this is pretty good,” you said twenty minutes later as you sat at Dean’s kitchen counter, munching on a piece of blueberry pie.
“Told you so,” he said. He ate another forkful, getting some whipped cream stuck on the tip of his nose. He didn’t notice and started to giggle as you stared at him. “What’s that face for goofy?”
“You got a little…” you said, reaching over and wiping it off with your thumb. You licked if off and he blushed for probably the tenth time that day. “You don’t strike me as shy around women, Dean.”
“Normally I’m not. You make me nervous. Good nervous but still nervous.”
“What about me is so intimidating?” you asked, stealing a tiny piece of his pie.
“You remind me of me. I’ve been in similar shoes to yours. I know how easy it is to get set off and how people don’t realize you don’t mean what you’re saying.”
“Pushing people away you mean.”
“I don’t want to get pushed away or cross a line.”
“Tell me a secret and I’ll tell you one of mine,” you said.
“I took custody of my brother when I turned eighteen,” he said. You stared at him, Dean nodding. “My mom walked out when I was a kid more than once and my dad was...unkind at times. I protected my brother from it as much as I could. When I was able to, I left and I was given guardianship of my brother. I’ve not seen either of my parents since. I understand raising your younger sibling when you are scared shitless. Most people don’t. They don’t get that I’m still fucked up from the stuff that happened as a kid and when I took in my brother. People don’t get that, not all the way. Not even my best friends or my brother. But you have this look and I know you understand the same way I do so I’ll be nervous because I like you more than just because you’re pretty and helpful and a good sister. You get some part of me that I don’t talk about and it’s the part of you that you don’t talk about and maybe we can make that work.”
You leaned forward and kissed him, Dean sliding a hand to your cheek, a soft but comforting weight to it.
“What’s your secret,” he said quietly, your forehead resting against his.
“I lost my job,” you said. “I lied to Tessa. She worries so much already and I can’t let her know the truth. I’ve been working as a cashier the past month.”
“Y/N, you gotta tell her the truth.”
“She already feels guilty because our parents were picking her up from basketball practice when the accident happened. She goes to therapy, Dean. I can’t tell her. Not now.”
“Can you afford to stay in the house?”
“It’s almost paid off. She can afford four years at the university with my share of the inheritance.”
“Y/N. You can’t go bankrupt just to send her to a university.”
“Lots of people do.”
“Y/N. I practice general medicine because the state pays off my student loan debt if I do. You have to tell Tessa the truth about what’s realistic.”
“My seventeen year old sister currently makes more money than I do. I can’t take anything else from her. She deserves to go to the school she always wanted to.”
“Well...we need a new lab tech at work. Do you want it?” he asked.
“Dean, I’m not asking for a job.”
“I’m not giving charity either. You have a degree, you’re smart and I know you could do it. I don’t know the pay but it’s got to be better than minimum wage.”
“Dean.”
“Someone helped me. I was an eighteen year old kid with a part time job and I had no idea what I was doing. Someone helped me and it gave me a chance to live, to have all this. It’s not charity. It’s decency and everyone deserves that.”
“Never tell my sister,” you said.
“If you take the job I won’t.”
“Okay,” you said with a nod. “This was a more fun date a few minutes ago you know.”
“But now we’re really starting to know one another,” he said. You were quiet, playing with your fork for a beat.
“Can I stay over? I don’t like sleeping in the house alone.”
“Of course,” he said. You flicked your eyes up, Dean offering you a smile.
“How do you get happy again?”
“Having a stranger run by shouting about toast helps,” he said. You rolled your eyes and he shrugged. “I’m not joking.”
“Why are you single?”
“I’m more complicated than I look at first glance. I’ve been told it’s not an attractive quality.”
“Well fuck whatever bitch said that.”
“I really like you,” he chuckled.
“I have my moments,” you said. You sat back, Dean pushing the bit of pie left on his plate around. “Was that too much...me sharing that.”
“No. I’m glad you did,” he said. “You want to watch something?”
“Whatever you want is fine.”
“Come on,” he said. He showed you upstairs and gave you some clothes to sleep in before he showed you outside to the balcony over the garage. “I sit out here at night sometimes.”
“It’s gorgeous,” you said. You settled down into an oversized chair with him, looking up at the dark sky.
“Yes, it is,” he said as he looked in your direction.
“So what’s your favorite kind of pie?”
“Oh well if you want to go down that road I can chat your ear off all night.”
“Good morning,” said Dean as you made your way downstairs. You yawned and gave him a smile, Dean handing you a cup of coffee.
“Much appreciated.” You took a long gulp, stretching out and taking a deep breath. “What time is it?”
“After ten. We stayed up pretty late talking,” he said.
“I guess we did,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. “Can I have your phone for a sec?”
“Sure,” he said. You put in your number and handed it back.
“Text me sometime,” you said.
“I think I’ll take you up on that,” he said. “I gotta run and do a few chores this morning but I’m having a few friends over later to watch football if you and Tessa would like to join.”
“You really want my sister hanging out with us?”
“Yeah. As long as she’s like, not a devil worshipper or doesn’t like pie she’s always welcome.”
“Only you would categorize those two things together,” you laughed.
“I am quite serious about my pies.”
“Oh I learned that last night,” you said. “I’ll invite her. She’s seventeen though so not sure how much fun she’ll have.”
“There’ll be a couple guys her age if-”
“She’ll definitely be there then,” you said.
“Great. Let’s have some breakfast quick before I drop you off at home.”
______
A/N: Read Part 3 here!
#spn#supernatural#dean x reader#doctor!dean#au!dean x reader#spn reader insert#supernatural reader insert#doctor!dean x reader#dean winchester#supernatural fanfiction#dean winchester x reader#dean#dean spn#winchester
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Do you think a problem with the "is it heteronormative or homophobic" judgement, especially in regards to porn, is how often we integrate those exact problematic things into our writing in order to deal with them? Which on the surface can be hard to tell apart from writing coming from a genuine place of prejudice unless you know the author's intent. I know a lot of kink seems to be based around common and intense anxieties or fears (rape, gender, sexuality, power, self-esteem, approval, control, danger, shame, humiliation, ect) so of course tropes that can be homophobic can also turn us on and be interesting ways to address those anxieties and trauma. Take Omegaverse for example. How can you tell without knowing the author's intent if their graphic alpha male/omega female rape porn is a result of kink, expressing personal anxieties around gender and sex and trauma, or it is coming from just normal prejudice and sexism? Who knows! Not me.
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Human brain: "Bad... ergo... horny???"
Yeah, pretty much.
There's also the problem that it's hard to analyze a kink you're just too vanilla to get.
If I never again see people confusing these two in bad pop psych kinkshaming of women, it will be too soon:
I never said yes, so nothing is my responsibility, and I can lie back and let them do all the work
I'm soooooooo hot they just can't help themselves
Sure, they occur together a lot. They're not the same though, and man are people who have zero rape kinks really, really bad at telling apart the obvious subsets of the kink.
I love fics where somebody older has an inappropriate crush and freaks out about it or somebody who topped in a sex pollen scenario has Big Drama over what a ~monster~ they are. Their fear of themselves and hopelessness about ever finding someone to love them is the kink. I like to pair them with a 100% unbothered turboslut who thinks this is the best thing ever. I've routinely seen people mistake such scenarios for the bottom/victim/less powerful character/etc. being in denial and the top's catastrophizing POV being obviously more reliable.
And sure, some of that might be me or whatever author I'm reading doing a bad job... But that isn't the whole of the explanation. A lot of it is that a reader with this reaction fundamentally does not share and cannot understand the kink for "Am I a monsterrrrr??? Waaaaaah! Wait, what do you mean it was fun?"
Maybe they dislike rapekink, including dubcon, so they think the darker, scarier POV must be right. Maybe they're not used to fic that focuses on how a top can be a woobie too, so that option never occurs to them. Regardless, it's very common to see people wildly miss the point on these sorts of fics and on many other tropes and kinks.
Most "it's heterosexist" type critique I see is people complaining about entire subsets of kinks that they do not share.
It makes me question how much they actually understand the purpose of these stories in the first place.
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The Science of Magic
Request: Hi hi. I was wondering if you could write Snape x reader fluff. But the reader is a muggle, not a muggle born witch. If you don’t want to, it’s alright since I saw a lot of requests on your blog u might be busy rn. Love u.
Requested by: Anon
Genre: Fluff
Synopsis: Two teachers, one magic and one science, A sneek peak into cuteness
Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem Reader
Warnings: Ignorence
“What do you mean you’ve never recorded your marks electronically?” (Y/n)’s voice was shrill and her tone was flabbergasted.
“We are very old fashioned at my school.” Severus said, as he copied down the marks of his third year students from their tests onto his gradebook.
“I know you have magic Sev, but honestly. Using google sheets or Excel is so much easier. It’s how I keep track of all my marks.”
“We don’t use computers or the internet at Hogwarts love.” Severus glanced up at (Y/n) from his place near the fire.
“You don’t even use pens.” (Y/n)’s tone was on the verge of angry, but still amused.
“Quills are harder for you to believe in than magic?” Severus chuckled as he placed his quill back in his ink pot.
“Magic is just energy that you exert from your body, people who have magic just have more control over that energy.” (Y/n) said sitting down on the couch across from Severus. “For example the fire charm Incendio, or whatever latin you bother using, is a cue word for your energy to heat up and cause fire. Ergo, magic is science and has a reasonable explanation.”
“I can never understand all of your terminology my dear.” Snape said, closing his mark book as he blew on the ink to dry it.
“You and I basically teach the same subject! Chemistry and potions are the same thing, just in two different contexts.”
“If you want to collect all of my marks on your spreadsheet thing, I’ll send you them via owl every night.” Severus’ attempt at compromise left (Y/n) speechless.
“No, Professor Snape, you will text or phone your wife every night and you will send her all of the grades for your 1000 students.” (Y/n) looked at Severus incredulously. “I spent six years at University getting my degree and masters in Biochemistry, just to fill out a spreadsheet with my husband’s grades.”
“Darling, things are alright the way they are.”
“Husband of mine. Your textbooks in the wizarding world sound like fantasy novels. And your history class is taught by a ghost. Do your students even know basic math?” (Y/n) stretched her legs and looked at her husband. “I have so many questions about this.”
“Arthur Weasly would love you. Muggle obsessed as he is.”
(Y/n) stopped speaking and looked at Severus, head tilted and expression confused. “What’s a muggle?”
Severus sighed. “You’re a muggle, dear.” He cleared his throat. “A non-magic person. Other countries have different words, Americans call you no-maj and Canadians call you can’t-spells. The majority of the world are muggles, just like you.”
“It sounds rude.” (Y/n) grumbled as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Do you have any muggle teachers at your school?”
“We do not.”
“Well why not?”
“Because you can’t teach magic.”
“Well what about, what do you call it? Muggle studies, shouldn’t a muggle teach muggle studies?”
“Muggleborns usually teach muggle studies.” Severus got out of his chair and sat beside his wife on the couch.
“So people born with a magic gene, but of muggle descent. How often does that happen? Is magic a dominant or recessive trait? I doubt it’s a sex linked gene as as many men have it as women. I need to draw a punnett square.”
“No, you don’t love. And I assume it’s a dominant trait.”
“That would make sense.”
“I really must introduce you to Arthur Weasly. He’s in a club of sorts with me, and he is very interested in muggles. Pity you don’t have a background in Physics.” Severus chided placing his cheek on top of (Y/n)’s head.
She smacked him in the chest. “You don’t even teach two subjects so who are you to judge?” Severus laughed and put his arms around her.
“You know I was joking right dove?” Severus asked
“You, dark, brooding, moody, Severus Snape joking. That in itself is a joke.”
“Well this was fun while it lasted. I’ll have to go back to Hogwarts in a few days.”
“Imagine if we swapped classes. My students would all hate you with your detention giveing self.” (Y/n) laughed and snuggled herself back into his chest.
“My classes would love you. You’re like Minerva, strict, but understanding and kind.”
Sevurus pulled her closer and they both sat for a few minutes enjoying the fire.
“When can I meet your co-workers? You met mine at the staff Christmas party, last year when Davie almost set you on fire.” Both Snapes laughed at the memory of (Y/n)’s iddiotic coworker.
“In a few days,” Severus answered, staring at his sweetheart, “We are going to start the Triwizard Tournament. I'll aperate to you, and bring you back for the choosing of the champions. I’ll introduce you to them then.”
“Alright.” Came the soft, sleepy reply from the bundle in Severus’ arms. “Can we sleep here tonight, I don’t want to walk up the stairs.
It was moments like this where Severus was glad to have (Y/n). She was a light in his shade and a question in his mind. When he held her, in the living room on a cool August night he was content. As he should be, without the knowledge of all of the dark things to come.
Author’s Note: Thanks for reading. I am not a biochemist. I just thought it would provide a nice contrast. Please comment and request. Thank you!
#fluff#severus snape x reader#severus snape#severus snape x you#harry potter x reader#Harry Potter#cuteness#science#please correct me if I'm wrong#please comment#please reblog#please request things
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Comfort Zone
This is my entry to @negans-lucille-tblr‘s awesome 5k senses challenge. Congratulations to your milestone, hun.
Prompt: There’s nowhere your hands haven’t been
Sense: TASTE - Your fic must include oral sex
Summary: You always played on the safe side, stayed in your comfort zone, and dated the less wild brother. What happens when the other brother turns up on your doorstep with not so good intentions?
Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (brief)
Warnings: angst, language, dirty talk, blow job, cocky demon Dean, cheating, smut, unprotected sex, dub con (it’s demon Dean folks), doggy style, hair pulling, mentions of nudes, kidnapping, threats, anal play (barely), degrading (name calling)
Words: 1772
A/N:Divider by @writeyourmindaway
A harsh knock at your door followed by someone growling your name at 2 am makes your body jolt up in your bed.
Usually, Sam calls to tell you that he is in town and needs a place to sleep or well, to screw your brain out for a few hours. If you get lucky he stays for a few days and it feels like you have a relationship.
Sam and you never put a label on what you are or rather what you are doing when his elder brother is not around.
Dean knows you are Sam’s friend, the one he turns to if they need you to stitch them up or to hide for a few days. The elder Winchester does not know you and Sam like to chase each other naked through your house to screw on any surface.
“OPEN THE DOOR!” the voice grows more impatient and you stumble down the stairs, still dizzy from waking up the harsh way. “NOW!”
“Jesus, Sam,” you snicker, unlocking the door to rip it open. “Do you have your panties in a twist, Winchester?”
“Hello, sweetheart,” not your lover looks down at you, a dirty grin on his lips, but his elder brother.
His eyes roam your body and you suddenly regret you are only in a loose shirt and panties. Somehow he makes you feel unease and you are close to slamming the door into his face when he presses one palm against the wooden door, making you budge.
“Not nice to not invite a friend in,” he gives you a cocky grin when he hands you a red rose, with roots on it.
“What do you want here, Dean?” he is waltzing into your house, acting as if he belongs when you close the door behind him. “Dean, where is Sam?”
“Sammy couldn’t make it so,” Dean steps closer to brush his thumb over your cheek, “I thought I could come around and say ‘hi’ to an old friend. Have a beer and talk about the weather or crap.”
You would lie if you told anyone Dean’s closeness is not intoxicating or that the way he roams your body is more than a friendly look over.
“Did you get hurt on a hunt again, Winchester? Jesus, take your clothes off and I’ll have a look,” now his eyes darken, and you regret your words. “I mean, to check on the wound.”
“You know, Y/N,” Dean steps closer, gripping your upper arms tight enough to hurt a little, “there’s nowhere your hands haven’t been but,” he slides his hand down your right arm to grip your wrist, pressing your hand to his crotch, “here…”
“DEAN! WHAT THE FUCK!” you would backhand the hunter, but he holds your hand to his crotch, smirking as you can feel his cock twitch. “I am with Sam.”
“Yeah, I know,” he dips his head now, smirking devilishly before his lips silence your protest. “Makes it even hotter when you go down on your knees and touch me where I need you the most.”
“What is wrong with you, Dean? Sam is your brother and even though we are not officially dating or crap he’s kinda my boyfriend,” wiggling in Dean’s grip you look up at the hunter, feeling your legs give in when his eyes flash black. “No, no!”
“Shhh, calm sweetheart,” his arms are around your body to keep you from running away. “I’ll not hurt you or a little to make you feel good.”
“Get out of Dean’s body, monster,” while you try to recite an exorcism Dean thrusts his hips forward, grinding against your hand.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.
Ergo, draco maledicte ecclesiam tuam. Secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”
“That tickled a bit, sweetheart,” Dean smirks moving his hands to your ass to grope it roughly, playing with you. He can see the fear in your eyes, and he cannot deny it, his cock strains painfully against his pants when a tiny whimper leaves your lips. “I can smell your arousal, Y/N. This tight little cunt is dripping for me.”
“No,” you lie, not wanting the demon to know there is a tiny kinky part of you that always wondered how Dean would taste. “I want you to let me go and leave Dean’s body, demon bastard.”
“All me, Y/N. No one is inside this body but me,” he coos, nuzzling your cheek with his face. “I want you to be my good girl, go down on your knees and touch the last part you never gave attention.”
“Dean, please…” you feel his hand twist your panties, making you cry out when the fabric gets ripped off your body. “Don’t…”
“Last warning, sweetheart. Down and open my pants, give me some attention,” Dean fists your shirt, a dark grin on his lips before it falls victim to his strength.
For a moment he admires your tits, the way your chest heaves up and down but soon enough he gropes your breasts, smirking as your arch your back, pressing your hardened nipples into the palms of his hands.
“So responsive. Now on your knees,” the dark look on his face does not accept any argument so you slowly go down on your knees, looking up at Dean with doe eyes.
“Sam can never know,” you whisper, moving your hands over Dean’s muscular thighs, rubbing your cheek against his clothed crotch. The hunter groans, moving his hands to your head to pat it gently. “Promise me.”
“Promised,” with skilled fingers your undo his belt, never breaking eye-contact with the demon your lover’s brother became. “Such a good girl,” you hate his praise leaves you dripping for him but you try to ignore the tingling in your body when you deftly unbutton his pants to shove them roughly down to his ankles.
His cock springs free, slapping against your cheek, smearing pre-cum onto your skin. “Look at you, on your knees, ready to serve me.” He smirks down at you, something sinister in his eyes when you spit into your hand before you reach out for his throbbing length.
For the first time since he came to your house, you have the upper hand as the demon throws his head back, praising you when you slide your thumb over the tip, gathering pre-cum to torturously slow start to run your hand up and down his cock.
“Harder. Faster. Use your goddamn tongue, slut,” Dean fists your hair, giving you a warning look whilst you grip him tighter, pumping him in your hand. Eyes angry you lean closer, darting your tongue out to lick all over the tip.
You earn a hiss from the demon and a smirk when you run your tongue up and down his length, moaning as you like the taste of him.
“Needy slut, ready to take any Winchester dick,” Dean chuckles darkly, watching you finally part your lips further to slowly take him in.
“I bet you’d like to give me a nasty comment but you know what?” his hand fists your hair, to shove you down his length, causing you to choke around him.
Dean doesn’t seem to care, rather enjoys your throat contracts around him, whilst he guides your head up and down his length. “Such a good little fucktoy I found. I bet Sammy would like to have a few pictures.”
You whimper, gripping Dean’s thighs to make him stop but he simply shoves you off his dick to grasp for his phone, snapping a few pictures of you kneeling naked in front of him, chin covered with his slick.
“Turn around, I wanna take a picture of your dripping pussy,” he purrs, kicking his pants off, followed by his shirt hitting the floor. “Now, kitten.”
“No! You promised…” a second later you find yourself throw over his broad shoulder while he hums to himself.
“Look at this...a masterpiece,” you would give Dean a snarky comment, but he used your torn panties as a makeshift gag while he restrained your hands behind your back.
Now your face is pressed into your favorite pillow, your legs spread wide and your cunt, well that treacherous bitch has a grand time getting railed by the demon.
Dean growls low in his throat, almost like a feral animal whilst he watches you submit to him. You gave up to tell him it is wrong to fuck your lover’s brother the moment he buried his face between your thighs.
Both of his hands grip your hips as he kneels behind you, using the grip on your hips to pump harshly into you.
“D…” you whine with every deep thrust, praying the demon will not show any of the pictures to Sam. He’s ruling your body, keeps you under his spell but your mind is racing.
“Yeah, moan for me, kitten. That is much better now,” you can almost hear the smirk in his voice when he feels your walls grip him tightly. “Do you want to cum, kitten? Cum all over my demonic dick?”
Dean smirks, looking at your ass while he uses your body. “I bet you want to, little slut. All this ‘I love Sammy’ was a lie to get dicked down hard by me,” You moan, fighting against the high you can almost taste. If anything, you want at least try to keep your dignity and not cream all over a demon’s dick.
Your pussy has other plans. While your mind tries to fight the pleasure, the coil winds up too fast. Your toes curl and to your shame, you cum all over his length the moment Dean slaps your ass harshly, calling you his whore.
“Did Sammy ever make you grip him that hard? Jesus, you are milking me like a hungry little cum slut,” you hate yourself, even more, when he pokes your tightest hole with his index finger, just slipping the tip in and you cum again, choking out his name.
“That’s a good hole to keep…”
Hours later Dean has you in the backseat, handcuffed, gagged, and angry but still, he is sure you will be his good girl from now on.
Whilst you fight against the handcuffs and try to spit out the gag he made from his boxers, Dean sends one line to it his brother, attaching all the pictures he took of you.
‘If you do not stop looking for me Sammy, my cock is not the only thing I will shove into her body…’
Tags in reblog
#bees5ksenseschallenge#Demon Dean#demon!dean#demon!dean x reader#demon dean x reader#dean winchester fanfic#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester SPN#dean winchester x you#deanmon#deanmon x reader#smut#angst#dubcon#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester smut#deanmon smut#dean x reader#dean x you
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Essential Avengers: Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars #1-3
May, 1984
THE WAR BEGINS
Oof, here we go.
Just gotta replicate the pace that let me do the Hawkeye miniseries in one go, three times in a row.
This is probably too much effort considering its Secret Wars (or more accurately Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars) and maybe there’s not going to be a lot of big changes from this in the Avengers book to really justify it.
But we’re getting Jim Shooter writing the Avengers and his non-consecutive runs were a lot better than I had remembered. And it continues the theme he had from the Avengers book.
It just makes sense in a nonsense way to cover this story.
Last relevant time in Avengers! Acting Completely Normal Vision warned the Avengers about some weird, possibly hostile energy surges right in time for an energy surge to surge energetically in Central Park.
When the Avengers went to investigate, they found a weird structure that looked like a techy coliseum maybe. When some of the Avengers wandered into it (apparently the most bankable Avengers? Sucks to be Vision and Wanda, shrug) they vanished.
In the next issue, after several days, these heroes returned, speaking of a secret war they fought. Weird stuff like She-Hulk taking the Thing’s place on the Fantastic Four happened. In other books, Spidey got a cool new suit.
Would you know more?
After being raptured in their various books, the missing superheroes all end up on one of those distinctive structures like the one that appeared in Central Park, except IN SPACE.
Its cool that the Avengers will have some company.
We’ve got a terrific 3/4ths of the Fantastic Four, the X-Men (including Lockheed but not including Kitty Pryde for some reason), the Avengers, Iron Man, Spider-Man, the totally Articulate Hulk, and hilariously Magneto is also here.
Maybe Secret Wars is just setting up the most awkward moment in the universe, as a prank show.
I think I’d enjoy a big event that turned out to be a prank show at the last minute. The fan discontent. Imagine.
Everyone introduces themselves to each other but mostly the audience and Ben Grimm claims his new codename as the Easter Bunny.
Checking, marvel wiki doesn’t have Easter Bunny listed as one of Ben’s known aliases. Cowards.
Looking up into space, Captain America spots another one of the totally cool constructs and Professor X scans that it contains EEEEEEEVIL.
Specifically Amora the Enchantress, Ultron, the Wrecking Crew, the Absorbing Man, the Lizard, VICTOR VON DOOOOOM, Kang the Conqueror, Doctor Octopus, and Molecule Man. Also, hilariously, Galactus is there.
I’m more convinced than ever that this is a prank show.
You know what would be more hilarious? If Punisher ended up on this construct.
The distribution of villains is kind of odd though. Galactus and Doctor Doom map to the FF. Doctor Octopus and the Lizard to Spider-Man. Ultron, Molecule Man, and Kang are Avengers foes. The Absorbing Man and the Wrecking Crew can go a couple ways but started off as Thor villains. And Amora is usually a Thor villain but supposedly has chilled out around this time or at least is less of a pain than her horny sister.
No X-Men villains. Because Magneto is chilling with them in the generally heroic pod.
Also, all the heroes were raptured from Earth while the villains were grabbed from Earth, from space, from Asgard, resurrected just to be here, or from the FUTURE.
I know marketing is wagging the dog but be consistent, secret organizer who we don’t know yet.
The Thing points out that Magnet is off-sides, re: being in the hero construct, and Magneto is like ‘hey, chill out dudes’ and denies specifically doing murders.
Magneto: “I know not what power transported me here from my secret lair, nor why I was placed among you -- but I find it more appropriate to ask why such as you were judged fit to be placed in my presence!”
Oof.
Burn.
Then the conversation is put on halt on account of the wildest shit any of them have ever seen.
An entire galaxy vanishes but probably not due to a wave of anti-matter.
Thor: “It’s gone! Gone -- ! Swept away like dust before some unseen, giant hand!”
And then around that last star left unswept, various chunks merge together to form some sort of world, perhaps for battle.
A nice touch for later is that you can definitely see that one of the chunks is a stray chunk of city.
Some of the villains start squabbling because close quarters, ego, etc.
But Ultron goes hey we’re allowed to fight? I’m the best at that.
Ultron: “I am Ultron! I do not understand the events transpiring! I do not understand how I came to be resurrected... nor how I came to be here! Nothing computes... Insignificant! I am Ultron! My purpose is to slay that which lives. You are all living things, ergo -- Ultron must destroy you!”
With the benefit of having read all the Avengers up to now, I feel that Ultron got up on the wrong side of the resurrection a little.
He’s not not like this but he’s not usually this turned on?
(Then again, maybe he just came back cranky)
DOOM grabs and shakes Molecule Man to do something about this because given enough time even the mighty DOOM might fall before Ultron.
Ultron is famously annoying to defeat, what with that adamantium.
But Molecule Man is in therapy after the Avengers kicked his shit and Tigra yelled at him for being a punk. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.
So Doom with all his brilliant genius tells MM a cool way to help out that won’t hurt anyone. Directly.
Using his Molecule Man power over molecules to lightly toss Ultron into Galactus.
So that Galactus goes ‘who the fuck scuffed my boots’ and rips out all the energy in Ultron’s Ultron.
He can do that.
Why wouldn’t he? If he can do that to a planet, he can do it to a pissbaby robot. Even one apparently containing more power than an atom bomb.
Then, because this is one of those plots where things are always thenning, a rift opens in the nothingness of space and a heavenly esque light shines out. A warbly voice commands the action figures beat each other up.
I mean. Its more like
The Beyonder: “I am from beyond! Slay your enemies and all you desire shall be yours! Nothing you dream of is impossible for me to accomplish!”
But you have to admire that this toy commercial of a comic book is being honest and upfront about being a story where action figures bonk off of each other.
Galactus just hears ‘i can finally shake off these persistent forever munchies’ and flies off to demand prepayment for action figure bonking, with DOOM following behind him.
The Beyonder speaks up warning Galactus that hey, personal space. And that a guy that can effortlessly wipe out a galaxy is gonna have a sweet barrier but Galactus wants the hunger pangs gone and does not listen.
DOOM recognizes a bad idea when he sees one once in a while and hangs back but still gets blown out of space by the force of Galactus bonking off the Beyonder’s barriers.
Captain America: “They were swatted back like flies!”
Professor X: “To the Beyonder, even Galactus is less than a fly, Captain!”
Interruption dealt with, the Beyonder gets the show on the road and sends the two constructs to different parts of the patchwork planet.
The Marvel Super Heroes And Magneto land on some hill and quickly make sure that there are no villains excepting Magneto around.
With Magneto around, the non-X-Men raise an objection to Magneto being around.
He sank a Russian submarine with all hands back in X-Men #150 but he insists that it was self-defense and also they started it.
The X-Men’s position is ‘hey he’s a jerk but he’s our jerk plus we could use his help? The bad guys get GALACTUS, how is that fair?’
Well, they don’t say it but they’re probably thinking it.
And Hawkeye decides to be a little racist today.
Hawkeye: “You mutants stick together, huh? Well, sticking to a blood-soaked maniac like him doesn’t speak well of you, pal!”
Dude, Clint. Your dear old friend is Wanda.
Wait, why ISN’T Wanda here? Did the toy people really not want her? Fools. Her husband is toyetic as all get out.
Also, point of order, Wolverine? If anyone qualifies as ‘hey he’s a jerk but he’s our jerk!’ here its you.
Johnny “good life choices” Storm decides he’ll just kick Magneto’s ass and end the debate but yeah. Yeah, no. Magneto makes a fool of him.
And then Magneto decides eff this noise and flies off.
With Magneto alienated (good job, guys), Professor X decides this group needs some dang leadership and throws a nomination to Reed Richards. Reed defers since he’s thinking of Sue, left at home and not able to participate in the event.
Wasp, the cool leader of the Avengers, nominates instead Captain America.
Wasp: “We’re off in a strange land, up to our ears in a little secret war that may decide the fate of the universe! Some people don’t know me well! They might have doubts... and there’s no room for that!”
I’m baffled that there’s people here who don’t know Wasp who has been heroing since the 60s but sure. Cap(tain America) probably gets more crossovers and whatever.
I mean, heck, we’re talking a group of heroes consisting of the Avengers (who she already leads), the Fantastic Three (who she’s well acquainted with), and the X-Men (who I’m sure she’s met, although awkwardly its going to later be revealed that Wasp is in the Hellfire Club, but only the sex parts).
And I guess Wolverine’s extensive backstory with Cap doesn’t exist yet because Wolverine isn’t keen on him being the leader, describing him as the least of the assembled heroes. When Hawkeye is right there!
I kid because I love.
Meanwhile, DOOM wakes up adjacent to Galactus ankle and heads to a nearby fortress which he correctly assumes is where the villains have ended up.
Wait, the heroes get beamed down to a random hill while the villains get sent to an advanced fortress with weaponry and we later learn vehicles sold separately?
Kinda stacking the deck, the Beyonder.
You gave the villains GALACTUS and A FORTRESS PLAYSET right out of the gate.
The other villains tell Doom that they’ve (mostly) decided that he should be their leader. But Doom has bigger fish to fry than the prizes that the Beyonder is offering.
In typical Doomesque fashion, he wants the whole kettle. But the other villains what with their petty concerns think he’s too afraid to fight.
So he ditches.
He goes to steal-borrow a spaceship and even though he hates the thought, takes off to go talk to Richards. And then Kang shoots him out of the sky with a GIANT GUN THAT THE VILLAIN FORTRESS ALSO HAS? to stop him from allying with the heroes.
Said (marvel super) heroes see the distant explosion and fly as a group in the most hilarious way possible to check it out.
God, I have always loved this image. Its squished down into the bottom third of the page but its a delight.
They find Doom sprawled in the crash site, rambling that he’ll only speak to RICHARRRRRDS and about the Beyonder’s power. But Cap offends Doom mightily but offering him a hand up and because Doom sees pity in Cap and RICHARRRRRRDS eyes.
So he blasts the heroes and fucks off.
How very Bakugou of him.
And right as the heroes recover from that, a bunch of villains arrive to get this secret war started.
I have a fondness for this particular issue. For a long while, issue 1 was the only issue of Secret Wars I could find. So I just had the start of this story with all these non-Spider-Man non-X-Men heroes I barely knew cliffhangering into an attack by villains I really didn’t recognize except for Doc Ock and the Lizard.
It was a window into another side of the Marvel Universe. And for child me, this first issue worked perfectly to intrigue me. All these characters, the very straightforward conflict, all the complications that immediately pop up like Magneto, Galactus, and Doom. Alas, small child resources.
June, 1984
PRISONERS of War!
The heroes react slowly to the sudden villain attack but thankfully, the villains aren’t working together well. Unthankfully, half of the heroes were already knocked out by the first attack.
Meanwhile, over at Doctor Doom’s side of the plot, he flies back over to where Galactus just in time to see him finally rouse from being slapped down by the Beyonder.
Galactus floats to his feet and wanders off.
Doom: “He ignored me! As though I were a gnat buzzing at his feet! And so I am... Just as all of us, even Galactus himself, are but insects to the all-powerful Beyonder! Thus, the others have chosen to play the Beyonder’s simple game -- thereby, in effect, paying homage to him. Should I, too, pay homage? Should I worship at the feet of this god-like being -- or chose another path... one only Doom would dare!”
I think anyone that knows Doom knows which option he’s gonna choose.
He heads back to the villain fortress and finds Ultron’s deactivated body and decides Doom can use this.
Meanwhile, back at the first secret battle of the secret war, the heroes rally and start fighting back under Cap(tain America)’s leadership.
She-Hulk even gets a designated girl fight with the only female villain on the villain team.
I’d complain, I would. But at least She-Hulk isn’t the only heroine on the hero side.
She-Hulk: “Hiya! I’m the She-Hulk! You must be the Enchantress! Gee, I’ve heard so much about you -- ! You’re a not-nice lady!”
Enchantress: “A green woman? Is there no end to the varieties of mortals?”
The Enchantress magic slaps She-Hulk away and comments that she could crush She-Hulk physically but its beneath her.
Yeah, all Asgardians have some level of super strength, that’s right. Even the squishy wizards.
But all She-Hulk heard was, ‘someone I can really punch!’
She-Hulk: “I don’t often duke it out with someone solid enough to really unload on -- and slow enough to let me! Oh, wow! That was, like tubular, you know -- to the max!”
Uh. Jen, are you okay? Did you have a stroke? You don’t usually talk so much in Mario World secret world levels.
I think maybe Jim Shooter didn’t have a good grasp on her. I don’t think he’s ever written for her. And the other heroes mostly don’t vary too much from generic hero speaking patterns. Add some smart for smart characters, add some rude to Wolverine, and so on.
The battle wraps up with Kang, the Enchantress, and the Wrecking Crew captured and the rest of the villains fleeing when the battle didn’t go their way.
Cap sends Storm off to scout for a cool playset that they can use as shelter and she does so, noting that the winds on Battleworld are super easy to control. Like Battleworld was created to create ideal fighting conditions for everyone. Pretty neat, the Beyonder.
Storm finds a particularly rad fortress (”Bigger than fifty-four and a half Pentagons, I’d estimate!” Wow!) and the heroes move in.
I unironically enjoy how toyetic this story is with the fortresses and the vehicles and the weapons. Because I’m almost positive that Mattel barely capitalized on it.
There were only two playsets. Pitiful.
Over in their new headquarters, Reed stashes the captured villains in some form of psychostasis which “works by controlling aggression through brainwave modulation!”
He also sticks Enchantress in a healing pod to address that nasty case of being She-Hulked right in the face. Nothing will salve her ego though.
Captain America: “It’s no wonder that the name Mister Fantastic is renowned for compassion as well as courage! You give added meaning to the word hero, Richards!”
Whenever someone loudly announces that Reed is super compassionate, it makes me feel like they’re overcompensating.
Nobody ever makes note of, say, Captain America’s compassion.
With the prisoners (of war? Is that the whole reason for the title?) accommodated, Cap calls everyone for a meeting in a cool meeting dome he found which has a small waterfall for aesthetic and so everyone has to yell to be heard.
Wolverine yells that they should mop up the rest of the villains and get this over with.
Not mentioning that in order to “win it” they’d have to kill the villains, which none of the heroes have shown any interest in doing so far.
Cap(tain America) replies that A) planet big and they have no idea where the villains got to. And B) the remaining villains slash antagonists are Galactus, Doctor Doom, Molecule Man, Doctor Octopus, the Wrecker, the Absorbing Man, and Magneto. Not really people you mop up.
In a fun logistics bit, Cap sends out a patrol to make sure the area is secure but he also sends out two additional groups to find if there are any places in this fortress they can sleep and whether there's any... food.
Makes me imagine a Secret Survival War where the sides have to wrestle over limited resources.
Hours later, the villains that escaped the fracas arrive back at their fortress.
I’m sort of confused here.
Maybe it took so long because they had to make sure they weren’t followed. Or maybe because they didn’t have the sweet tripod vehicle anymore. But think about the flow of events of: everyone beamed down to Battleworld > Doom ditches the villains and gets shot down > heroes investigate and Doom ditches > villains show up for cliffhanger fight.
The villain fortress should be pretty close to where that fight took place. And then the heroes find a nearby fortress of their own so their fortress should be pretty close to the villain fortress. Maybe not in the same neighborhood but surely the same zip code.
Anyway, they find that while they were gone, Doom swanned in and renamed the place the Doombase.
If they have problems with it, they can talk to his Ultron.
Which I’m surprised he didn’t rename Doomtron.
Doom also tells them that he’s in charge now.
Absorbing Man: “Aw! Who gives a hoot! I need a meal an’ sleep! You wanna be in charge, Doom? Okay by me!”
If you think about it, this is just some steps added what the villains wanted all along.
They wanted Doom to be their leader but he told them he had bigger fish to fry and fucked off. Now he’s fucked back on and told them all that he’s their leader. They initially object before reconsidering due to Doomtron but, yeah, its all gone full circle.
Doom is a lot more cordial to Molecule Man though.
Doom: “Molecule Man... uh, Mr. Reece, I believe it is? I trust you were not inconvenienced.”
Molecule Man: “Well, being absolute master of molecules I can just assimilate molecules when I want, so I never have to be hungry, and I can just shoo away dirt molecules, so I’m always nice and clean -- but I am tired!”
Doom: “I have prepared a special chamber for you! I hope you like it!”
Molecule Man: “If not, I can always reconstruct the molecules -- !”
Heh.
Nice to see Jim Shooter able to follow up on the trajectory he sent Molecule Man on.
The rest of the villains head off but Doctor Octopus, the only other brain cell in this group, hangs back to talk to DOOM.
He wants to know what he plans to do about Galactus and then shows Doom on the biggest screen TV that Galactus is standing on a mountain glowing with an awesome power.
Doom just retorts that his plans are for his forces to triumph.
Doctor Octopus: Something tells me he’s got ambitions that dwarf merely triumphing in the Beyonder’s little contest! The question is whether he will destroy us in trying to achieve them -- or immediately after fulfilling them?!
Like I said, the only other brain cell in this group.
Meanwhile, while Magneto secretly sneaks into the hero fortress for Reasons, the heroes have a quiet moment that lets this Secret Wars biz really sink in.
Wasp: “I’d be having tea in my studio now, Jenny... And lunch on my patio tomorrow... This... um... situation we’re in... is kind of... much, you know? I feel there’s just a little thin wall inside me holding back a flood of despair!”
Its a nice touch, if intentional, that Wasp only admits this kind of thing now that she’s passed off the leadership responsibilities to Captain America. Its been a recurring character beat that she’s been keeping these sorts of worries to herself as chairwoman.
Over in another part of the fortress, Cyclops complains that he was right in the middle of his dang honeymoon when he was yanked into this event.
Cyclops: “I don’t know about you, Richards, but more than angry or afraid, I feel cheated! I -- I was on the verge of real happiness...”
Oof. This really sets the tone for his marriage with Madelyne Pryor.
Spider-Man and the Human Torch even have a little conversation.
Spider-Man: “You mean it doesn’t shake you, Torch, being here? What if we don’t get home?”
Human Torch: “The Fantastic Four have been off on space missions a couple of times, Spider-Man! We’ll get back! Believe me!”
I like when they’re friends.
So, I’m not sure what Magneto’s plan actually was. He was going to sabotage the fortress’ fusion generator as a distraction but Spider-Man’s Spider-Sense Spider-Alerts him to shenanigans afoot and he runs off to the power plant while Johnny Storm goes to get the other heroes.
Magneto decides to abandon whatever his plan was and captures Wasp as a consolation prize.
Gasp, another prisoner of war!
The Thing tries to give chase but inexplicably turns back to normal, smooth skinned Ben Grimm.
Also, Magneto escapes with the Wasp.
It’s like the aardvark says, you can get what you want and still not be happy.
Captain Marvel is holding the randomly anti-mutant ball for Hawkeye here and comments that none of the X-Men showed up to help stop Magneto.
Cap(tain America) tells her to belay that.
Captain America: “Let’s keep our minds on solving problems, not creating more!”
And they can’t even go after Magneto or rescue the Wasp right now because they have bigger problems: Galactus glowing with an awesome power and a massive storm that’s forming on Battleworld.
July, 1984
TEMPEST WITHOUT, CRISIS WITHIN!
The Beyonder has thrown in a nice stage hazard to keep things fresh in the form of a massive storm raging on Battleworld, with lighting that shatters mountains and winds that could tear someone’s limbs clean off.
Or perhaps its the unintentional result of just slapping a planet together out of random stuff you have lying around. The climate must be shot to shit.
I like it either way. Secret Wars has a lot of very toyetic collisions between groups of characters so its nice when Battleworld itself manages to be an obstacle.
Over in his giant U-shaped fortress, Magneto finally unwraps Wasp from the ball of random metal crap he has her in.
He lets her wander around until she finds him so that he can be all casual and eating a space scone.
Magneto: “Do not bother trying to attack me, my dear! My person is magnetically shielded!”
Wasp: “Well, la-de-da!”
Wasp: -blows up his space scone- “You think I have to strike at you directly to hurt you, monster?”
Hilarious spite, thy name is Janet van Dyne.
She also makes the point that magnetic shielding or no, she could bring this whole room down. Her being able to knock over a small house with her pew pew hasn’t stopped being true.
Magneto hastens to ask her not to do that because neither of them want to be out in the storm outside.
Besides, he just wants to talk! And flirt!
Magneto: “You are obviously a woman of intelligence and understanding as well as great beauty -- and I am not the monster you believe I am -- which is precisely what I wish to discuss!”
Wasp: “Oh? My intelligence, understanding and beauty or your non-monsterhood?”
Magneto: “Why... both!”
Back at the hero base (which is apparently ROUGHLY THE SIZE OF CHICAGO?? I want that playset), the storm has almost completely flooded the area, leaving just the top dome and such poking above the water.
The storm keeps dropping chunks of mountain at the base but Thor is standing on top, protecting it while grinning like a loon.
Captain Marvel even speculates that Thor could calm the storm but is whipping it up into a greater frenzy instead. Those storm gods, amirite?
Hawkeye is also standing by, with his explosive arrow, thinking to himself that if Thor fails, Hawkeye will totally save the day.
I don’t know whether that’s sad or endearing.
Mostly though he’s trying to distract himself from thinking about the new wife he left behind.
Cap, Reed, and Hulk are watching the villain base because apparently they do know where it is. The storm is keeping the villains in too but Cap figures they’ll pull one desperate attack as soon as the storm breaks.
They’ve already lost four of their dudes. Plus, Galactus isn’t a team player.
Spider-Man is just swinging around, enjoying how good for swinging the random technological pipes and tubes and whatsits are when he stumbles upon the X-Men having a secret meeting.
Professor X has decided, possibly on the basis of two (2) rude comments from Hawkeye and Captain Marvel, that the X-Men just don’t belong here and that they’d be better off going and teaming up with Magneto.
This... sure is a take.
Rogue comments that the Avengers don’t trust her because of that time she kicked their asses collectively. Which, hey, very possibly. They haven’t really had a thing to say about you though. They’ve mostly been grouchy about Magneto.
Which is kinda born out by the way he tried to blow up their base and definitely kidnapped the Wasp?? And is even now aggressively eating scones at her?
That’s the Magneto you guys want to go join because he’s more your people than the Fantastic Avengers and friends are?
You know, there’s a pattern I sometimes see with the X-Men where they loudly insist that the other superheroes don’t help them and don’t care about mutant stuff while at the same time doing shit like this.
“Should we get Reed Richards, smartest dick in the world to help with the legacy virus or the techno-organic virus Stryfe shot into Xavier? NAHHHH Beast can handle it.”
“Should we stick with the other superheroes or go hang with Magneto instead in a cool mutants only U-shaped fortress? Well, U is the coolest letter that isn’t X...”
If you squint, you can definitely see Krakoa all the way in the future.
Anyway, Spider-Man overheard all of this and goes ‘I’M TELLING!’
Wolverine tries to tell him that snitches get stitches but the thing is?
Spider-Man is ridiculous. He’s a ridiculously good combination of skills and powers which lets him make chumps out of entire groups at a time.
He’s embarrassed the Fantastic Four, the Avengers, and now he’s about to embarrass the X-Men.
After making them all feel foolish, Spider-Man gets away and goes to tell Reed what that doody-head Xavier said when Xavier uses his psychic powers to just wipe the entire encounter out of Spider-Man’s memory.
Yeah, it’s to cover their imminent blowing off but also? I don’t think he wants anyone else to find out how badly his X-Men just got stomped.
Psychics are too OP, I tell you what.
In fairness IN FAIRNESS, the X-Men kind of have the right to fuck right off if they wish. I don’t even know what it had to be in secret. In fact, doing it in secret is a massive dick move of its own for reasons.
What would the Fantastic Avengers have done if the X-Men had just said ‘hey we’re heading out’? Would they have put them in stasis tube jail? I doubt it.
Professor X made the decision to handle this the stupidest way for whatever reason. That scamp.
Speaking of Magneto, he’s over at the U-Lair turning down a partnership offer from DOOM. So, hey, he has standards.
Wasp has become less ‘i’ll blow up this room and your breakfast’ about him over the course of whatever the hell they discussed in their offscreen chat.
Magneto even starts to make out with her and Wasp is like ehhhhhhhhhh what the fuck why not.
Why is this happening?
I guess he has a...................... magnetic personality?
Eh? Eh??
No, but seriously, I do have a theory that I heard someplace but it’ll have to wait.
What’s weird is that there’s a Marvel What If about some spinoff babies that come about if the heroes and villains got stuck on Battleworld and never managed to leave.
Wasp has a son with Human Torch. Which is pretty weird and comes from nowhere. I guess a lot can happen during a massive time skip. My point being though, its weird that they didn’t have a Wasp/Magneto baby instead given the weird chemistry they have here.
Meanwhile, over at DOOMBASE, DOOM has some women in giant tubes.
That’s So Doom.
Doctor Doom: “All is ready -- ! This alien technology, so rich, so subtle... so easily harnessed to serve my purpose... Energy, tapped from the raging tempest... And two mortal subjects who dare to gamble for power -- knowing that to lose is death, for truly, here I shall test the limits of power a human body can contain! With the throwing of a switch... so -- the die is cast! Hear me -- ! Power must be seized -- ! Crave it! Welcome it! Drink it in, despite the pain... or it will destroy you.”
And thus are Volcana and Titania created!
Talk about lasting effects of Secret Wars! Titania is going to be around forever! Mostly annoying She-Hulk!
Where did Doom find two random women to give superpowers?
Denver, Colorado.
No, seriously.
That city chunk we saw as Battleworld formed? That’s Denver, Colorado, USA, EARTH.
Why isn’t there a miniseries or one-shot about a normal ass civilian from Denver having to deal with OH MY GOD WHERE DID EARTH GO?
I actually read an interesting thing re: this scene. It exists because Mattel asked Marvel to introduce some new female characters so Shooter wrote in these two and a third who I’ll get to when I do.
Mattel then promptly used none of these characters for the associated toyline.
The toyline, in fact, used none female characters at all. It made toys of characters who weren’t in the story but did not have a single female character.
So its very weird that they asked Marvel to introduce some but I’m not going to knock the results.
Doom introduces these two new characters to the other villains.
Hilariously, Absorbing Man guesses that Doctor Doom just made women from scratch. Because doesn’t it sound like something he could do?
Volcana and Molecule Man immediately hit it off, her being attracted to his sensitivity and him being attracted to... positive attention at all, I guess?
He muses that he could easily stop the storm outside, because molecules, but his therapist told him to let nature take its course. “Unless Doom asks me to!”
And Titania and Absorbing Man. They don’t hit it off. She either wants to hit him or hit that and its not clear and it might be both.
(Spoilers: Its both)
Titania: “You! Absorbing Man! You look like the toughest man here! Get up!”
Absorbing Man: “Whatcha got in mind?”
Titania: “I’m going to do anything I want to you! Everything I always wanted to do to everybody who used to be bigger and stronger than me! Maybe I’ll just play with you... or maybe I’ll make you eat dirt... or maybe...”
Absorbing Man: “Woman, if you got somethin’ to prove, prove it tomorrow against the guys we’re fightin’!”
Titania: “You’re backing down?”
Absorbing Man: “Nope! I just ain’t getting up! I got nothin’ to prove... to a dame!”
Would you believe that they become one of the healthiest and most stable romantic relationships in Marvel?
Speaking of weird relationships, back over at hero base, Thor goes and pops the lid on Enchanteress’ healing tube because he’s bored and wants to talk to a peer. A god peer.
Enchantress is at first more characteristically worried about what her face looks like after being She-Hulked.
But she then creates a portal so she and Thor can go have a chat.
Later, it’s morning and Hulk has been too busy stressing over losing his Banner smarts to actually keep watch or wake up Cap for watch like he was supposed to.
So when the villains ram an airship into the hero base, the heroes are not at all prepared.
Titania hurls a giant slab of wall through the room the Terrific Three are sharing, breaking Johnny Torch’s arm and ribs and knocking out the other two. He manages to get himself and co out of danger by melting through the floor.
Meanwhile, She-Hulk is carrying a big heavy as she’s been doing since the previous night and is caught unaware by Volcana who blasts her off her feet and then collapses the room on top of her.
Doctor Octopus knocks out Captain Marvel who is in the hot springs dome but gets chased away by Hawkeye, claiming that long-range firepower is his weakness.
I’m stunned at the implication that Doc Ock is one of Spider-Man’s most dangerous foes but could be scared off by Hawkeye while Spider-Man could pretty easily drop Clint’s ass. There’s some rock-paper-scissors nonsense at play here.
Spider-Man and Iron Man are also taken unawares by Ultron but manage to hide under some rubble.
Hulk leaps into the fray at Molecule Man and Doom but Cap convinces him to fall back to a defensible position.
The villains reconvene with all the captured villains freed except Enchantress (since she fucked off to have a chat with Thor) and the heroes scattered and buried under various rubbles. How the fortunes of Secret War turn.
Sure would have been nice if the X-Men had been around to help or if they mentioned they wouldn’t be. Sure would have been.
Doom: “We have accomplished much here today! And to finish it, we shall level this place so that no stone remains on stone!”
No wonder Mattel didn’t make a playset of this base! Dammit Doom, you’re ruining the merchandising!
Follow @essential-avengers for more of Secret Wars! At this same pace! Its sustainable! This is fine! Like and reblog too!
#Avengers#Secret Wars#Essential Avengers#essential marvel liveblogging#Captain America#Captain Marvel#Monica Rambeau#Hawkeye#Iron Man#james rhodes#She Hulk#Thor#the Wasp#X Men#Colossus#Cyclops#Nightcrawler#Professor X#Rogue#Storm#Wolverine#Fantastic Four#Mr Fantastic#Human Torch#the Thing#Hulk#Spider Man#Magneto#VICTOR VON DOOM#some villains
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What's amatonormativity??
I’d encourage you to go to Google or check out tumblr tags and posts on amatonormativity to learn more!
Amatonormativity is the internalized cultural mindset that romance is default and central. It especially conceives of romance as the single most important relationship in someone’s life, to the point it should be focused upon and sought out above any other bond. It treats romance like the universal ultimate solution to any of our emotional bond problems (loneliness, intimacy, trust, support, longevity of relationships, etc.). Amatonormativity is heavily ingrained in many societies, like the mindset I find in people in the United States.
Of course romance isn’t a bad life experience! For many people, it can bring great joy. When people criticize amatonormativity, people aren’t criticizing that romance can be a great thing in someone’s life. The problem with amatonormativity is that it treats romance as the ULTIMATE thing, the ONE solution to our need for emotional fulfillment.
It’s important to understand that amatonormativity has profound negative side effects, whether you’re allo or aro, whether you’re queer or straight, and whatever gender you are. Society takes a lot of things for granted regarding romance and this can stunt our happiness. It stunts our ability to bond with other people around us or find satisfaction within our lives.
Amatonormativity underlies emotionally stunting assumptions like.....
(disclaimer... I will often use language defaulting to the Western cishet perspective, because that’s the mindset of my broader society... I myself am an aroace enby and have more nuanced understandings of gender, gender expression, gender roles, sexual attraction and identity, romantic attraction and identity, etc.)
Automatically assuming that just because a man talks to a woman, the interaction MUST be romantic in nature (this of course intertwines with heteronormativity -- many of my points will intertwine with heteronormativity). It assumes there’s no such thing as “just friends” between people of “opposite” genders. This in turn can result in us losing opportunities to bond to, understand, or properly respect... literally half the human population.
Treating friendships as secondary. Treating friendships as temporary. Treating friendships as more replaceable than romance. Treating friendships as less “deep” and important to our time than romance, even a romance you started two days ago with someone you met last week. By doing this, we lose the chance to grow deeper with someone near us. It limits the potential by which we can bond with another human soul and find happiness.
The belief we are unlovable and not worth anything because we can’t find a romantic partner. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen people disregard their own worth because of this, and it makes me deeply sad. The truth is that our worth is not at all tied to whether we have a romantic partner. We can be so deeply loved and cherished in all sorts of relationships. Of course it’s still valid if you feel single blues because you want a romantic partner, but tying the concept into “I am worthless OR I’m dating” clearly is an emotionally harmful concept. It can result in everything down to hooking up in a relationship that you aren’t ready for or don’t like as much as you pretend you do.
The belief that we are utterly alone without a romantic partner. I notice this often ties into the amatonormative belief that we can only get good physical touch, trust, emotional and physical intimacy, etc. through a romantic partner. I feel this mindset is especially pronounced in cishet men, since USA culture treats masculinity as lacking outwardly expressed vulnerability, and ergo you might not be getting your emotional needs met through your platonic and familial relations. The one “accepted” way of getting your emotional needs met comes through The Girlfriend / Wife.
This belief prevents us from reaching out and finding support through other people in our lives. We can find love and comfort in friends. We can confide about our emotional struggles and find relational intimacy (great trust!) through familial and platonic bonds. Hugs, snuggling, other acts of physical affection are what humans need, and don’t need to be relegated to One Person Only.
Plus... if we assume that our emotional struggles should be fulfilled by One Person Only... that puts enormous pressure on that partner to provide for everything. No one’s that strong. We need support networks, not one designated “save me” individual. It’s pure unhealthiness to mount burdens only on one person, and bottle yourself up otherwise.
I often see this fallacy pop up when people start a new romantic relationship. You might barely know the person, and yet you’re trying to rely on them for everything, and you’re trying to be the person they’ll rely on for everything. You dive deep into the expectations before you really know how to handle it, and in the process become psychologically overwhelmed because of the Huge Responsibilities this role seems to entail. Being in a romance doesn’t automatically mean you’ve reached peak intimacy!
Note: it’s not to say that romance can’t be a major avenue of security. Of course it’s a great way to fulfill intimacy, trust, physical needs, etc. Of course it can become a bond full of loyalty. But romance is actually like any other relationship... a familial relation can be weak or it can be strong, a platonic relation can be weak or it can be strong, and a romantic bond can be weak or it can be strong. The fallacy is that we are treating romance as *THE* way to fulfill all these diverse emotional problems, socking it onto one individual when it might be beyond their single load to bear, and then not seeking out help from the other sources that are around us.
The belief that the only person you can live with is a romantic partner. Living with non-romantic roommates (aka living with friends) is seen as an undesirable inconvenience and something you only do temporarily because you financially have to. It’s seen as an immature youthful thing rather than something an established adult might do. Living with friends long-term out of chosen happiness is not something that crosses the mind of many people... it’s assumed you’ll either move out to live on your own, or marry and go and live with your partner.
The belief that adulthood progresses through a very specific sequence of events. You go to school. You leave on your own. You marry. You get a house. You have kids. There’s a reason it’s common for family to nag you “When are you going to get married? When are you going to get married?” Because clearly you haven’t made an important step of adulthood, an important step in life, unless you get married.
I’ve noticed that for many of my friends, even those who are comfortable with the life choice to not get married... they express they don’t feel “as adult” as their married peers. And many people in society won’t treat them “as adult.”
Harmful beliefs downplaying spousal abuse, like those people who try to argue “you can’t rape your wife / husband / spouse / girlfriend / boyfriend / significant enby / significant dumbass. That’s not what rape means.” Because a sexual-romance is the GOOD thing, right?
AND MUCH MUCH MUCH MUCH MORE!!!
Some people of course have a better handle on their relationships than others. Some people are better at ignoring what society considers most important or most default. Some of what I’ve said above is when these beliefs are treated to their utmost, rather than what some people will do (lots of people have close “besties”, for instance). But amatonormativity+heteronormativity creeps in everywhere in society.
It’s the reason why, in most Hollywood movies, the protagonist is a man and the main actress is his romantic partner. It’s the reason why these two characters might start a steamy romance even before they know each other well; who needs to write ACTUAL understanding between the two characters when they obviously are going to fall in love and fuck?
It’s the reason why advertisements are so sex-oriented (reminder note: society usually doesn’t distinguish sexual and romantic bonds). Advertisements try to make their product appealing by associating it to romance, the Ultimate Desirable. Here’s how to make you look hot so you can attract someone in a romantic-sexual relationship, because THAT’S the ultimate goal of life, right?
It’s embedded in linguistic expressions. If someone asks if you’re dating, you respond, “No, she’s only a friend.” Or. “No. We’re just friends.” Friendship is being treated as lesser. Breakups are treated as inevitably bad even if you choose to be friends afterwards -- because clearly being friends is “taking a step back”, right? Even the word “break up” -- oooo that’s bad sounding! (There have been multiple times I’ve ended romantic relationships where I’ve turned the phraseology on the head and told them it’s a step forward to better, happier, healthier, stronger bonds... and they had to think it through, because amatonormative society forgets this can be the case.) “Friendzoning” is seen as a crime in part because you’re not going to be as intimate with someone as you want to be... despite the fact that having a non-romantic and/or non-sexual relationship with someone could be JUST as meaningful and deep!
I’ve FREQUENTLY seen church study groups that offer only these options: young adult small groups, women’s small groups, men’s small groups, and married couple’s small groups. Because clearly the only “mixed” gender situations out there are when you’re too young to be married, or you’re married.
And frankly, I think it’s one of the reasons why fandom likes to play hook-up with all the characters. Shipping is SO much fun! I love shipping! This is not a comment against the act of shipping! But if everyone needs a romantic partner to be happy...... mmmmm.... yeah let’s rethink what the underlying assumption is here. It’s that default assumption that “romance=happiness, romance=ultimate goal, romance=happily ever after, friendship=lesser.” If two characters in a show don’t canonically hook up, fans can get angry... even if the relationship showed on screen is one with a lot of trust, loyalty, happiness, and intimacy.
I am aroace. I don’t know how many other friends in the aro and/or ace community have talked about how lonely and unhappy they feel, because all their friends around them are looking for sex and romance and ergo don’t treat their friendship deep enough for my friends to get their emotional needs met. It’s easy to feel left out in a world where everyone is looking for romance, and ergo you are never the bond they want to pursue.
There are many ways in which we can achieve close bonds with people. This is why I think it’s important to talk about amatonormativity. Again, I’m SO happy when my friends are happy in a good romance. That’s a good thing!!! But it’s so psychologically destructive, whether you’re aro or allo, to live in a world where romance is considered The One And Only Key to relational happiness.
Talking about amatonormativity has the goal of helping us be aware about how society idolizes romance and/or sex. The goal is to help everyone know we have many options by which to pursue good, deep bonds in a variety of ways. The goal is to make sure we don’t treat romance as the only acceptable way to live. The goal is finding ways for humans to get our needs fulfilled healthily and widespreadly. The goal is to be more comfortable with and more accepting of people who don’t follow The One Righteous Path Of Required Romance, so that we can all be more comfortable with ourselves and the relations around us -- including being comfortable with our romances!
#long post#amatonormativity#heteronormativity#analysis#my analysis#ask#ask me#non-dragons#LGBTQ#LGBTQIA#queer community#aroace#awesome anonymous friend#Anonymous
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Can you do 11 truth or dare confessions for jonmartin please?
Hey there, anon! Here you go. Another one of my prompts that quickly got away from me. This isn’t so much confessions as it is hijinks, and I saw ‘drunk confessions’ right below it and it turned into this. Hope you enjoy!
Jon chooses truth. Martin chooses dare. The team goes out after work and discoveries are made.
“I love everyone in this bar!” Tim shouted to a loud cheer. It was a Wednesday night.
Wednesday.
Sasha had no idea how Tim had managed to get all of them, including one Jonathan Sims, out on the town. Something about a spider and a book and several cups of tea. Sasha hadn’t been listening.
And here they were, at Tim’s favorite Friday night haunt, downing shots and eating greasy food even though they had to report back to the institute at nine in the morning tomorrow. For Jon it was most likely closer to seven.
Jon, however, seemed completely unaware of this.
They were sitting at the bar for easy drink access. Ergo, Jon had gotten his drink refilled several times without any of them noticing. And this wasn’t including the rounds the rest of them had already bought. He must have some stress to work through, Sasha mused. He was currently hanging half-off the bar stool, staring dreamily at the lights on the dance floor as if entranced. It’d be cute if he wasn’t almost cross-eyed.
Martin definitely found it cute. He wasn’t as drunk as his boss, no, but he was well on his way. He’d done nothing but stare at him all night, nodding eagerly at his many info-dumps and pushing several plates of fried food at him that Jon refused to eat. Sasha and Tim both knew he had it bad, but this was too much to watch.
Sasha would have to intervene and put the plan in motion. It was the perfect time- Martin wasn’t nervous or stuttering, and Jon was mellowed out on liquor, swaying gently to the music pounding through the speakers. It was now or never. She slammed her hand down on the counter, startling her companions.
“I propose a little game of truth or dare!” She gave Tim a sly smirk and his look of surprise soon changed to a mischievous smirk.
“Oh ho ho, Sasha. What a great idea.”
“We’re at a bar,” Martin argued, taking a slurp of his drink. “How is that even going to work?”
“Oh I’ll make it work, Martin,” Tim replied rather threateningly. “We’re doing this to help you. Boss, you in?”
Jon’s gaze slid over to them, clearly disinterested in their current conversation. “Hnn?” he questioned intelligently.
“Shots, boss! You in?” Tim gestured and the shots materialized as if by magic. Jon threw one back without so much as a flinch. It was a wonder to behold. Martin looked as if he were drooling. He probably was.
“Tim!” Sasha shouted, back to the matter at hand. “Truth or dare?”
“Let’s start off easy,” he rubbed his hands together in glee. “Truth.”
“Boo,” she jeered, teasing. “Riddle me this: who is your most shameful lay from our esteemed institute?” Martin began sputtering, and Jon looked to be tuning them out.
Tim tilted his head in consideration, suddenly very serious. “Well, it depends on your criteria. Are we talking in terms of looks? Personality? General grossness?”
“Hm, let me rephrase,” Sasha didn’t want to be too mean, though she was excited to get any gossip she could. “Who is the unlikeliest one? Someone we wouldn’t guess at all.”
“Oh,” Tim leered, clearly ready to divulge something juicy. “You want me to go through the ol’ rolodex, find the needle in the sex stack.”
“Disgusting,” Jon slurred, shoving a fry in his mouth. Martin nodded in agreement, though he was hanging on every word.
“Y’know Hannah?”
Sasha searched her memory. “From Artefact Storage?”
Martin shook his head. “No, from the library.”
“You’re both wrong,” Tim raised his eyebrows suggestively. “From research.”
Martin and Sasha froze. Even Jon joined in, swiveling his head to face Tim with a look of shock. “Egg-salad Hannah?”
“The one and only,” Tim answered as the rest of the table broke out into exaggerated gagging and looks of disgust.
“Seriously, Tim? Did she brush her teeth, at least?” Martin took another swig of his drink, still in disbelief.
“Did she offer you half her sandwich when you were done?” Sasha and Martin broke out into giggles. Tim was silent.
“Oh you didn’t-”
“Fuck you, it was actually good-”
“This is why you shouldn’t have sex,” Jon nodded sagely. “It always ends in egg salad.”
“Precisely!” Martin slammed his hand down on the counter in agreement. “Wait, what?”
“Moving on!” Tim made a sweeping gesture with his hand, ending it with a point at Jon. “Boss-man! Truth or dare?”
Jon squinted his eyes. Sasha did not know if this was in concentration or confusion.
“Boss?”
“I don’t want to participate,” He took a demure sip of his whiskey and coke. “Truth.”
“Alright, alright! What is…” Tim tapped his chin thoughtfully, considering his options. “Hmm. What is something we’d be shocked to know about you? Like proper shocked, mate. What’s your weirdest secret?” He leaned in close, a patented Tim Stoker Seduction Move, complete with half-lidded eyes and a smirk. Martin shoved him off the bar in a surprising move of aggression and Sasha barked out a laugh.
“You don’t have to answer that, Jon-” Martin began to assure him.
“Yes he does!” Tim argued, leaning back in his seat and rubbing at the elbow Martin had shoved. “That’s the point of the game.”
“We shouldn’t force him to answer-”
Sasha tried to interrupt. “No one’s forcing-”
“Not yet-”
“Here,” Jon shoved his phone into Tim’s hands; it was loaded to a YouTube video of a grainy performance of some band.
“What is this?” Sasha leaned in to look along with Martin, squinting at the screen. “Is this some concert you went to?”
“You could say that,” Jon replied, oddly coy.
“Is this like steampunk?” Martin questioned, leaning in even further. “They’re all dressed-”
“Wack as hell,” Tim finished, though he was smiling. “I dunno, I kinda like them. Lead singer’s hot.” Jon let out a drunken giggle, and this is when the video zoomed in, losing focus for just a moment before-
“Jon is that you?”
“Don’t be daft, Martin, that’s- holy fuck that's Jonathan Sims.”
“It’s me!” Jon drunkenly whispered, almost sliding off of his seat. Sasha stared at the figure on the screen. It was Jon. Hair down, younger, and covered in makeup, but she’d recognize that voice anywhere. She looked back to her boss, glasses askew and sweater vest wrinkled. What the fuck happened to you?
He was surely going to regret this night come tomorrow.
Tim couldn’t take his eyes off the screen, currently holding it a few centimeters from his face. Martin had an intense look at odds with his loose inebriation. He turned to her, strangely serious.
“Dare.” he said, no room in his voice for argument.
“It’s- it’s not your turn, Martin,” she stuttered. “It would be Jon’s, technically-”
“I. Pick. Dare.”
Well, alright. Now or never. Jon’s revelation had forced her hand.
“I dare you…” Sasha looked over to find both Martin and Jon staring at each other, their gazes oddly charged. Martin looked like a man on a mission, while Jon seemed to be openly challenging him, eyebrows raised. Am I missing something?
“...to kiss the most attractive person in this bar!” The words had not been spoken for more than two seconds before Martin had taken Jon in his arms in a sweeping kiss, like something out of a fairytale. If fairytales involved Archivists and their assistants and took place in dingy bars on Wednesday nights. Jon’s arms immediately wrapped around Martin’s neck, dragging him deeper into the kiss.
“Finally!” Tim whooped. He’d stopped watching the video in order to document the event, phone set to record. Jon’s leg had somehow wound itself around Martin’s waist and Sasha was beginning to feel like an intruder in this very public bar. She turned to Tim.
“Wait, finally?” Sasha asked, confused. She hadn’t planned for it to go this far, or for Jon to even reciprocate. She thought she’d help Martin get a kiss on the cheek or something equally as innocent, not whatever...this was. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“Wow Sash, I thought you were the observant one,” he stopped recording, slipping his phone back into his pocket. God, when are they going to come up for air? “They’ve been playing footsie all night. It was disgustingly cute.”
“I-Jon likes him back?” she stared at the two, who had stopped kissing but were still entangled, Jon whispering something in Martin’s ear that he giggled at. “When the fuck did this happen?”
“This afternoon, I think,” Tim took a sip of his drink and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Well, I don’t know how long Jon’s had feelings. But God, you should’ve seen them today. Jon screaming about this spider and Martin just fucking smashes it with a book, decimated it-”
“But Martin loves spiders!”
“I know! But not as much as he loves Jon, apparently. Took one look at his scared little face and just destroyed the thing. I thought Jon was going to propose right then and there. Completely love-struck.”
Sasha pouted. “You know how much I hate being left out! You should’ve told me, we could’ve changed up the plan-”
Tim shook his head. “And miss out on Jon’s secret past? Perish the thought!”
“Huh,” Sasha tilted her head. “I almost forgot about that. What with all the kissing and such.” Martin and Jon were still lost in their own little world. Hopefully they’d remember it come morning, but if not-well, there’s always Tim’s video. She leaned into his side, yawning.
Tim gave her a sly smile. “Say, how’s about me and you-”
Sasha laughed, shoving his arm away. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about egg-salad Hannah-”
“That was one fucking time!”
#asks#prompts#tma#my writing#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#tim stoker#sasha james#jonmartin#Anonymous
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