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#god forbid you want to put on weight to feel more comfortable in your body outside of muscles and a butt

vampcubus · 1 year

Text

𝐊𝐍𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐇𝐂𝐒

a/n: i've been fussing over these for weeks just take 'em ;-;

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 : inosuke, tanjiro, zenitsu, kyojuro, and tengen + wives.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, references to marriage and children.

𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐀

— Inosuke is not used to sleeping with other people, and you can tell he’s never been cuddled either. He tenses up and wriggles away the first time you attempt to spoon him in your sleep.

“You really don’t want to cuddle, Inosuke?” you sighed dejectedly.

“Why would I?!”

You make a sad face and shuffle back to your own bedroll. With Inosuke’s usual total disregard for personal space, you’d thought he wouldn’t mind if you swooped in for a cuddle. He’s very much like a cat in that regard, he only wanted to be touched on his terms.

There’s a moment of silence before you hear grumbling and shuffling, and the next thing you know he’s pressed to your side, the fur of his mask tickling your chin as he tucks his “face” into the crook of your neck.

— Refuses to sleep any other way after that.

— He’ll act betrayed when you take naps without him when he’s readily available. “You took a nap without me?!” his heart is shattered, how could you?

— God forbid one or both of you are injured and get put in separate rooms because as soon as he wakes, he’s sneaking out to crawl into your bed with you. No amount of scolding from you or Shinobu is gonna keep him away for long.

— Tends to spoon you subconsciously, either slipping a leg between yours or wrapping it around you n holding onto you like a backpack.

— He moves around a lot in his sleep, so prepare to wake up with a foot in your face or from getting kicked. Especially if he’s having particularly engaging dreams, you may or may not be mistaken for some all-powerful beast for Inosuke to conquer in dreamland.

— Inosuke is so god damn hyper in the morning and it can be a lot, especially since he wants you to be up too so you can start a new day together. It’s hard to keep up with his enthusiasm, and sometimes you just turn over and cover your ears with a pillow to drown him out. Most times that'll get your blankets yoinked, and you’ll be beaten to death (not really) with that same pillow.

“HEY DON’T IGNORE ME! WAKE UP!”

— Though sometimes he can be soft. You’ll wake up to a strange weight on your tummy and find him sitting there, staring at you like a cat waiting for its owner to wake up. And sometimes he’ll just lay back down, covering you with his body and nuzzling his face into your neck. And if you lift a heavy hand to play idly with his hair, he might just fall back asleep again.

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎

— A cuddle bug that wants nothing more than to snuggle up on the futon with you after a long night of demon slaying.

— He’s the type to scoot closer if you move away in your sleep since he will wake up if he doesn’t feel you there anymore.

— Please spoon him. You will not regret it for a moment. He runs warm and is the perfect size for cuddling! Tan sighs so happily when you pull him against you, tucking his head right beneath your chin. Your comforting scent and firm embrace lull him right to sleep.

— Alternatively, he wakes up if he smells your distress, so you’ll never be alone if you have a nightmare. You don’t have to tell him what it was about, but he does insist on staying up with you to comfort you. Even when he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, he’ll pet your head and just talk to you until you’ve calmed down enough to doze off again.

— His duties as the Sun Hashira often keep him away for long periods, and he definitely misses your presence at his side when he stops to rest. It’s simply not the same without the weight of your arm strewn over his waist or the soft sounds of your breathing. He’ll even miss your snoring. That’s why he's always eager to return, all of his worries disintegrating as you gather him in your arms and murmur sweet things to him until he nods off.

— In the summer months, he’ll understand if you don’t want to cuddle, but he’ll want to at least hold your hand.

— Settling down for the night together is a cherished ritual and he wants to be a part of it. Whether it’s taking pins or accessories out of your hair, or putting it into a protective style for sleeping, he wants to help out. He’s also damn good at giving massages and head rubs, so never be afraid to ask if you need a little more help winding down. That man lives to dote on you.

— Tanjiro rarely has the heart to wake you up early, but he makes you breakfast and leaves notes around your home if he’s gotta run somewhere. He melts into a puddle if he finds you making breakfast early in the morning, domesticity really does it for him.

𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀

— You’ve married a cryptid. I'm so sorry.

— Zenitsu sleepwalks as I’m sure you can imagine. You’ll wake up to him out of bed, standing ominously in the middle of the room.

“Zenitsu honey, come back to bed,” you’d murmur tiredly after the initial shock wears off. Even asleep he bends to your will, crawling back onto the futon to sidle up against you once more.

— Other times you’ll hear noises coming from the kitchen and find him making a whole meal in his goddamn sleep. Which is quite adorable, but also dangerous like pls you’re going to hurt yourself.

— The times he’s not wandering about, he’s snuggled up to you as close as he can get, face buried in your chest or neck, arms and legs wrapped around you.

— He snores if he’s on his back but it’s soft enough to sleep through.

— Giggles in his sleep if he’s having a good dream (he always says all the best ones are of you ❤︎)

— Zenitsu tends to sleep sprawled out on top of you. Oftentimes he returns from a long day of demon slaying, crawls right on top of you, and crashes for several hours.

— He’s your weighted blanket <333

— Zenitsu never wants either of you to leave the bed in the mornings. He’ll cling, whine, and plead for “five more minutes.” (but it’s always much longer than that)

— Sometimes you can coax him to release the death grip around your waist with promises of his favorite breakfast or endless kisses, other times you’ll just have to cope with being late to places.

𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔

— Deep sleeper!! with you anyways. As soon as he’s out, very little will wake him.

— Kyo’s definitely a cuddler! And the best suited for it too since he radiates heat like a furnace. It’s stifling during the summer months, but he truly can’t bear to be parted from you. Sleeping light or nude would be best, not like you’ll have to worry about getting cold when your husband is a literal space heater.

— He’s an absolute dream during the colder months, and you know he takes full advantage of the weather as an excuse to snuggle every second of the day.

— Mumbles in his sleep every now and then. It’s usually gibberish or a breathy chuckle, but sometimes you can discern whispers of “tasty” and bits and pieces of your name.

— Kyojuro becomes reliant on your presence to sleep over time. It happened so slowly he didn’t realize his dependency until he found himself lying wide awake and restless out in the field.

— He swore he could fall asleep anywhere before he met you but now… now he needs the sound of your soft snores next to his ear. He needs the feeling of your warm body against his. How was he supposed to sleep without someone there to hog the blanket? or crawl on top of him in the middle of the night when close just wasn’t close enough?

— Worst of all, you aren’t there to pet his hair and whisper sweet nothings to him as he wakes up — it’s those moments he wouldn’t trade for the world. You always treat him with such care, allowing yourself to be held hostage in bed until he also awoke, even when his profession meant his rest stretched on into the afternoon hours.

“The Flame Hashira lives!” you’d sing playfully as he blinks the film of sleep from his eyes, staring up at you with nothing but love and adoration. You’d lean down to kiss his lonely forehead, but not before purring your eagerly awaited utterance of “Good morning, baby.”

His eyes flutter closed as your lips brush over his forehead, grinning so widely his cheeks dimple.

“G’morning, darling flame,” he’d rasp in that rumbly morning voice that makes your cheeks feel warm. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

— Kyojuro tends to nod off while he’s got his head resting on your lap during dates, especially if you start playing with his hair. He wakes up later to find you’ve also drifted off while sitting up, slumped forward just slightly. Your hair frames your face, the late afternoon sun casting an ethereal glow onto you.

— Napping together is quite a regular occurrence, especially when your duties tend to keep you up during the evening hours. If you’re a slayer too, your sleep schedules match up rather nicely, meaning you’ll be frequently found in a tangle of limbs somewhere.

— If you have children, you’ll often find them knocked out cold with their father. (he’s the type to fall asleep with a baby on his chest) it’s the kind of scene that puts tears in your eyes and makes you sink to your knees. It’s all too tempting to join the cuddle pile with your husband and children.

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐈 + 𝐖𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

— Tengen snores, but not as loud as Suma. The two of them are making harmonies while Makio and Hinatsuru hardly make any noise at all. Though the three of you can all agree you wouldn’t be able to sleep without the sound of your lovers’ snoring after a while.

— They all say goodnight to one another which is very adorable.

“Goodnight Suma.” “Goodnight Hina.” “Goodnight Makio.” “Goodnight Lord Tengen!!” “Goodnight Y/nnnnn~”

It’s back and forth until everyone is accounted for

— You five sleep in a tangle of limbs, but it’s the coziest cuddle pile you’ll ever sleep in. Tengen’s been married long enough not to be disturbed by shuffling or moving around since sleeping with various other people requires occasional readjusting no matter how you romanticize it.

— Suma usually demands a spot at your side so she can wrap herself around you like a koala. She does drool, but she usually looks so damned cute doing it that you don’t have the heart to move her away from your shoulder. She’s always whispering to you as everyone settles down for bed, and Makio often scolds her for giggling and keeping the others awake.

— Prepare for those two to bicker over you, oftentimes literally. They’ll hiss and argue whilst they have their arms full of you.

— Hinatsuru sings you lullabies when you just can’t seem to sleep and plays with your hair. Her fingers scratch lovingly over your scalp, smiling as your eyelids droop further under her gentle affections and ethereal voice. You always wake up with a mouthful of her hair, but it’s so worth it.

— Makio gives excellent head rubs when you have a headache, and although she may pretend that you’re a nuisance, you can tell she enjoys taking care of her partners. She’s a big spoon and likes to hold your hand while she sleeps, blushing furiously when you raise her knuckles to your lips.

— Tengen rarely manages to snag you from his wives’ clutches for a spot at your side, but when he does he wraps his entire body around you and nearly smothers you with his heat. He cutely holds things while he sleeps so expect to wake up in a headlock. And if you’re in his clutches when he goes to roll over, you’re getting rolled over as well. It’s a bit disorienting, but he soothes you with an apologetic kiss on your temple if he wakes you.

— Tengen thinks it’s endearing that you try to hold him just like he holds everyone else, even with him being so big. You don’t seem to mind his size, wrapping yourself around him like a backpack and tucking his head under your chin.

— Mornings consist of detangling and lots and lots of kisses!

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pokechbi · 9 months

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Hi! i love your post so much🫶 i was wondering if you could make a head canon on how 141 and konig would comfort their plus size SO if they were feeling self-conscious?

only if you’re up to it!!

Keep writing..it’s so good:))

Hi Anon! TYSM for the ask <3 I love to hear that you enjoy my writing :') makes me feel all giddy hehe :)) This was such a good request, I actually would like to make it a bit longer! I've got so many ideas for this <3 LMK if you want me to add the rest of the team ;) I hope this one met your expectations :)

In Your Skin

TF141 & Konig comfort plus size (fem) reader

NSFW, MDNI !!! (yk i had to add some seggsy time, what can i say)

CW: Body image issues

Fem anatomy used

WC: 1.5K

As always, enjoy loves!

Simon Ghost Riley

Will start off gently comforting you, caressing your body and leaving kisses & hickies on every inch of you. He'll make you keep eye contact as he does this, squeezing and worshipping every single part of you. He'll also make you repeat after him, slurring out which parts of you he adores most and why.

"I love your plump little belly, wanna know why?" He'll say, sloppily kissing you up and down, landing on your underbelly, biting the sensitive flesh like it's his last meal. "Gotta have something to hold onto while I'm fuckin' 'ya, right love?"

"God, you know how I adore those thick fuckin' hips and ass of yours. How they jiggle against my cock while I pound that wet little cunt between your legs." He'll say, leaving bite marks all over your hips.

"My my, and look at those sweet, thick thighs. How can I not love 'em. How they wrap around my head as I lick your sweet pussy out. I'd die happily between those thighs."

And when he's finished making you repeat every single word, he'll fuck you so good that you forget your own name, as punishment for daring to insult what's his.

John Soap MacTavish

Soap is such a gentle lover. After all, he's just a big softie for you. When you talk bad about your weight, his heart can't help but break and send a jolt of pain through his core. He knew there wasn't much he can do besides show you just how goddamn beautiful you were.

"Oh, lass. That's not true. And if anyone has anything different to say, I'll disembowel them. How's that sound, love" His Scottish accent was enough to lift your spirits, taking you out of the funk that had been plaguing your mind about your body. He won't stop until you're smiling, even if he has to ruthlessly tickle you until you piss yourself.

He'll then carry you to the bed as if you weighed nothing, slowly undressing you and worshipping every inch of skin on your body. He'll make you keep your hands on him, slurring out things he adored about your curvy body. He could be rough when he wanted to, but when you were like this, he wanted nothing more than to handle you like a flower and nourish your spirits.

At times like this, he couldn't care less for pleasuring himself. Sure, your body made him want to empty his balls on every part of you, but he prioritized your pleasure when it came down to it. He knows you're too shy to ask, so he'll do any and everything he can think of that would make you feel good.

If you ever refuse his lovings, he'll keep pressing and do the things that make you weak in the knees until you accept. Your self consciousness never bypassed him, and he would never think to leave you alone when you were like this. He'll make you sit in front of him, naked, and force you to say everything you love about yourself and why. And God forbid you dare to refuse, he'll bend you over his knee and spank you until you do it.

"Good puppy. That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Captain John Price

Price has a zero-tolerance policy for you saying anything remotely self-deprecative. When you start to talk about hating your body, he'll stop it right in it's tracks and put you in your place. He was usually a laid back kind of man, but you were his. And God help anyone who disrespected what belonged to him.

Price would do whatever he could to make you feel confident again, and that included submitting to you completely. He'd order you the sexiest lingerie he could find, something dark, powerful. He wanted you to feel like the goddess you were, even if it meant letting you do what you pleased to him while he sat back and enjoyed it.

He'll set aside a night off from his duties to make his way to you, letting you tie him up while you did whatever it is that made you happy. He let you dominate him, edge him, wrapping himself around your finger as you embraced your femininity.

And once you were yourself again, completely confident in your body once more, he'll put you back in your place as his woman. He'll eat your pussy for nearly an hour, overstimulating you to the point of tears. He'll bend you over and fuck you afterwards, not giving you a chance to breathe as he pounds into your very core. And once he was done fucking you, he'll make you get on your knees and fuck your face until you were amounted to nothing but a slobbering, crying, cum drunk overstimulated mess under him.

And during your aftercare, he'll reassure you that you're his, and he'll never get it up for anyone else but you. He'll caress you, make you embrace every part of yourself. He'll touch you gently, making sure you knew that you were his very own goddess.

Kyle Gaz Garrick

The first time he had ever learned about your self-image issues, his jaw hung open in shock. This man had seen some things on the battlefield, but hearing you speak such untrue things about yourself took the cake. He spent some time thinking about how to approach the situation, not knowing how to handle you at such a fragile time.

So he did the only thing he knew would never fail him. He took you by the jaw, staring into your eyes as you cried out against his face.

"Kyle! You're hurting me!" You whine, the lie rolling off your tongue. You liked it, and he knew you did. You liked when he roughed you up, sending a familiar wetness to accumulate between your thighs. He'll push you around, your back up against the wall as he slipped his hand under your clothes. He breathed heavily as he lifted you up, grabbing at your body and molding your flesh to his hand.

"You hate your body so much you'll cry, huh? Apologize, or I'll fuck you so deep and so hard, you'll have something to cry about." He demanded. You nodded your head, slurring out apologies, your voice shaky with everything ranging from fear to arousal.

Once he felt that you were regretful about your words to yourself, he'll take a more gentler approach, whispering the things he loved about you and why. He could do this for hours, so he does. He'll lull you into a deep relaxation as he runs his hands all over your body, playfully pinching you and tickling you.

He'll start from the hairs on your head, and ending at the color of your cute, painted toes, leaving gentle kisses in his wake. You found yourself becoming more confident in yourself, slowly learning to love every part of you as much as he did.

Konig

There was no getting past Konig when you felt that familiar bubbling of body image issues in your head. You hinted at it slightly, trying to fish compliments from him. He instantly knew what you were doing, since he wasn't far behind you. He'd dealt with hating himself before, specifically his damning size. So he knew exactly what you meant when you were hinting at these things.

He'd waste no time in throwing you over his shoulder, spanking your ass as he carried you to whatever flat surface he could bend you over. You could say plenty things about yourself, but nothing struck a nerve in him more than when you spoke badly about your body, or weight. He knew what it was like to hate himself, to avoid mirrors and eye contact in hopes he could turn himself invisible to the world.

"I'm not going to sit back and listen to this, liebe" He says frustrated, running his hands along your body, kneeling in front of you and kissing your skin.

He'll do anything in his power to make you feel good again. And that included staying on his knees in front of you, begging you to love yourself again. When he did this, you couldn't help but tear up at the sight. The biggest man you'd ever seen, on his knees on the brink of tears because you called yourself bad names.

You'd caress his head in your arms, promising him to love yourself, to let go of those toxic thoughts that kept you from being your best self. And after he'd determine your words truthful and genuine, he'd stay on his knees, throwing your leg over his shoulder. He'll take his frustration out on your cunt, spitting and slapping and sucking all he can, making you cum and squirt and cry so many times, you forget why you were crying in the first place.

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og-danny-dorito · 2 years

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One of two matchups I wanted to ask about

Fandom: Demon Slayer

Preference: SFW AND NSFW

Zodiac: Pisces

Pronouns: She/Her and They/Them

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hobbies: Singing, Reading, Playing video games, making Loom band chains, and most recently, baking cookies, bread, and cakes.

Appearance: I’m a bit more on the chubbier side, 5’4 and have very short curly black hair. I usually wear glasses for being near sighted but forget to wear them all the time. I have dark brown eyes and I’m curvy. Have scars around my chest from two reduction surgeries

Personality Traits: Extremely Empathetic, Loyal, Hard headed, Sensitive

Facts about myself: I tend to put others way before myself, to the point I don’t care for myself as much. I have ADHD and Social Anxiety Disorder, and I come from a family of Brazilians and Porto Rican’s. I tend to have a soft spot for children and end up being an unintentional babysitter/older sister type. Rhythm games are a big part of my life and Greek mythology is a big thing for me. Turned stress eating to stress baking to try and help with weight loss.

ofc! sorry these took such a long time, im actively working on the other one set you sent!!

𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑… 𝙶𝚒𝚢𝚞 𝚃𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚔𝚊!

𝚃𝚆: explicit sexual content in the 'NSFW' area [minors do not interact]

𝙲𝚆: explicit sexual content; cockwarming, head-giving

𝚂𝙵𝚆:

it took me a minute but it think giyuu would match best with you!!

he's on the quieter side and so he has a really calming effect on people, and i think he'd be really nice to be around considering he does a good job at quieting the noise in your head that can get overwhelming from time to time

he isn't very vocal about it, but when he loves he loves hard. he'd give up the whole world for you if you asked it of him

he texts you a lot throughout the day to get him through it, mostly about things that remind him of you (like if he sees a shirt or a pin that he thinks you'll like he'll send a picture and ask if you want it)

makes a genuine effort to make sure you're okay even though he kind of already has a sixth sense for it?? you cant get anything past this dude srsly 💀💀💀

no but seriously if you're having a rough day and you tell him you're "fine" even though you know damn well you're not, he'll go along with it but make a conscious effort to take care of you

he'll make dinner for the night, draw a bath for you, put on some of your favorite shows for you to watch in bed together, and even offer to wash your hair and body for you to help you decompress

like i said he's a pretty quiet lover, so he doesn't voice how much he cares for you and that could pose to be a point of confusion if you rely a lot on verbal affirmation

of course he tells you he loves you, but he relies more on acts of service to show his affection for you rather than words of affirmation

in fact, he'll only really be able to tell you after being in the relationship for 5 months, and even then he seems almost scared to say it

the fact of the matter is that giyuu's had to deal with loosing people close to him his entire life, and so admitting that he cares for you so deeply is difficult for him to admit both to himself and to you

he's scared of loosing you, and so he tries his best to make sure he shows that he loves you even if he has a hard time saying it

but he gets better at it with time since he becomes more comfortable with it the more he speaks about it. plus that and you naturally make him feel safe considering how accepting you are of him

he genuinely thinks you're something special, and very rarely feels like he deserves you

god forbid anyone be rude to you because he does not tolerate people being rude to the people he cares about

he isn't violent or anything even if he considers it for a brief moment, but he will stare them down and be uh... less than polite

OH and also. he likes that you're shorter than him. he thinks it's cute :]

doesn't take pictures often but when he does he always likes to make sure that he's as close to you as possible?? its weird cause he's not very physically affectionate but when you're taking pictures he has to physically be on top of you since he "doesn't want anyone on instagram thinking you're not taken"

what?? he knows you're attractive and he doesn't want any idiot thinking they can take you. its partially cause he's scared that you'll find out you can do way better one day and leave him but also because he's weirdly protective over you

i kinda think that he wouldn't want kids but after seeing you interact with them he'd change his mind LMAO

also don't worry about the social anxiety, he fucking hates crowds too and usually picks out dates that avoid high-traffic scenarios anyway. usually if ya'll are caught in a packed area he'll squeeze your hand to confirm if you're alright though, and if you answer negatively he gets both of ya'll out of there as soon as possible since he knows how crushing it can be

isn't good at interacting with people that much though RIP

will share a lot of your interests with you!! he personally likes to cook even though he's not good at it, so ya'll probably spend a lot of time baking together since he wants to learn and uses it as an excuse to hang out with you (even though he doesn't rlly need one 💀)

𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆:

GOES FERAL FOR THE CHUB

NO SHUT UP I KNOW IT FOR A FACT you cant tell me im wrong i know im not

its not a fetish thing he just likes having something to grab

knows you're kinda insecure too so he makes it a point to absolutely worship you

in fact, when you're having sex it's usually very heartfelt and passionate, and if you're not half-delirious from him eating you out prior then you'll be bale to notice him peppering kisses over your face, your scars, your folds, everything

oh yeah he loves to eat you out btw

giyuu is VERY aware that he's a lot more physically strong than you, and while he's not forceful he does use it to his advantage by pushing you down when you move too much

he's very soft, but he's firm about his demands of you and makes sure to punish you accordingly. you jut your hips up while he's going down on you? then he'll stop for a while and watch you beg for him to continue, barely touching your aching sex until you apologize and promise to not do it again

REALLY likes cockwarming. for some reason he has this weird fascination with watching you struggle to keep your composure, and having your tight heat around him while he goes about his business while you struggle not to move almost tempts him to give in to what you so desperately want out of him

usually takes things very slow since he likes to savor every moment with you, but if one of you is having a particularly hard day he's more than happy to "relieve some stress" by fucking the bad day out of you

tends to put your pleasure before his own since he likes to service you and make sure you're well taken care of, but its mainly because he gets really flustered when you take control??

its hard to explain but he gets really turned on seeing you take control from him, calling the shots and making him a stuttery mess

in fact, he probably makes the most noise when he's on bottom, but he usually covers it up with his hands or a pillow or something so he doesn't give away how worked up he is since it makes him feel weak

he cherishes that he can feel weak with you though, and sex with him is usually very passionate and love-filled considering he's putting his soul into this special event with you

aftercare is usually very sensual too, with him either wiping you down completely with a washcloth and giving you some water or offering to take a bath/shower together and offering you water (cause hydration is important)

[ 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐! 𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 :) ]

#matchups #giyuu tomioka #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer imagines #giyuu tomioka headcanons #giyuu tomioka imagine #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu tomioka x y/n #giyu tomioka #giyu tomioka x reader #giyu tomioka x y/n

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wheelsup · 3 years

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baby’s favorite

category: fluff, dad!spencer x reader. warnings: none. word count: 1.06k. A/N: this blurb was requested by @saspencereid for my 750 celebration! prompts: “your hands are so small!” + “why are you looking at me like that?”

For the first few weeks of your daughter’s life, she was a complete mommy’s girl. If ever you left her sight for a split second, she’d burst into tears that only stopped once you picked her up.

Each time she’d have a fit, Spencer had one of his own for the fact that his own baby wouldn’t let him hold her. She only wanted you, and no one else could stop those fat tears from rolling down her cheeks — the same tears caused Spencer’s own when he realized he couldn’t do anything to soothe them.

From an objective, scientific perspective, Spencer understood that it was common in newborns to have outbursts due to overstimulation in their new, non-womb environment. They seek an anchor when it happens and, statistically, babies tend to prefer their mother’s comfort over anyone else. Their feel, their scent, and their voices are the most familiar to the baby. Even though Spencer spoke to her through your belly every morning and night for the previous nine months, hoping to familiarize himself to the baby, the sound of his voice was still muffled whereas yours was amplified.

The science laid it out for him; it wasn’t personal, and he’d just have to wait a handful of weeks to let it pass. Unfortunately, Spencer is also known to be a bit… sensitive? Emotional? Irrational?

He sure took it personally when he spent three weeks in agony watching his own baby prefer your arms over his. He felt cheated out of his paternal role, of being someone she looked to for safety, and he was willing to make his feelings known by pouting about it every chance he got.

Eventually that phase passed, but in the many months since then, Spencer hasn’t stopped making up for lost time.

He took her to the park every Saturday, just the two of them, and pushed her on the kiddie swings until she got tired. Every quick trip to the grocery store turned into a father-daughter excursion because he'd bring her along and put her in the cart seat, even if he was just going in and out for a carton of milk. On lazy afternoons, he’d stretch out on the couch to read a good book with her sleeping soundly on his chest. Eventually he’d doze off, too, and you’d find them in the same position hours later.

Best of all, every morning he would sneak out of bed before you woke up to get his alone time to play with the baby without you there to divide her attention. And God forbid that you wake up first — he’d tackle you in a heartbeat if you tried to interfere with their morning routine.

He said it was only fair to him that he should get to balance it out because you got more than your fair share of one-on-one baby time in those first few weeks. But it wasn’t balanced at all, in fact the scales would’ve broken apart under the weight of Spencer’s side.

He went out of his way to make sure he became the new favorite and by now all you could do was concede your throne.

But it’s a title you’re happy to give up to him, because coming downstairs to your husband and baby happily together is a sight too sweet to lose.

This morning, Spencer’s sitting at the kitchen table with your baby perched right on top, cradling her pudgy little body with one arm so she didn’t topple over.

He fed her hand-mashed strawberries from a colorful plastic plate, making little choo-choo noises to get her to open up — she’s an easy child and would eat it regardless, so you like to believe the train effects are really more for Spencer’s enjoyment. But she’s giggling right alongside him and these are the two most perfect sounds you’ve ever heard.

You hid behind the wall to watch them in this untouchable bubble they’ve created around themselves. Full of light, and laughter, and love.

“Gosh, look at you. You’re the cutest baby in the world,” he cooed, stroking her rosy cheeks with a delicate finger. He left a soft kiss on each side of her face, “I love you so much, you know that?”

She giggled at him and held onto his nose with one hand as he came down to her. From where you’re standing, it sure looks like she knows.

“And look! Look at your hands! Your hands are so small! I could eat them,” he popped one of her tiny hands into his mouth and pretended to gnaw on it before blowing raspberries on her skin.

She squealed and grabbed his chin, holding his face steady to get a good look at him.

Instantly her mood changed from bubbly giggles to a sort of quiet focus. Her eyes were trained hard and mouth agape, it was a look you’ve never seen on her before.

“What is it, angel? Why are you looking at me like that?” he laughed, but her face remained concentrated. Like she was trying to communicate with him but didn’t know how.

At first she was just babbling, trying to get Spencer to make sense of her sounds. Your stomach fluttered at the idea of what may come next.

“D...D-Dada.”

Time stopped and Spencer was silent as stone. The grin melted off his face and his hands were shaking coming up to meet hers.

The more she looked at him the bigger she smiled, until it took over her whole face while Spencer’s was becoming wrecked.

“Dada!” she repeated more confidently.

With tears welling in his eyes, he hugged her warm body flush to his chest, smushing his nose into her as he pressed his trembling lips on her forehead.

“Yeah, angel. You’re right.” His sobs blended with his laughs as he stroked the wispy hairs on her head, whispering against her skin. “I’m your dad.” He repeats it to himself like he can’t believe it’s true, that he could make something so perfect and sweet.

Before she can notice his tears, he bounces her in his arms and peppers her face with little kisses until she’s having a giggly fit yet again.

In a minute, you’re going to go over there and give them both a kiss on the cheek. You’ll wipe Spencer’s eyes and tell your baby you’re proud of her. But for now, you’re going to let them have their little moment to themselves. Full of light, and laughter, and love.

taglist: @ellesgreenaway @suburban--gothic @sturmmhond @ssa-sarahsunshine @mercy-burning @reidspurple @mediocre-writer @honeyboysteezy @blondefrnk @andreasworlsboring101 @ssa-m-187 @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @s1utformgg @reidgifs @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @you-sunshine

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid insert #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler fic #mgg #criminal minds self insert #ri’s 750 besties #my fic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #dad!spencer #matthew gray gubler x reader

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seijorhi · 3 years

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Unprofessional

as promised, the MSBY manager AU 💕

MSBY Black Jackals x female reader

TW non-con, smut, gang-bang, nsfw(ish)

You second guess yourself, now that the Captain’s right here in front of you, fidgeting in your seat like a little kid sent to the principal’s office.

In all fairness, you were the one to ask him to come in early, figuring that it’d be easier to say what you needed to before everyone else arrived, rather than having it eat away at you while you waited for practice to end.

Yet under the scrutiny of his dark eyes, you wonder whether you should have just let it slide. At least for a few more weeks. Taking a formal complaint to the higher ups was a step too far, and you hadn’t wanted to bother the coaches this close to the start of the season for something so… trivial. Meian seemed like the better choice. He’d listen to you and be able to help; you trust the Captain and you know the team does, too. If he told them to back off, they would, you’re almost positive. But now that he’s here, there’s this nagging feeling of-

A hand touches your shoulder, and you flinch at the sudden contact, jerking back to the present.

“Hey,” he says, a slight frown marring his features. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me - don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been a little out of it lately.”

There’s nothing but concern in his eyes - no judgement, or irritation, and something inside of you eases just a fraction. This is Meian, right from the moment you signed onto the team - granted, only a few months ago - he’s done his utmost to make sure you’ve felt welcomed and part of the team.

You take a breath, offering him a small, tight smile. “I-it’s um, some of the guys- well a few, I guess…” your fingers twist in your lap, and Meian squeezes your shoulder lightly in response.

“Miya hitting on you, right? Getting a little outta hand?” he surmises.

And for a split second, you’re surprised. But really maybe you shouldn’t be. Miya’s the one who’s overt about it, drawling stupid, cheesy pickup lines whenever you walk in, slinging an arm around your side and dragging you close, all the winks and the innuendos about as subtle as a tank.

Of course Meian noticed, but that’s just how Atsumu is. He doesn’t bother trying to hide it because nobody but you seems to mind. And maybe, if that’s all that it was, you’d be able to grin and bear it, but it’s not.

“Yes and… no.”

His brows draw together. “No?”

Taking another deep breath, you begin to tell him everything. Miya’s incessant flirting, all the hugs and touches that fell just the wrong side of what you considered professional. They’re a tactile team, with one notable exception, and you understand that, but the way Bokuto, Hinata and Miya feel comfortable just grabbing you and dragging you around, interrupting you in the middle of whatever task you’re doing to make you pay attention to them is a little alarming.

And then there was the incident last week, when Inunaki had caught you smiling at your phone during their cooldown and called you on it, which drew the attention of the rest of the team - only to have Bokuto snatch it out of your hands and start reading through your messages. Of course, Meian was there for that, putting a stop to it only when the wing-spiker had started reading them aloud, much to your mortification.

But he hadn’t been there two afternoons later, when an old friend of yours had swung by to pick you up and you’d had to deal with half the team glaring daggers at him over your shoulder like a pack of overprotective mother hens.

Even Sakusa, who usually kept his nose out of the others’ nonsense, stood off to the side with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, glowering at your friend until you both disappeared from sight.

The texts that blew up your phone in the hours that followed crossed so many lines, it honestly scared you a little.

Meian doesn’t say a word as you talk, the words flowing easier the more you tell him. It’s not that anything they’re doing is wrong per se. They’re not hurting you, and you think that aside from Miya, the team’s attitude is coming from a good place - some protective, irritating big brother kind of thing.

There’s nothing wrong with it, except the fact that you don’t want any part of it. You’re a professional and this is a job - a new one, an important one. If you ever want anybody to take your dreams of coaching a pro team seriously you cannot have so much as a whisper of anything less than absolute professionalism. God forbid, if rumours start spreading that you were sleeping with somebody on the team you can pretty much kiss your dreams goodbye.

At the end of it, Meian’s chin is resting on his fist, faint dissatisfaction pinching at his face, and for a moment, you’re worried that he’s about to chew you out for wasting his time - you know he’s stressed with the start of the season only days away - but he only sighs, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head.

“Thank you for telling me, I’ll talk to them.”

And it’s like this huge weight just falls off your shoulders and suddenly you can breathe easy. “Thanks, really,” you tell him, and the smile on your face is genuine this time.

“Anytime.”

—

You don’t know when he finds the time to pull them all aside, but the next morning when you walk into the gym and Bokuto catches sight of you, golden eyes widening in delight, he starts to bound towards you-

“Bokuto.”

-and stops mid-stride, face falling like a kicked puppy. His shoulders slump, glancing over his shoulder at the Captain, watching the both of you through narrowed eyes.

He doesn’t say another word to the wing-spiker, turning back around to continue his conversation with Adriah - something about tightening up their blocks before the game against the Adlers - and despite the fact you can see half the team’s attention drawn towards you both, none of them say a word either.

It’s strange, compared to the last few weeks, it’s suddenly like you’re a ghost. They thank you when you pass them their towels and bottles, and for once Hinata sits still when you help him tape up his ankle, though his eyes still follow your every movement with unnerving focus.

They’re polite and respectful, but unless you’re directly addressing them or they need something, it’s like you don’t exist.

Even Atsumu manages to keep his comments to himself when it comes time for the team to stretch out, though judging from the scowl on his face whenever he glances towards the Captain, he’s not particularly thrilled about it.

There’s one more day before game day, and they’ve got bigger things to worry about, but for you it’s like you can suddenly breathe easy. You don’t have to tiptoe around your own discomfort, you can just do your job and help them. It’s not that you hate them, not even Atsumu - though he does grate on your nerves at times - you just can’t afford to let them fuck this up for you.

They’re your team, and you’ll help them and you’ll stand on the sidelines and cheer and support them until you’re red in the face. You’ll celebrate with them and commiserate if they lose, but there has to be a line.

And maybe finally they’re realising that.

Meian sends you home while the others head off to the showers with a clap on your shoulder. “Go home. Today’s been long enough, and you need your rest. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

You don’t fight him on it, already feeling the exhaustion creeping through your body.

But after months in this job, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to find that by the time you’ve had a quick catch-up with the coaches about tomorrow’s training, changed and gathered up your things, you find yourself falling into step with Sakusa, freshly showered and also on his way out.

Dark eyes find yours, but he doesn’t say a word - at least until the two of you reach the big double doors at the gym’s entrance. “Do you need a lift home?”

It’s rare of him to offer, but you suppose that it’s later than you’d normally leave, the sun already disappearing beneath the horizon. Nevertheless, you shake your head, “No, it’s only a ten minute walk, I’ll be okay,” you say. And almost as an afterthought you smile and add, “Thank you, though.”

He regards you silently for a moment, but simply shrugs his shoulders, “Fine.”

Sakusa turns to leave, heading off to the carpark when a sudden thought strikes you, and before you can think better of it, you call out to him, “Your lineshots were incredible today, by the way. You played well. And please don’t forget we’ve got an early start tomorrow!”

It’s a pointless statement, on both counts. Sakusa doesn’t crave praise the way some of his teammates do, and you can imagine how little it means coming from you of all people. He’s also the most punctual, usually the first in, preferring to get stretched and warmed up before the rest of the team arrived. But the change in plans was kind of last minute and a reminder never hurts.

Sakusa pauses mid-stride, glancing back at you once more over his shoulder. “I know,” he says, and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but you swear there’s something different in his eyes as he stares back at you. Not angry per se, but… you can’t quite put a finger on it. It’s odd, you think, out of character for the usually aloof spiker. “Captain told us.”

—

It’s still dark when you arrive at the gym, and the lights are all off, not a soul in sight. That in itself doesn’t strike you as odd though, checking your phone you see that there’s still twenty or so minutes until you were all supposed to meet, but you would have thought that the coaches at least would’ve been here, or Sakusa maybe, if not Meian.

“Mornin’ princess,” a familiar voice drawls, and you jump a little at the sudden weight of his arm draping over your shoulders.

Atsumu’s smile is far too wide and upbeat considering it’s only a little after six in the morning. You’re used to a dead-stare, don’t-talk-to-me-until-I’ve-had-caffeine Atsumu, and it’s almost startling enough to make you forget the arm he has around you.

Either that, or you’re just bewildered that he’s actually arrived early for once in his life.

“You’re awfully chipper,” you mutter, trying to shove his arm off of you as you walk in tandem towards the gym. It’s a pointless endeavour - he replaces it a moment later, tugging you closer. “And early. Do you normally do this the day before the season starts, or can we expect to see you bright and early every morning for training?”

The corner of his lip quirks into a lazy smirk, and Atsumu laughs, “Nah, I’m actually late. All the others are already here.”

You’re halfway through fishing for the keys when he just pushes the door open, and you falter. “Wait- they’re here already?” you glance inside, and the lights are all still off and there’s not a soul in sight, but- “I thought Meian said we were meeting at 6:30.”

There’s something in the way that his smirk widens that’s almost unsettling, but he’s already pushing you forward, flicking on the lights as you pass.

“Oh, he did.”

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, but it’s too early and you’re too tired to try and decipher Atsumu’s cryptic bullshit. He already has you on edge with how close he’s got you - you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the familiar scent of his cologne invading your nose. “Fine, whatever. Just- just put your stuff away, grab the others if they’re here and I’ll see you on the court in a few minutes.”

You try to shrug off his arm, but his grip only tightens, “Nope,” he says, firmly steering the both of you in the direction of the locker room.

“Miya,” you start, squeezing your eyes shut. You can already feel the beginnings of a headache taking root in your skull, but Atsumu just chuckles lightly, patting your shoulder.

“Relax, wouldja? Jeeze, yer so tense!”

With no other sound but the eerie echoing of your footsteps across the linoleum floors, his laugh is too loud, too grating. It sets you on edge, and you have to bite back a scowl of your own and remind yourself that you only have to put up with him a little longer - just until Meian gets here. Unperturbed by your silent irritation, Atsumu continues, “We know how hard you’ve been working lately. We came in early to say thank you, y’know, for everythin’ ya do for us.”

And for one split second, regret fills you, snuffing out the spark of irritation simmering through your veins. Here you are, seconds away from slapping the setter when he is - for the first time in his life - actually trying to do something nice for you. You sigh quietly, smoothing your expression over as he slows down and pulls you to a stop.

He lets you slide out from under his arm, your back to the locker room door, moving so that he’s standing directly in front of you. You open your mouth to speak, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but once again, Atsumu beats you to it. “Yer the best manager we’ve ever had.” He takes your hand in his, twining long fingers with yours and steps closer.

Too close.

“Atsu-”

“We really do care about you - love ya, even - which is why it kinda felt like a kick in the balls when the Cap came and told us ya wanted some space. Said we were bein’ too ‘overbearing’ and ‘inappropriate’, just cause we want ya nice and close.” Dark eyes harden, “It hurt us, baby. You gotta realise that.”

The grip he has on your hand is painfully tight, but you don’t have a moment to focus on that. Not as Atsumu sweeps forward to close the distance between the two of you, his lips crashing against yours. Hungry. Demanding. A tongue snaking between your lips, melding with your own.

His arm snakes behind you to open the door, and for a moment you’re stumbling backwards into the dark-

Only it’s not dark, not as the blinding fluorescent lights flicker on around you, and you’re not stumbling, not as you collide with a warm, muscular chest and strong arms find your middle to steady you.

“You took too long,” Bokuto whines, and you’re yanked from Atsumu’s hold and spun, barely having a second to register the gleaming golden eyes before he’s dragging you into a needy kiss of his own.

Dizzy, lightheaded, your heart thumping erratically, you can’t think straight as his hot, wet mouth moves against yours. Greedy fingers grope and squeeze at your body - utterly frozen in shock, pliant under his touch.

“Aw, quit yer whining, Bokkun,” the blonde growls as Bokuto finally pulls back enough to grant you a few precious gulps of air, gazing at you with a kind of love sick adoration that makes your stomach clench.

A scoff sounds behind Bokuto, “A bit rich, coming from you, Miya. The two of you just are as bad as each other.”

It’s then that you realise the three of you aren’t alone. Wide eyed, on the edge of hyperventilating, you glance over your shoulder to find two pairs of eyes watching; russet eyes blown wide, enraptured, and swirling black depths, narrowed and glaring over at the blonde.

Hinata and Sakusa.

It doesn’t feel real. Even with everything they’ve done so far, their possessive behaviour, their smothering affection - even the kisses, it feels like a fever dream.

Even as Atsumu’s fingers are tugging your jacket off and Bokuto drags you forward, you can’t bring yourself to accept it, to properly fight back against it.

(Not that it would make a difference. They’re professional athletes, and there’s four of them against one of you.)

When your eyes fill with tears, Hinata’s there to brush them away, smiling down at you as he shrugs his own shirt off. “Don’t cry, angel. We’re gonna make you feel amazing, just wait!”

His words don’t fill you with ease. They can’t, not when he has that manic excitement bleeding through his expression - the same one you know he gets when he’s lost in the game, flying across the court like the laws of physics don’t apply to him.

Hands are on you everywhere, teasing and exploring, too many to keep track of. Your clothes are pulled off, tossed aside and discarded without a second thought, and theirs follow suit. Fingers are tweaking your nipples and palming at your breasts, smoothing over the curve of your ass and trailing between your legs to play with your clit.

“So fuckin’ pretty, ain’tcha? Our pretty girl, gonna be such a good little cockwhore for us.”

There’s lips against yours, at your neck, trailing down the column of your throat with a pleased hum. And between the kisses, you think that you’re crying, pleading for them to stop and let you go, but nobody listens as you’re manhandled onto one of the benches.

Your legs refuse to obey you, trembling as you try to kick out and wriggle away, only for rough hands to find your hips and drag you back. “C’mon, baby. Be good for us, you’ve already made us wait so long.”

Somebody smacks your ass and you jolt, crying out, only for a hand to soothe over the welt, another squeezing at your hip in a mockery of reassurance. “Don’t make us have to hurt ya, sweetheart.”

It’s easier, you think, to just close your eyes tight and pray that any second now, you’ll wake up in your bed to the blaring of your alarm. But the moment they flutter shut, teeth digging into your bottom lip as fingers dig into your thighs, warm breath ghosting across your sex, a low voice whispers in your ear, “Look at me.”

And you have no choice but to obey, forcing your eyes open to find Sakusa standing to your side, stroking his cock. It’s pretty, you distantly think, and you suppose that it suits him. Well groomed, long but not terribly thick with a slight curve, flushed pink at the tip and glistening with the pre-cum beading at his slit. His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, cupping it with a gentleness that feels out of place, considering the hunger burning in the black depths of his irises.

He doesn’t say another word as he coaxes your mouth open and guides your head forward to take his cock into your mouth, but the low moan that escapes him as your lips wrap around his length makes you shiver.

Sakusa isn’t gentle as he fucks your mouth, his thumb stroking your cheek as fresh tears well, but it’s hard to focus on that alone when Hinata’s face disappears between your legs, his tongue laving at your cunt, eager for a taste of you.

It doesn’t take long for the other two to join, and you’re manoeuvred between them, forced to sit on Bokuto’s lap, his thick cock stretching you out while Hinata sits between your legs, diligently slurping at your folds, sucking at your clit, one fist wrapped around his own length, lazily pumping it. Sakusa continues to use your mouth to get himself off, uttering backhanded praise between instructions, hissing in pleasure when he hits the back of your throat and you choke around him, while Atsumu has one hand playing with your tits, the other gripping yours, forcing you to jerk him off.

It’s too much for your brain to take.

Your sobs and whimpers, already muffled thanks to the cock in your mouth, are lost to the symphony of grunts and moans, lewd squelching and the sound of skin slapping against skin. There’s too many hands touching you, too much pain fused with unwanted pleasure, overwhelming you as heat and panic and terror build up inside of you, and it feels like there’s an inferno burning beneath your skin, and you can’t breathe and you just want it all to stop, you want to wake up, and-

Suddenly, the door to the locker room snaps open, and all five of you freeze in place as the Captain stops dead in his tracks and eyes the scene before him.

There’s no possible way for Meian to misconstrue it, not with everything you told him. Not with your face flushed and teary, your eyes glazed over and all but broken from the sick, twisted debasement his teammates have subjected you to. You’re naked, your body littered in love-bites and bruises, spread out before him like a feast.

And still, your eyes meet his, silently pleading for him to say something and stop this.

Meian takes a single step forward and a muffled whine leaves your lips as the cock inside of you twitches insistently. Sakusa draws his hips back, pulling himself free from your mouth, and despite the burn in the back of your throat, you swallow and try to speak.

“Please.” It’s little more than a squeak, hoarse and choked, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.

The Captain barely acknowledges that you’ve spoken at all, his attention fixated instead on your body; the way your pussy’s clenching around the base of Bokuto’s length, the tremor of your thighs under Hinata’s rough hands, the way your tits rise and fall with every quickened breath, your lips, swollen and beautifully fucked, glistening with spit before finally, those dark eyes meet yours once more.

And slowly, a grin breaks across his face. “You’d better hurry it up, the others aren’t too far off.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere atsumu miya #yandere bokuto kotaro #yandere hinata shouyo #yandere sakusa kiyoomi #yandere atsumu x reader #yandere bokuto x reader #yandere hinata x reader #yandere sakusa x reader #tw non con #i honestly don't know how i feel about this one #but it's done #i hope y'all like it anyway #i'm posting it before i can overthink it

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ladyalienist · 3 years

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Radical Fatphobia

I just gotta love how in all the "hot topics" radfems got (surrogacy, sex industry, TRA/queer nonsense, abortion ban, you name it, we got it) the discourse about beauty standards seem to revolve around shaving and make-up.

Don't get me wrong, those are important issues, both for us and the enviroinment. But... aren't we kinda sleeping on the other big thing about beauty standards for women? Which is... being thin?

I mean. Many of you will speak about eating disorders and starving one's self in order to reach the unattainable body standard we have or about how body standards change every decade or so causing women to never feel good in their bodies, but I'm afraid that so many of you are totally... not understanding just how much "being thin=being morally good" is ingrained in your brain.

Like, when I started peeking into feminist (liberal ones) circles back into 2014-2015 sometimes I would stumble upon the occasional fat-positive thing. "It's ok to have a belly!", "Fat and fabulous!", and I'm pretty sure liberals are still sometimes giving these little pills of comfort to us fatties. In radical feminism... this topic seems to just not exist. Not being discussed. Nada de nada, just the occasional "oh so many young girls are starving themselves to look like literal skeletons :(", and that's true but what about those girls who do not look like skeletons?

I'll be brutally blunt: I think that many of you do not give a fuck.

I've seen positivity posts being derailed into talking about visceral fat and lectures about how we're gonna die soon. I've seen every possible critique to HAES approach, from very grounded to very stupid.

Trust me: FAT WOMEN KNOW THIS. We know we're gonna die soon, we know visceral fat is killing us, we know every fucking stat in the box, because THE WHOLE WORLD IS EAGER TO TELL US, the whole world wants us to be miserable every time, and guess what? That's mostly because of capitalism. The very same capitalism radfem ideology tries to fight, you know.

The science behind weight and nutrition is not as black and white as so many of you want to believe it is. Dieting is a multi-billion dollars industry that relies on its own inefficiency - this means: DIETS. DO NOT. WORK. In 95% of cases. The only thing that gives a hope for consistent weight loss is surgery, with all the associated risks, and even then... it's not GRANTED. We do not know how to make fat people thin, and it is NOT OUR FAULT. We do not know how to properly "cure" obesity - hell we struggle even to define it, because BMI is a shitty way to do so.

"Fat people should keep in mind that they will die young" yeah and you know what makes our lives even shorter? The constant, unavoidable knowledge that being fat means people will be disgusted by us. The guilt we feel for enjoying a fucking plate of pasta. The stress of being targeted and harassed since age five, of being put on diets soon after, of being the bottom of every joke, of having fewer chances not only at a fullfilling love life (I could write another long rant about what relationships are like as a fat woman) but also at a satisfying career in every field and good social circles, of having things (clothes, cars, public transport) not designed for us. Stress fucking destroys every system in human body but somehow it's just visceral fat's fault, and thus fat people do not deserve any positivity in their life, they do not deserve to think "my body can be ok the way it is even if I have a tummy", no, they must feel miserable all the fucking time even in self-called radical feminist spaces. No fucking fat person, let alone woman, wants to be fat: if we had a safe, functioning way to become thin we would do it. But God forbid we ever, ever stop hating our bodies, no matter how much in every other instance it's clear that it leads us nowhere.

Honestly fuck you and your faux concern for health. I never see you this eager to tell smokers that they will die young, I never see you talking about how legal drugs can and will cause health problems, or about the toxicity of sugary food in general. It's always about visceral fat.

If you are not fat yourself I don't care how much you seriously think you're in the right for saying that fat is a risk for health under any little fat positivity post, fuck you. The person behind the post most likely perfectly knows and you've just made their day a little more miserable with no reason other than... you still thinking you're morally superior.

And just so you know, even if your BMI is 18 and you only eat salads and spend all of your spare time at the gym... you will, eventually, die. Just like us fatties.

#radblr #radical feminsim #radical feminism critique #honestly some of you really really need to realize that you're not better than anyone else #fat woman life #some people are fat #fat positvity #I think that many of you are in good faith so really do not take it personally #but if you indulged in such a behavior I don't know how to tell you #radical feminist safe #radfems do touch #and radfems do critique if necessary #maybe I'm blind to something and mistaking #useless ramble

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wincore · 3 years

Text

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.

2K notes · View notes

mxxnlitwonders · 3 years

Text

c’mon pretty boy — miya atsumu

✎ gender. uhm neutral? but female parts are used ✎ contains. pegging, dom!reader, aka atsumu’s a little bratty :3c but i didnt focus on it that much, degradation and praising (giving), oral (giving and receiving), face-riding, little bit of edging, aftercare!!!, bad grammar (i think i switched between tenses hng) ✎ wc. 5.8k (im so sorry)

✎ summary. you’ve always been more of a switch, and you really want to, well, switch, things up. It’ll just take some convincing when it comes to your dear boyfriend.

✎ ameris’ notes. repost from my other blog! owo lil special thanks for nidae back when they helped me a bit with this fic <3

The shatter of the mug echoed through the kitchen, but your form stayed still, sipping your cup of coffee as you stared at Atsumu’s appalled face across the room. His hands frozen and the back of his head still facing you.

“What?” He nearly murmured, turning to face you.

Gently and calmly, you set the cup on the table as you uncrossed your legs. Perhaps you should have waited for Atsumu to sit at the table across from you, but what’s done is done.

Eyeing the remains of the mug on the floor, you stood back up to meet Atsumu’s brown eyes.

“I wanna peg and dom you,” you said again, then pointed to the mess on the floor. “Also you’re cleaning that up.”

Atsumu grimaced, “Hell no.” Carefully, he tiptoed around the shattered pieces to grab a broom and dustpan to clean it up. He was thankful that the mug wasn’t filled with coffee yet.

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!” You grinned at him as you leaned against the kitchen counter, resting your chin on your hand. He crouched down to pick up the pieces but gave you a wary side glance.

Atsumu knew that your eyes were on him like a hawk. The two of you guys were together long enough that you knew his every tell. And he knew it. Sometimes, you knew him better than you knew yourself. You were there for him for most of his life, from losing to Karasuno at Nationals during second year, to the falling out you two had in third year, to reconnecting a year after graduation, and finally to when he got scouted by the MSBY Black Jackals when he finally asked you out.

The point is, Atsumu knew that you knew he wasn’t opposed to the idea of you taking control in the bedroom. And he knew you knew that he knew.

“What size do you want?” You asked the setter, already scrolling through an adult sex toy website on your phone.

“I never said I wanted to get pegged,” Atsumu replied, standing back up to throw the remains away. He had to walk past you to toss it into the trash and suddenly he became more and more aware of the predatory gaze you had on him.

Biting your bottom lip, you set your phone down and trailed your eyes over his broad shoulders, to his slim waist (at least compared to the rest of him), and his ass. Atsumu’s thighs were nice too, no doubt, except with the gray sweatpants he had on it was hard to admire. But damn, did you want to ruin him.

Slowly you walked up to your boyfriend and as he turned to face you, suddenly surprised by your presence, you set your hands on his hips, your eyes settling on his chest before going up to his eyes. Atsumu swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing along. Your lust-filled eyes almost scaring him.

Your hands squeezed his hips, bringing him closer to you. A smirk made its way onto your face when you felt his hardened length against you.

“Yeah, but I think you like the idea of it, don’t you?” Leaning up with your breath ghosting over his ear you whispered, “You’d love getting fucked in the ass and you’d love being a good boy, just for me, wouldn’t you, baby?” You made sure to grind into his hips when the last syllable left your mouth.

A low groan rumbled over Atsumu but you suddenly took a step back, an innocent smile on your face being the total opposite to the mood of what was happening just a few seconds ago.

For once, Atsumu swallowed his pride, knowing that you wouldn’t do anything without his explicit consent.

“Surprise me. On the size...” he murmured the last part, looking off to the side.

“Yay!” You cheered in an extremely jarring change of tone, immediately picking up your phone to continue to scroll through for a strap-on.

Atsumu huffed, slightly pissed off that you just left him hanging. Whatever, he’ll make you help him out. Leaving you to your own devices, he settled onto the couch and turned on the TV. That is, until you spoke up once more.

“In the meantime, do you want me to help you with your little problem?” You asked, your voice ever so slightly condescending. His cock strained against his sweatpants and Atsumu couldn’t help but shift around his pants, feeling ever so slightly uncomfortable. Especially with how your eyes rest on the obvious tent.

But you wanted to play around a bit, test the waters.

“Yeah baby, why don’t you help me out?” Atsumu smirked, trying to regain control only for him to slightly falter once he saw the frown on your face.

“Sorry baby,” you walked up to him, caressing his face to make him stare up at you, “only good boys get taken care of.” You ruffled his blonde hair before walking away. There was a little sway in your hips as you walked into your shared bedroom and Atsumu knew that he was so fucked. Literally.

Of course, he shut off the TV to quickly follow you into the bedroom, stumbling over himself on the way.

Atsumu’s presence could be described as large, to put it simply.

He’s a professional volleyball player for one thing, so he was taller than the average person. He’s more than fit too, with his broad shoulders and large thighs. Physically, he took up a lot of room. And even then, Atsumu was loud. His personality took up the entire room whenever he could.

So to see you staring down at him with a hunger in your eyes that he’s never seen before. Shit, for the first time in his life he’s felt small. And fuck does he like it. Loved it, even.

Not that he’ll ever admit it.

Not with the way you stood between his legs and how you tilted his chin to look up at you. God forbid he ever admits to being into this.

“Bet by the end of this, you’ll be so tired I’ll have to take care of you,” Atsumu smirked up at you but instead, your other hand pulled sharply on his hair, yanking him back. You bent down, your lips ghosting against his.

“If you keep acting like a brat I’ll make sure you don’t get to cum,” you scold, “only good boys get to cum.”

With that said, you shoved him back by his shoulders, causing him to fall onto the bed with a light plop. To Atsumu’s distaste, you walked away. But when he saw you grab the strap on and the lube that came with it? He could swear he felt his cock twitch in his sweats.

You set the items on the bed for easier access as you moved to straddle him. You purposely grinded down onto his already hard member and bent down to give him a soft, short kiss, only to move your lips away. You smirked, staring down at him with half-lidded eyes as he desperately tried to kiss your lips.

“Does my pretty boy want to kiss me?”

His hand moved from your hips to the back of your head but you immediately slapped it away, pinning the arm down beside his head as you glared.

“If you keep acting like a pathetic brat, you won’t cum at all tonight,” you threatened. “Just because of that keep your hands to yourself, okay? ‘Tsumu.” Atsumu’s breath hitched. You knew what kind of effect you had on him. You felt him subtly grind into your core just then, but you’d let it slide. After all, the way he was uncharacteristically quiet because of you made you feel a little bit too powerful.

Slowly, you trailed your hands down his chest, grazing over his nipples before playing with the hem of his shirt. Tapping Atsumu’s side, silently telling him you wanted to take it off, he shifted himself to make it easier and you quickly pulled off his shirt.

You took a deep breath, admiring him underneath you.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this.” And shit, Atsumu really did have a praise kink because all he wanted was for you to keep on complimenting him, praising him, to call him your pretty boy.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Atsumu smirked, his voice slightly wavering. He hoped you didn’t notice, you did.

“I could,” you replied, your hands slightly hovering over his chest, barely touching him, “I could touch myself, make myself cum as I stare at your pretty body. But that would mean you don’t get to cum. I don’t think you’d want that, would you?” Your hand slid down his abdomen, your finger tracing over the ‘v’ shape lines. You knew he wanted you to touch him, especially with the way he was pressing up into your core.

Wanting a little bit of relief yourself, you grinded down into him, a slight moan leaving both your and his mouth.

“Shit, st-stop fucking teasing!” Atsumu growled, tossing his head back slightly.

You clicked your tongue, “I give the orders here, baby. Not you.”

Climbing off of him, you gestured for him to move further back onto the bed to get into a more comfortable position. Atsumu sat there, watching you as you slowly took off your top and pants, leaving you bare with just a matching lace bra and panties. His favorite ones; the ones that he loved to tear off of you. And you knew it.

You moved onto the bed, the mattress dipping with your weight as you went to sit between his legs. Atsumu felt incredibly vulnerable with your gaze on the obvious tent in his sweatpants, but he felt safe, comfortable.

Your finger traced over the tent lightly, Atsumu rutting his hips up to get more of your touch but you quickly pulled your hand away. Instead, your hand dipped below his waistband, dragging down both his briefs and pants and tossed the clothes to the side, freeing his hard member as it slapped against his stomach. Trails of precum left on his stomach and Atsumu stared down at you, waiting for your touch.

“You look so pretty like this,” you sighed out, your hand finally wrapping around his hard cock, your thumb swiping over his red tip to spread the precum. Leaning up, you pressed your lips against his and he immediately reciprocated, pressing back even harder against you. You bit his bottom lip, causing him to groan as you continued stroking his cock, his hips ever so slightly thrusting into your fist. You slipped your tongue into his mouth before you pulled away, a string of saliva connected your mouth and Atsumu’s.

Your grip tightened as you stroked a little faster and a groan left his mouth, tossing his head back.

“Fuck, feels good,” he moaned out.

“Yeah, pretty boy?” You asked. Before Atsumu could reply, you ducked your head down, placing a languid kiss against his red tip. Then a small kitten lick against the beads of precum that gathered at the tip. Atsumu let out a choked moan, wanting more from you but he bit his lip, he wasn’t about to let you hear him beg, he knew he’d lose if he begged. But you weren’t about to lose either.

Slowly, you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock and moved your head down his shaft until you felt Atsumu hit the back of your throat. It was difficult taking all of him in your mouth, since Atsumu was on the larger side but it was easier now after a bit of practice.

Breathing through your nose, you hollow your cheeks and begin bobbing your head up and down his cock. Atsumu tried holding back his moans but when you slightly slapped his hip, he finally let out every pretty noise that was only for your ears. Your hands began stroking the parts of him that you couldn’t reach as your jaw began hurting. But you were determined to make Atsumu cum and with the way his thighs tensed and his moans getting louder as he pleaded for you to let him cum, you knew he was well on his way.

You take your mouth off of him, to his disappointment, but when your hand takes over, stroking him how he likes it all thought leaves his head.

“Your moans sound so pretty, baby,” you murmured against his lips before kissing him and swallowing his moans. You couldn’t help the smirk that made its way onto your lips as he began thrusting up into your fist and with how he couldn’t focus on kissing you. Instead, he pulled away letting out a loud groan as he felt his peak approach.

Until you stopped your strokes and Atsumu let out the saddest of whines which made you want to spoil him. But you wouldn’t.

“Fuck, I was so close,” Atsumu panted.

“Gotta beg for it, baby, I don’t know how much you want to cum,” you replied. Atsumu scowled at you but you could only smile back at him, knowing exactly what you were doing. Especially with how you decided to wrap your hands around his hard cock again, slowly stroking up and down his shaft.

Atsumu let out more moans and he knew that you already won. He knew that you wouldn’t let him cum, would make him edge for the rest of the night and as much as he liked the idea of that, maybe it’d be better off if it was for another night.

Another night, meaning he was definitely going to let you do whatever you pleased to him again after this.

“Fuck,” he gasped out your name, feeling you speed up your strokes, your thumb swiping over his tip. He thrusted his hips up into your fist, felt his thighs tensing and his peak was coming close again. Faster this time as you had just edged him. Just as you were about to edge him once he finally let out the words you’ve been wanting to hear.”

“Let me cum, please, I—fuuuck—“ he choked on his words, letting out a loud, desperate groan. “‘S’close, I want to—want to cum.”

Knowing that was the best you were going to get out of him, for now, you continued stroking his hard member, your grip tightening just a little bit. You were sure to focus on giving his tip the attention it needed as well. And then his eyes rolled back into his head, a loud moan escaping his mouth that vaguely sounded like your name and spurts of white cum painted your hand and his stomach.

You stroked him through his orgasm, feeling his member slowly softening. When Atsumu put his hand on your wrist, trying to pull you away from him to prevent overstimulation, you smiled up at him.

“Good boy, you look so good cumming like that, ‘Tsumu. So pretty, all for me,” you leaned up to give him a chaste kiss. You pulled away, staring at him with half lidded eyes before kissing him again.

Atsumu lived for your kisses, with the way you were nibbling on his bottom lip to the way your tongue swiped into his mouth, how you slightly suckled on his tongue. If it was possible, he could live off of your kisses but he was only human, still in need of air and still trying to catch his breath from his orgasm. So he pulled away.

His brown eyes stared into yours, as you stared at him with innocent eyes. You brought your hand up to your lips, your tongue darting out to lick the cum that fell on your hand and you smiled.

“Always taste so good, baby,” you moved your hand towards him, telling him to lick what was left and he hesitantly did what he was told. Atsumu’s cock was already hardening once more from how dirty this was.

“So, are ya gonna fuck me already or what?” He asked, eyeing the strap-on that sat on the bed.

You clicked your tongue, “Gotta be patient baby. Besides,” you pushed him down gently onto the bed, stripping off your panties and bra before climbing to straddle his waist, “you’re gonna make me cum with your tongue, okay pretty boy?” Immediately, his hands went to caress your breasts but you slapped them away, pinning them beside his head.

“No touching until I say so,” you chastised Atsumu, “now make me cum or I’ll leave you exactly like this.” You reach back to lightly stroke his cock before pulling away, a frustrated groan leaving his mouth.

Before Atsumu could give you any type of remark, you had already climbed towards the top of the bed, settling your legs beside his head.

Atsumu stared up at your glistening folds, his hands already automatically trying to grab your hips to bring you down to his mouth. Repeating your actions from before, you were quick to swipe his hands away.

“Remember what I said, pretty boy,” you scolded. With that, he slowly set his hands back onto the bed, gripping the sheets and you lowered yourself onto his face. One of your hands buried in his hair and the other on the headboard.

Hesitantly, Atsumu licked his tongue through your folds from your entrance to clit, a pleased moan leaving his mouth as he tasted you and he was sure not to miss your gasp. You pull on his hair a little harder, slowly grinding your hips down on his mouth, following his tongue against your core.

“Fuck, baby, you’re doing so-fuck!” you desperately cried out as he brought your clit into his mouth, suckling on it then going back to licking through your folds. Your grip on his hair tightens as you begin bucking your hips against him, breathy moans filling the room.

His tongue trails down from your clit to your entrance, thrusting in you as one of his hands moved to then replace his tongue. You’d be sure to punish Atsumu another time because fuck was he putting his mouth to good use for once. He slipped in two of his long, thick fingers into your wet hole that’s a mix of your slick and his own saliva. He moves his mouth back to your clit, wrapping his lips around the bud and suckling against it as his strong setter fingers stroked inside you, hitting that sweet spot inside of you so easily and so well.

“Fuck, yes, I’m almost-” you felt the pressure in your core building up and your thighs tensing up. A desperate whine left your lips as you finally hit your climax. Atsumu stroked you through your orgasm, letting you ride his face until your grip on his hair loosened up and you slowly got off of him.

A sense of pride and admiration flowed through you as soon as you saw your slick coat the sides of his mouth and chin. Sitting slightly up, Atsumu grinned at you as he placed his fingers into his mouth, sucking and cleaning his fingers of your juices before pulling them out with a ‘pop’.

Grasping him by the back of his head, you pulled him towards you, placing a passionate kiss against his mouth. Your tongue stroking his lips before he parted to let you taste yourself against him. Atsumu moaned against you when one of your hands moved to twist one of his nipples between your fingers.

You pulled away, a smirk very apparent on your face as he flushed red, “So you like that more than you let on, huh.” You recalled the few times you’ve given his nipples attention in the past, him often pulling your hand away but he’d always bring you into a kiss right away instead. Probably to hide his pink-tinted cheeks.

Atsumu pursed his lips before you moved to kiss his jawline, then began leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his neck, suckling here and there to leave marks. You made your way down his chest, making sure to lightly play with his nipples with your fingers until your lips found its way onto his chest. You pull the perked bud in between your lips, sucking and lightly nibbling. You stared up at Atsumu, who let out light, breathy moans with his eyes shut.

You pulled away, reaching over to grab the bottle of lube, the cap opening up with a click. Atsumu opened his eyes at the sound, then watched you closely. You patted his knees and Atsumu layed back on the bed, spreading his legs open.

“You alright?” You asked, watching as he seemed a bit uneasy.

Atsumu would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. On one hand, he wanted to prove that he could take your cock. On the other, he’s the one usually doing the fucking. But fuck he really, really, liked feeling like putty because of you.

He felt your hands caress his legs up to his waist, “Relax baby-” you kissed him at the crown of his head “-we can always stop if you’re uncomfortable.” But Atsumu shook his head with a huff.

“Can’t lose to you,” he argued. You lightly chuckled, knowing that was just a way for him to convince himself that you fucking him? Wasn’t going to make him less than. And if his conversations with Bokuto and Hinata in the locker room were any indication, he was clearly the one winning.

“Alright,” you grab one of the pillows on the bed, telling him to lift his hips as you slide it snuggly underneath him. You moved to sit between his legs, tapping on them.

“Hold yourself open, pretty boy,” you ordered softly. Atsumu placed his hands under his knees, spreading his legs open for you and watched as you stared down at his puckered hole. You traced your finger around it, Atsumu slightly jolte and you chuckled softly to place a kiss on his thigh, murmuring reassuring words to the man.

With the bottle of lube, you poured a generous amount on your fingers before moving to slowly insert a finger into his hole. You kissed his thigh again, asking Atsumu if he was alright.

“Y-yeah,” he breathed out. He was about to ask you to move but instead bit his tongue. The feeling of your finger in him was... Foreign, to say the least. But it wasn’t unwelcome. With the way you fingered him gently was different to how you’ve been treating him every now and then this past session.

“Ah-!” Atsumu gasped out in pleasure when you placed another finger into him, even pouring a bit of lube to help ease the stretch. You kissed him again, distracting him from any discomfort as you stretched him for what was to come. Your fingers stroked his insides, scissoring every so often to try to open him up wider.

You pulled away, glancing at his face to make sure he was alright before he told you to keep going. You smirked, kissing the tip of his nose before you went to kiss his chest once more, leaving dark red marks. He’d have to change quickly if he wanted to avoid any teasing from his teammates in the locker room.

Sliding one more finger into him, Atsumu moaned. You separated your mouth from his chest, smiling at the marks before staring up at him, your fingers sliding in and out much more easily as you spread him open.

“You like that baby?” You asked, leaning back to stare at him in all his glory. His cock was painfully hard, dripping with precum with an achingly red tip. With your free hand, you lightly stroked him before placing a languid kiss on his tip before sitting back up and pulling your hand away. “Okay, pretty boy, do you think you’re ready?”

Atsumu nodded his head, not trusting his voice. You kissed his thigh again before taking your fingers out, watching as his hole fluttered around nothing. Atsumu was about to let his legs down again but you held them both back.

“Be a good boy for me and keep yourself open, baby,” you told him then climbed off the bed to put on the strap on a little easier. Atsumu watched as you placed your legs through the harness, watching as the dildo hung from your hips as you snuggly put it on. Admittedly, you looked really good, to put it simply. And, he was glad you picked one that wasn’t too girthy but still somewhat long. It wasn’t too intimidating as you slid back onto the bed, grabbing the lube bottle once more to coat the dildo before tossing the bottle to the side.

You settled between his legs once more, your hands caressing his thighs before settling onto his hips.

“Just let me know if you’re uncomfortable, okay?” you said softly, as you stared down into his brown eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, just fuck me already,” Atsumu replied. You rolled your eyes, slapping his bare cheek. He was definitely ready but trying to hide his nerves. “Unless you’re too tired.”

You glare at him, already grabbing the dildo to place at his entrance and pressed your hips forward. Atsumu hissed which quickly turned into a moan as you slowly filled him up. You made sure to go slow, stopping every so often to rub soothing motions on his thigh and making sure he was alright. Each time he’d give you the go ahead you made sure to whisper him praises, telling him how much of a good boy he was being.

When your hips pressed into him, signaling that you were all the way in, you stilled.

“You’re so good for me baby, taking me all so well,” you murmured, leaning down to give him a kiss on the corner of his lips. His eyes were shut as he controlled his breathing. Atsumu was admittedly more nervous than he thought but he was enjoying this a lot more than he thought.

Opening his eyes to stare up into you, he shakily said, “You can move.”

Your eyes flickered over his face, trying to see if there was any discomfort or any part of him that was even lying to try to show that he could take you. Once you couldn’t find anything of the sort, you slowly pulled out, leaving just the tip in before gently pushing back in.

As you began to find a sort of rhythm, gradually going from gentle thrusts to rough thrusts, Atsumu lightly panted, purposely preventing himself from trying to let out any moans for your satisfaction.

With a newfound passion, you angled your hips to deliberately hit his prostate and finally you heard him let out a choked moan.

“Fu-fuck! Ah-baby please, I—fuuckk,” Atsumu dragged out the last words, tears gathering in his eyes as he held up his legs by the back of his knees a little more. Your hand gripped his hips harder, your nails surely leaving marks. Another hand sprawled on his chest, lightly scratching over his toned body and over his nipples.

With every sharp thrust into his desperate hole, hitting the spot that is making him see stars, his hard member slapped against his abdomen, leaving streaks of precum along with his previous orgasm. The tip of his cock was so red and pretty that you couldn’t help but move your hand down to lightly stroke it. Incoherent moans continued leaving his mouth as your thumb rubbed over his tip, spreading his precum more.

“Yeah? You look so fucking pretty like this,” you breathed out, groaning when a particular thrust just sucked you back in. “What a pretty boy, taking my cock so well. Who knew you could be a good boy.”

“Ahh- fuck!” his words bleeding into a moan as you gripped his cock a little tighter, stroking him a little faster. The sharp pain in his hips grew numb as you continued holding him up, thrusting harder. A satisfied laugh escaped your mouth as you felt him grind his hips up into you.

“You like this? Huh?” You asked, a condescending tone lacing around your tongue. “You like it when I fuck your tight hole so much that you’re holding your legs open. What a slut. My. Little. Slut.” Atsumu could feel his peak coming, the heat in his core building up and his thighs were shaking for the second time that night.

Atsumu bit the bottom of his lip, trying to hold back any moans. He didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of how he felt from hearing you talk to him like that. No, not at all. Nev—

A sharp pain against his ass cheek caused him to gasp out but you were quick to rub over the mark, soothing him.

“Don’t be a brat, come on pretty boy, let me hear your moans,” you rolled your hips into his and Atsumu knew he was close. So, so, so, close. “Or I won’t let you cum.” Your thrusts began to slow down and instead of pumping his cock like you were earlier, you gripped the base of his shaft.

“Fuuuuck, I’ll be good,” Atsumu caved in, begging so desperately, “I’ll be a good boy for you please, I need to cum.” He let go of his legs, immediately wrapping them around you instead to rut his hips into you. His hands sprawled beside his head as he turned to look to the side, too embarrassed at giving you full control.

“Good boy,” you murmured and began thrusting harder, faster into him. You intertwined your hand with his when you bent down, kissing the marks you’ve left on his chest. A smirk appeared on your face as you heard him moan. “My little prince.”

Atsumu’s other hand found its way onto your shoulder at the same time as your hand moving down to stroke his aching cock.

The two of you hissed at the same time; Atsumu for the added sensations and you as he dug his nails onto your back. There were definitely going to be marks left on your back but you didn’t mind. Not with the way Atsumu’s pretty face was scrunching up in pleasure, the desperate moans that left his mouth as he continued to try to meet each of your thrusts.

And—oh fuck—with his tongue hanging out from his mouth like he’d always do while playing on the court, shit. You felt like you could cum right there and then with the way his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Shit, ‘m gonna-” Atsumu let out a whine, unable to finish his sentence as he came all over you and his stomach. His legs tightened his hold around you and you slowed your thrusts with your hand stroking his cock, letting him ride out high.

When Atsumu’s legs loosened around you, you fully pulled out, watching as his chest heaved with every breath he took. You rubbed circles on his hips, especially over the marks left by your nails. The stinging on your back was still there, but you’d be sure to check them out tomorrow morning.

“Good boy,” you murmured, licking off the cum off your hand before leaning down to softly say against his lips, “Such a good fucking boy, just for me.”

You finally kissed him, tilting your head for a deeper kiss, running your hands up his sides as you continued giving him small praises against his lips before kissing him again. Finally pulling away, you admired your handiwork. The many marks left on his skin would surely make him the slightest bit mad, albeit jokingly (somewhat), tomorrow but damn did they look good on him.

“How was it?” You asked, smiling as you comfortably shifted back into your casual personality.

Atsumu let out a heavy sigh, tossing his head back against the bed, “ ‘Sgood.”

“Just good?” Atsumu brought his head up, glaring at you which made you laugh. This was as good as it was going to get but with that gleam in his eyes, you knew this wouldn’t be the last.

You lightly slap his thighs before moving off the bed and promptly taking off the harness, “Alright big boy, let's get you cleaned up. You weren’t uncomfortable at all?” Worry flickered through your eyes as you watched Atsumu push himself onto his arms. You sat beside him on the edge of the bed, interlocking your hands with him as you searched his face.

“No, I’m just surprised you had enough energy to fuck like that, thought you were more of a, well, pillow baby.”

You shrugged, “I just wanted to switch things up.” A grin made its way onto your face as Atsumu groaned, falling back onto the bed and letting go of your hand. You laughed as he threw insults at you for that terrible pun, getting up to grab a few wet and warm towels to wipe him down. You also set the water for the bath as well before heading back to help clean him up.

As the two of you prepared for the night an hour later, with Atsumu resting his head on your chest as you ran your hands gently through his surprisingly soft, blond hair, you asked him if he’d want to do it again.

Silence filled the room until Atsumu lifted his head to look up at you.

“If ya wanted to fuck me that badly you could just ask y’know,” he replied smugly. You placed your hand on his face, shoving him away but his grip around your torso tightened, trying to keep you close to him.

“Agh, okay okay, fine stop pushin’ me,” Atsumu protested trying to lick your hand to get you to stop. You pulled your hand away (not because of his childish antics), wiping your hand on his shirt with a sigh.

He rests his head against your chest once more, “But, fine. I... wouldn’t mind it.” He whispered the last part into your chest.

You hummed lightly, the corner of your lips turning up, returning your hand to thread it through his locks. Now you had something to look forward to and damn were you glad that you saw that one notification on his phone. The one with his shared chat with Hinata, Bokuto, and Sakusa. And specifically the notification about Bokuto directly addressing Atsumu about how “he’s always wanted to try pegging, too.”

You’d have to thank Bokuto later.

***

“Babe, are you kidding me?” Atsumu shouted from the bedroom. You raised your brow, sipping your coffee before setting it down on the dinner table to walk into the shared room.

Upon walking into the room, Atsumu was staring at himself through the mirror, his shirt through his arms but the rest of the torso bare and you could tell he was getting ready for his morning run. But what surprised you when walking in was the actual amount of hickies and marks you left over his chest with a few coupled on his neck.

He turned his head quickly towards you, his blond hair swaying a bit.

You sheepishly grinned with a shrug, “Oops?”

#miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader smut #haikyuu smut #miya atsumu x dom!reader #miya atsumu x dom!reader smut #miya atsumu x you #atsumu x you #mxxn.writes #🌙.pegging #🌙.edging #🌙.degradation #🌙.praising #🌙.femdom #💙.atsumu

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

Small Gods: Lazy Mornings - 2

Lazy Mornings: A Captain America Fanfic

Lazy Mornings Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1681

Warnings: Mentions of sex and a little foreplay

Synopsis: Steve Rogers has trouble taking time for himself. When his friends set him up with a person with a very unusual skill, perhaps he can learn that the quiet moments are just as important as everything else.

Chapter 2

There was a place between waking and sleeping where Steve was aware of almost everything except himself. The room was comfortably cool. Just enough that having the heavy quilt wrapped around him and the body pressed against him felt good and not stifling. The bed was soft, embracing him, and pulling him down into it. That was something that would normally put him off, but there was no Steve in the between place. There was just a cozy warmth that surrounded and held him. The sun was coming in through the window, it warmed his skin and created a pink light through his closed eyelids. The smell of cut grass and coffee permeated the air, though where that came from he couldn’t say.

Slowly Steve started to slip more into the waking and he nuzzled into you trying to hold on to the comfort of sleep.

“Good morning, Steve.”

Your voice seeped into his subconscious mind like honey. Sweet and golden. He rumbled in reply - a sound that was neither positive nor negative. The soft crunch of gravel under a slippered foot.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” You asked.

Did he? He couldn’t be sure. He was comfortable in this bed with you. A complete stranger really, and yet he’d never felt more like he belonged anywhere more than he did here in this bed with you.

You began to card your fingers through his hair, running them back and forth over his scalp. He groaned softly and without even thinking about it, he began to kiss your neck. You tilted your head back and your fingers tangled in his hair. It sent a soft buzz through his skin and he became painfully aware of his morning erection. He kissed up your neck and sucked at the pulse point under your ear. You hummed softly and tugged on his hair.

“Steve,” you whispered. “Open your eyes.”

Steve’s eyes slowly fluttered open. The light in the room was soft and seemed to lie over your skin like a blanket, adding a warm golden glow to your body. You pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Is this what you want?” You asked.

It took a moment for the question to sink in and as it slowly did, Steve flipped from being cozy and half asleep to awake and panicked. Everything hit him all at once. He was in bed with a stranger. It had to be close to ten. He had paperwork to do. First and foremost, he didn’t have casual sex with complete strangers.

He scrambled out of bed confused and spoiling for a fight. “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing,” you said, holding your hands up in submission. “It’s okay, Steve. You were just relaxed. Let me make you breakfast.”

The food. He ate last night too before he agreed to go to bed with you. “You drugged me,” he said. Though even as the words came out of his mouth, he realized they didn’t make sense. For starters, he trusted his friends enough not to set him up with someone who would drug him, but even if you had tried to do that, he was a supersoldier and it had been almost ten hours since he ate your food, any drugs would be well and truly out of your system.

“I didn’t drug you, Steve,” you assured him. “I know you aren’t used to feeling this relaxed and it let you be more open to things you aren’t comfortable doing, but that’s why I checked.” You took a hesitant step toward him. “That feeling you have, it’s all you. Being with me… has just let you be more open to it.”

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” Steve said, gathering up his clothes. “But I also don’t see how that’s any different to being drugged.”

You dropped your hands. “No one is being held captive here,” you said. “You don’t trust me yet. I understand.”

Steve hurriedly dressed and left without a word. The feeling of being tricked somehow, following him out the door. Despite how far he was from the tower, he ran home, hoping the fresh air would wake him up from the stupor he seemed to be in.

When he made it back to the tower he went straight to find Thor.

The god of thunder was up and in cheerful spirits, drinking coffee and talking with Clint who appeared to be nursing a hangover along with his cup.

“Rogers!” Thor boomed, making Clint groan and grab his head. “You are home much earlier than I expected.”

“What exactly did you expect, Thor?” Steve snapped. “Because it feels like you set me up with someone who drugged me and nearly tricked me into sex.”

Thor laughed loudly as Clint looked around confused. “I think you are confused about what happened, friend,” Thor said, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “I told you not to fight it.”

“Fight what exactly?” Steve asked. “What did she do to me?”

Thor chuckled and led Steve over to the chair. “I misjudged how great your need for control is,” he said. “I swear to you, the lady did nothing to you. I would trust her over myself.”

Steve shook his head. “I need answers, Thor.”

“Don’t you get it, Cap?” Clint said. “Thor knows her because she’s a god.”

Steve blinked at Clint and looked over at Thor. “What?”

“That’s right,” Thor agreed. “I do not know her well, but I know what she can do, and it is only good.”

“Then why would I fight it so much?” Steve asked.

Thor sighed and shook his head. “I had hoped you could let go enough to accept it before you found out,” he said. “As best as I can explain her powers are related to that feeling you have when you have nowhere to be and you spend the time relaxing into that.”

“Like when you get to sleep in on a Sunday, Steve,” Clint said. “You know? You stay in bed. Maybe have slow sleepy sex. Have breakfast in bed while you read the paper. You know?”

Steve didn’t really know at all. Not in any practical way. Obviously, he knew that that was something people enjoyed having that slow lazy kind of morning. He just had never had that himself. When he was a kid, he was in bed sick or he was up and about. He hated being trapped inside. It either meant he was sick or he was in trouble. Then he was in the army and then he died. Conceivably he could try it out now, but anytime he slowed down for even a second the whole weight of the world came crashing down on him and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“So she used her powers on me?” Steve said. “How is that different from being drugged?”

“That’s not what she did,” Thor assured him. “Being around her allows people to feel that kind of contentment that you feel when all your work is done and you are in no rush to be anywhere. The same as when you have time to practice a quiet pastime or to lay in your lover’s arms. She didn’t force it on you, in fact, she has power only when people experience that feeling and thank the gods for it, or when they beg for it. All she did was make it easier for you to be open to it. You touched that and relaxed into it, it was only when you began to question what else you should be doing that it wore off. You fought it, just as I knew you would.”

“Then why not tell me right away what she was?” Steve asked, feeling somewhat incensed. He hated his friends underestimating him even more than he hated the idea of having nothing to do.

“We thought you would be more open to her if you didn’t know,” Clint said. “Because you really do have a stick up your ass, Steve.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Clint.”

“What? You don’t’?” Clint said. “What happened today, you woke up cozy and warm in a woman’s arms and felt a bit horny and what do you do? Accuse her of drugging you and run off? Because god forbid you do something that actually feels good for a change.”

“What of this sex?” Thor asked, making Steve squirm a little. “You said she tried to trick you?”

“Yes… I mean… I don’t…” Steve babbled, suddenly feeling flustered. “She asked if that’s what I wanted and I realized what I was doing.”

“Oh, that’s a good trick, Steve,” Clint snarked. “Asking for consent is so tricksy.”

Steve shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling quite foolish. He wished he had known who you were before this had happened so he could be prepared for what had happened.

“I’m sorry,” Thor said. “Will you forgive me for keeping the truth from you? I only wanted you to be happy.”

Steve nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I probably have a phone call to make. Apologize for how I acted.”

“You should ask her out again,” Clint said. “She’s still a person. Maybe you can go get dinner… or breakfast.”

Steve took a breath in and let it out slowly. He thought back to this morning and how good it had felt to wake up like that. He worried that he might end up using you or hurting you, but if he was honest, he did enjoy that feeling when he woke up in your arms. It might be worth getting to know you at least. Maybe someone like you was exactly what he needed. “Maybe I’ll get to know her first before we go for breakfast.”

Thor clapped him on the arm again. “Wonderful. I am sure you will both enjoy spending time together.”

Steve was still skeptical. He didn’t think he was the kind of person who would ever be able to completely let himself go like that. Maybe for everyone’s sake, he needed to at least try.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #small gods #lazy mornings

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borderline-psychosis · 3 years

Text

It’s never worth it.

Imagine how much weight you’ve lost in the last few days. If you binge now that was all for nothing because you’ll gain it all back.

Do it for cute clothes, shopping sprees, being happy

Because food will never satisfy you.

If you binge now, the urges will keep coming back. If you binge now, it will not be the last time. It’ll keep going on and on. Break the cycle.

That full feeling is so much worse than feeling dizzy with hunger.

Because control is power.

Collarbones, thigh gap, flat stomach.

Think of all the times you’ve binged, how it felt sitting up in the middle of the night. Don’t put yourself through that again.

You can reach your GWs. It just takes a bit of control.

It’s nearly summer. Still, plenty of time to get skinny.

Do it for that belly button piercing to look hot as fuck.

Imagine feeling comfortable in a bikini. You’ll never be comfortable in a bikini if you binge.

Get thin to be able to fit into those old jeans.

Just because you messed up yesterday, doesn’t mean you can’t do great today.

Reach those GWs. You fucking deserve it after all this shit you’ve been though.

In a week’s time you could be so much lighter.

Do it so he can pick you up and say you’re light.

Do it so people will worry again.

Do it so your fucking period leaves you the hell alone again.

Do it so you’re not afraid of going shopping and seeing mirrors.

Do it so you can get your makeup done professionally and you’ll look perfect.

Self control is so important, not just for weight loss. Practice now.

For the before and after pictures.

You’re gonna be the skinniest bitch you’ve ever seen. I promise. If you don’t binge.

To wear white skinny jeans with a black sweater.

To wear PINK workout clothes and just lounge around the house.

To wear a sports bra and oversized trackies when working out.

To wear triangl bikinis and feel like a model.

So you won’t be called ‘heavy’ when picked up

To proudly tell people your clothing size

To have thighs that look small in anything

So you won’t have to compare yourself to others in the changing room

To look good in short shorts

To have people ask you for diet tips

To have people say you look like a model.

So that you’ll begin to envy a model’s clothes, not her body

To look sexy without trying

To be able to change in front of friends

Being able to sit on his lap and be picked up

Having small thighs when sitting

Look good with messy hair, just woken up.

Looking in the mirror and seeing bones, not fat

The feel of your ribs and hip bones sticking out

Being cold all the time because you’re so thin and loving it

Always looking good in heels

Size 0 skinny jeans

Looking small in baggy shirts with jeans

Having visible collarbones

Having a thigh gap

Sitting in the middle of the car because you’re the smallest

To enjoy concerts and get drunk and party and just live life

Not having to worry about what people say behind your back because it doesn’t matter, nothing does because you’re thin

To become someone else’s thinspo

Binging is not fucking worth it, EVER, and it’s painful and it’s so fucking pointless. Why do you keep doing it?

So that you can try on clothes without wanting to stay in the fitting room, curl up into a ball, and die.

So that every and any photograph taken of you from any angle will look good.

So that you won’t be the fattest girl out of all your friends.

So that boys will think of you as girlfriend potential, not that funny girl who’s kind of chubby.

So that all your old expensive clothes fit again

So that you’re cheek bones will be fucking amazing again

Because skinny girls can get away with, making any face, wearing any outfit, or having any hairstyle

So that you don’t look like a messy slob with no self control

So that you’re friends respect you

So that you’re arm flab doesn’t spread out when you rest your arms on your side

So that people whisper about how skinny you’ve gotten behind your back

So that you when you sit, no matter what you’re wearing your stomach remains one flat perfect board

So that you never have to worry about your disgusting love handles oozing over the edges of your too-tight pants

So that you can rush out of the house in jeans and a t-shirt and look like a model

So that you don’t look like a fat little kid anymore.

So that you make your parents proud instead of being their fat-ass daughter without any self control

So that you’re boyfriend will be proud to show your photo, or you off to his friends

So that you can wake up in the morning without trying on a million and a half outfits and looking fat in each one

So that your self control, your amazing discipline shines through for everyone to see.

So that there is a space between your legs.

So that the shorter the shorts, the better.

So that you’ll be referred to as the pretty one

So that you’re hip bones will hurt people when you hug them

So that your shoulder blades are literally blades

So that your ribs are always showing, not just when you stretch

So that nobody even remembers that girl you used to be

So that you’re delicate and graceful

So that when people do see you eat they will not be thinking, “put down the fork fat ass”

So that when you try on your friends clothes they’re too big

So that being however weird crazy or out there you are is acceptable because you’ll look good doing it

So that if god forbid someone finds out that you’re starving yourself they don’t say “really? But you don’t look anorexic”

Because who wants a fat daughter, best friend, or girlfriend

So that everything is finally perfect

Remember how unhealthy you feel after a binge

To be the carefree girl who lives life to the full

To wake up tomorrow and weigh less

To be tiny and delicate

So people say you look like you’re about to break

Because what’s the point of eating when you don’t need to?

To be the skinny friend

So when you sit down your thighs don’t spread out to the size of an ocean

So you can be more confident

To not have to worry about calories

To love yourself

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lils-of-the-valley · 3 years

Text

Kiss It Better

It was 1 am and I just wanted to write dumb skater boys kissing. I miss writing kisses and they should kiss and be happy and in love. They are in love, but they should also kiss. (Also I'm on mobile so I hope the read more works)

Edit: I forgot to put the AO3 link here Can y'all tell how exhausted I am?

Reki was no stranger to injuries. Really, it was concerning the number of times he had ended up in an emergency room after a skateboarding accident. But the pain barely fazed him anymore, especially not the minor pain of scrapes and bruises. At this point, it was a daily occurrence, either from bailing while skating or from ramming his hip into the corner of a table. The latter was a little more frustrating though.

“Dude, you don’t have to make such a big deal out of it!”

Big blue eyes stared blankly at Reki before diving back into his backpack, rummaging through it. Reki sighed as he leaned back against the concrete, propped up on his elbows, his head hanging back. Langa was being dramatic as ever, making a huge deal out of what was essentially nothing more than a little scrape on Reki’s left hand. Sure, there had been a bit of blood, but the cut was barely visible! It wasn’t anything to panic over. Yet, Langa had insisted that Reki stayed put, right where he had fallen, while he hauled the backpack back to Reki before plopping himself down onto the concrete. He sat cross-legged in front of Reki while he dug through the bag, muttering something about alcohol pads and bandages.

“Those band-aids are for you,” Reki said, his eyes fixated on the swirls of reds and oranges and purples in the sky. The sun had started to set, it seemed. “Since you can’t stand the sight of your own blood. Unlike you, I can handle it. It doesn’t bother me. I don’t need patching up.”

“And I say you do.”

The firmness of Langa’s voice drew Reki’s attention back to him, his piercing blue eyes sending shivers down the boy’s spine. There was something demanding in Langa’s voice, something protective, something… pleading? Langa was worried about him? Given the way he was looking at Reki, it had to be. And Reki couldn’t refuse him, not when he was looking like that.

“Fine!”

Reki huffed as he finally let his body flop down onto the ground. Langa seemed content with the answer, returning to his scavenger hunt through Reki’s bag. This meant that Reki would have to occupy himself without his skateboard since he wasn’t allowed to get onto it until he was fully patched up. Thankfully, the ever-changing clouds in the sky were distracting enough. A bunny. A dolphin. A flower. A-

“Found them!”

A blue sky stared back at Reki, startling the boy. Langa hovered above him, holding a few sealed bandages in front of Reki’s face, a boyish grin contrasting his usual reserved and serious expression. A boyish grin that made Reki’s inside twist, his throat turning dry. He knew he could touch, that Langa wasn’t some porcelain doll that would shatter under his calloused fingers. He knew he could touch, that Langa would never refuse him the pleasure of passing his fingers through the silky blue hair, the pleasure of touching that beautiful pale skin, the pleasure of feeling those soft lips, but still, Reki resisted. Still, Reki held back.

He pressed his palm to Langa’s chest, pushing him away ever so slightly as he pushed himself up on his elbows once more, his eyes avoiding Langa’s general direction.

“Again, I don’t actually need them. The scrapes will be gone in the morning; no use in wasting band-aids on that.”

“But I want to do it for you.” A beat of silence. Then Langa was ducking his head, the blue silk falling in his face and drawing Reki’s eyes back to him. “You know, since you always patch me up after I bail? I want to do that for you. I want to take care of you, Reki.”

Oh! Reki’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, now that was adorable.

How was Reki supposed to turn Langa away when he sounded like that? Looked like that? How could Reki refuse Langa who seemed so small, so vulnerable, and oh so adorable? It was simply impossible. So Reki gave in, gave in like he always did because it was Langa asking and Langa could get him to do anything.

“Fine! Fine!” Reki sat up, presenting his scraped hand to a starry-eyed Langa. “But only because you’re cute.”

“No!” Was that a pout? “You’re the cute one.”

Reki couldn’t help but giggle at the boy. To think that the stoic and socially awkward boy he had met only a little over a year ago could end up being an absolute dork, a dork pouting because he was called cute. Reki never would have believed it if someone had told him that this would be his normal. Reki never would have believed it if someone had told him that Langa would turn out to be this dorky yet adorable boyfriend. His dorky yet adorable boyfriend.

“Well? Are you going to patch me up or are you gonna stare at me all wide-eyed until the scrapes disappear on their own?”

Langa blinked a few times before quickly turning his attention to Reki’s outstretched hand, a ghost of a touch fluttering over the scrapes. Hesitantly, he glanced between Reki’s face and his hand before carefully pulling out an alcohol swab from the makeshift first-aid kit Reki carried everywhere he went. It was pretty obvious that Langa was not in his comfort zone, not used to be the one cleaning wounds. His hands shook ever so slightly as he wiped Reki’s hands clean, but it was the gesture that counted. It didn’t have to be perfect because as long as it was from Langa, then Reki would smile ever so softly as he watched him put on a band-aid with the utmost concentration. It was the kindness and the care that had Reki fall a little more in love with the boy in front of him. It was the little things that made his heart melt.

“And,” Langa pressed one last band-aid to Reki’s palm, his long fingers passing over the fabric before curling around Reki’s, “all done. All clean.”

“Thanks, man.”

As Reki pulled his hand back, Langa’s grip tightened as he tugged the hand back towards him, surprising Reki. He felt his whole face heat up as Langa planted a kiss right in the middle of his palm, slow and careful. Reki barely felt the kiss, but he could see it happening. And he could feel it in his face, the fire that had ignited in his cheeks, in his ears, in his brain. And when Langa’s eyes met Reki’s, lips still pressed against the calloused tanned skin, a smile played on his pretty lips, a smile that drove Reki crazy.

“Kissing it better,” Langa clarified. “You always insist on the magic of kissing it better.”

“You…”

Reki huffed, finally managing to pull his hand back and holding it defensively to his chest. Langa knew what he doing to Reki. He knew that he was the reason why Reki’s face must have matched his hair. He was fully aware that it was entirely his fault and the bastard still had the audacity of looking smug about it.

Reki felt his stomach flip as Langa crawled over him, his weight in Reki’s lap while his arms caged the boy. Something glinted in those blue eyes, something Reki had never seen before. Something that terrified him, but also strangely… exciting?

“Well,” Langa licked at his lips as he glanced down at Reki’s lips, sending an electric shock down the boy’s back, “I could always give you a real kiss if you like.”

Reki’s mind short-circuited at the thought of having Langa’s hot mouth against his. He wanted, he wanted it so badly, but his body tensed at the mere thought of it. He wanted, he wanted with fiber of his body, but he shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“I’ll be real good, I promise.”

“Okay!” Reki half-shouted in embarrassment. He had felt his eyes go wide at Langa’s suggestive tone. He had felt the twist in his gut. His face, his whole body burned as he pressed his hands to Langa’s mouth, pushing him away. Langa laughed against his hand, pretty and muffled. “Man, you can’t just say that to me! You-! I-! Dude! No!”

Reki’s hands dropped onto his lap, squeezed between his thighs while Langa straightened out, still sitting on Reki’s lap. He was laughing, hearty and unguarded, which made Reki’s heart flip. His face was also flushed, his pale skin tinted with reds and pinks. He was so beautiful. Langa was just so beautiful.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he managed to huff out, finally calming his laughter. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Something twisted in Reki once more, though this time it felt more guilty than anything. He just wasn’t particularly good with PDA. Sure, he knew he was an extremely tactile person, his hand constantly brushing against Langa’s, their shoulders bumping as they walked side by side, but everything he did, it could be interpreted as just bros being good ol’ platonic buddies. He had always been a touchy-feely person, especially with Langa, but still, it wasn’t easy being affectionate in a romantic sense. Just holding hands made his hands all sweaty and gross, his nerves getting the best of him. And god forbid they actually kissed in public-! No, Reki wasn’t ready for that. It was just too much. Just the thought was overwhelming him.

“Sorry.” Langa’s voice had gone quiet as he shifted on Reki’s lap. Reki could see he was reluctant to move but ready to do so regardless. “I really didn’t mean to…”

“S’fine, dude. I’m just… public.”

The wind caught in Langa’s hair, pushing it out of his face as he quickly glanced around the dark skatepark. How was he so effortlessly beautiful? How was Langa so damn beautiful all the freaking time? How was it that even under the shitty streetlamp, he still looked like a prince straight out of a fairy-tale? And when he looked at Reki like he was also beautiful, as if he were the only person in the world, it made him melt. Those blue eyes were only for him. Only Kyan Reki would ever get to look into them like this, see the way they sparkled like snowflakes under a bright sun.

“There’s no one around?”

Oh. Was that hope in Langa’s eyes? In his voice? Was it desire? Want? Need? Langa who, despite being reckless and shameless, was always so reserved and good, did he really want to kiss Reki that badly? And since there was no one around… Maybe it would be alright? It wasn’t like they would be interrupted or caught. No one came around this part of town, especially not at this hour.

Reki’s eyes skirted over the deserted skatepark once last time before finding Langa’s eyes once more.

“Just one.”

“Really?” Excitement, that’s what made Langa’s voice just a tad higher than usual.

“You get one kiss. That’s it.”

A grin broke across Langa’s face once more, a grin that made him glow. “Isn’t that what you always say?” Reki sent Langa a look of disapproval to which he answered by putting his hands up defensively. “Fine, fine, just one. If you can stop.”

Reki sighed at the boy before tugging him closer by the collar of his shirt. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

A breathless laugh broke from Langa’s lips before pressing them to Reki’s. Langa was like a drug; his kisses were the most addicting thing Reki had ever come across and it only took one for him to be hooked. His taste filled Reki, his sweetness hazing Reki’s mind. It wasn’t the first time he kissed Langa – it had already been weeks since their first kiss, clumsy in the middle of a shitty movie – but it didn’t mean it didn’t feel completely new each time. It had been weeks since that first kiss, but Reki just couldn’t get enough of his boyfriend’s mouth, of his kisses, of his touch. Especially not when Langa was licking at the seam of Reki’s lips, asking to be let in.

Everything happened in a blissful daze: the arms wrapping around Langa’s neck, the beckoning him closer if that were even possible, the slight fumbling to get comfortable, and the falling back onto the concrete, legs tangling as they always did. Sure, the cold ground wasn’t nearly as comfortable as a mattress, but with Langa’s arms acting like a pillow for Reki’s head, it didn’t matter. Everything was good, so good. It was so good, the feeling of Langa’s short, hot pants between the kisses. It was so good, the mumbling against each other's mouths, their names filling the little air between them. But nothing beat having their lips pressed together, wanting, needing the other. Nothing could ever beat that feeling.

Reki wasn’t proud of the whimper that left his lips as Langa pulled back completely, sitting up. The smirk was a cruel temptation. Langa was no fool; he knew damn well that he was torturing Reki as he shifted in his lap, his whole weight pressed into Reki’s thighs.

“You said one kiss, so,” Langa shrugged, lips pressed in a thin line.

“That was more than one, you fucking tease,” Reki muttered as he propped himself up on his elbows for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

“Pulling out the big, bad words, huh?” A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Reki’s lips. Another whimper. Maybe even a moan. Reki wasn’t sure; he just knew he wanted more. “Wanna come over instead? Get some food, put on a movie, probably not watch the movie at all but it doesn’t matter since my mom isn’t-!”

“You stopped kissing me because you’re hungry?”

Laughter fell from Reki’s lips like the stars against the mid-August sky as his forehead hit Langa’s shoulder. He should have known. Langa had seemed hungry for both love-filled kisses and actual food.

Instinctively, Reki’s arms wrapped around the body against which he was pressed, feeling the light rumble of laughter and potentially of an empty stomach against his own body. Langa was warm. He was comfortable. He was safe. Langa was… home.

“Can we watch Spirited Away in your bed? No offense man, but your couch is shit to make out on.”

“You…” Langa shifted, causing Reki to peel himself off of him and look up at him. “You want to watch a kid’s movie while we make out?”

“It’s a good movie! And I’ve seen it like a hundred times, so I won’t be tempted to actually watch it.”

“No. I know you.” Langa’s hands found their way to Reki’s cheeks, holding his face ever so gently. “You’re gonna end up watching it. Again. For the third time this month.”

“Look! Look, it’s not my fault it constantly plays at my place! Chihiro just… she likes the movie because the main character has the same name as her. And I like it because… it’s good, man. Don’t hate on a good movie!”

Langa inhaled sharply, his eyes closed and his hands pressed against his lips. He looked like he was praying to whatever God was out there to hear him. “I can’t believe my boyfriend wants to make out with me while his little sister’s favorite movie plays in the background.”

“Well,” Reki shrugged and flopped back down on the ground, crossing his arms behind his head, “we could also not make out, I don’t care. It would be your loss, man.”

“No!” Langa was once more caging Reki with his arms, but this time, it wasn’t Reki that was panicking. “There is no fucking way I’m letting you off the hook that easily. You-!”

It was always so much fun cutting Langa off with kisses when he got a little too chatty. Every time, it would catch him off guard, his eyes growing three sizes for a fraction of a second before squeezing them shut. And his pale cheeks always turn a bright red, a color that, surprisingly, didn’t often blossom under his skin. Langa was almost always the one initiating the kisses, so having Reki be the one pushing himself up to catch his lips, it always left him a mess. Reki’s surprise kisses turned Stoic Langa, Cold Langa, Ice Prince Langa into this mess of dork, this stuttering and blushing mess of boyfriend.

Reki traced the line of Langa’s jaw, his eyes following the movement of his fingers. He had quickly learned that Langa melted at the touch, which made it a lot easier to convince him to do whatever it was Reki wanted. “You pick the food and I pick the movie or no more kisses for you.”

“Can it at least be Howl’s Moving Castle? I know you like that one too, but at least I won’t have the image of your little sisters seared into my mind while I try to kiss you senseless.”

“Fine, fine.” Reki’s fingers hooked Langa’s chin, beckoning him closer to press another kiss to his mouth. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Reki.” One kiss. “So much.” Two kisses. “Infinitely.”

#i still hate tagging shit #but here we are #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #renga #reki x langa #langa x reki #langa hasegawa #hasegawa langa #langa #kyan reki #reki kyan #reki #fluff #like pure fluff #lils writes

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apollostears · 4 years

Text

THICK GF [ k. namjoon ]

Request: nami with a thick, short, sassy, cute, natural haired goddess

group: bts

Pairing: namjoon x black!reader

Warning(s): swearing, lil freakness

A/N: soooo i have no idea how long this has been waiting to be done bc i’m dumb af and didn’t turn on notifications for this so this is done with extra TLC!!!!!

*gif not mine*

- namjoon is awkward as fuck, let’s make that clear. so him being with someone who’s lowkey bold is a good way to bring him out of his head.

- y’all balance eachother out so well!

- whenever the boys get around to teasing him, you’re there to shut that shit down (in a playful way) and go toe-to-toe with them every single time

- you are shorter than him by a good bit, so it’s always a little inside joke between the two of y’all (mainly him) about your height.

- nami is such a loving boyfriend all around. he loves how much smaller you are in height compared to him.

- definitely expect piggy back rides, no questions about them. nami will want to carry you no matter how much you weigh.

- speaking of weight, there’s some social stigmas surrounding height and weight, so since you’re on the shorter but thicker side of things, you might experience some moments of doubt.

- dating an idol isn’t easy, especially one as prominent and important as namjoon. when it came to your physical features, you were mostly confident and comfortable with yourself. but that was before you were exposed to millions of people at once.

- most people were chill about y’alls relationship, coming to the reality that the leader of BTS was his own person and that it really wasn’t their business who he dated, they respected y’all.

- however...there were some who weren’t real fans of BTS and a little more on the crazy side when it came to their attachment to the boys.

- they took any and every flaw they could find about you and exploited it. one of those things was your weight.

- you really tried not to pay any mind to it, nor tell nami about it because #hatersgonehate

- but at the end of the day, words hurt and there were times where you just felt like absolute shit.

- nami is an attentive person, so he noticed quickly that you were feeling down. he realized even quicker what you were feeling down about.

- and when i say mans was hot? he. was. hot!!!! jin had to prevent him from developing twitter fingers and calling everyone out who dared to say negative shit about and call themselves a fan in the same sentence.

- he was torn on what to do though. he loved you and all that came with you.

- your thighs were his home and your butt/boobies his pillows. your wide hips brought him comfort whenever he needed something to ground himself when he got stressed.

- every part of your body held meaning to him and it hurt him that you were hurt about the very thing that gave him comfort.

- he wanted to give you space because he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but his need to console you overcame anything else and that’s exactly what he did.

- you took a minute to express your feelings about the situation, but nami was there to ease you into telling him your emotions.

- this led to a very passionate moment between y’all where he showed you just how much he appreciated your body.

- after that, you didn’t feel affected by their words in regards to your body. nami always did his best to show you how much you meant to him and it never failed to quell your fears.

- speaking of thickness, mans will use you like a pillow with no remorse!

- you sliding thru the studio for the day? expect him to wanna take naps on your chest or rest his head on your ass after rehearsals.

- nami loves to feel you sitting on his lap. your thighs bringing warmth and softness for him whenever he’s producing or recording.

- once jungkook tried to rest his head on your lap so that you could play in his hair and that was an instant no-no.

- you didn’t mind it, but nami was a little possessive of you and knew how charming their golden maknae could be. once jungkook had you under his spell, you would baby him for all of eternity.

- without hesistation, namjoon picked jungkook up and carefully dropped him next to jimin on the floor before taking his spot on your lap.

- jungkook was #jungshook and the boys laughed at his surprised face while nami just snuggled his head into your warm thighs.

- when it comes to your hair, he thinks it’s the most amazing thing in the world!!!

- he will watch you do your hair at any chance he gets.

- you doing a twist out? he’s there watching and on stand-by to hand you whatever you needed.

- dreading wash day? nami is there as moral support until you allow him to help out with your routine.

- trying to put your own wig on? nami is there ready to help you make sure it’s straight and secure.

- he becomes so involved with your hair that you notice when you have new hair products in your cabinet.

- “nami, where did these come from?” you ask him from the bathroom.

- your boyfriend peeps his head in with a gummy smile. “i saw that you were running out so i got you more. plus there was a new product out that i saw you looking at and i went ahead and bought it.”

- before you could even get on him for the amount of money he spent on these items, he’s dipped from the bathroom and out of sight.

- when it comes to your wigs, nami spends RACKS on them hoes omg!!!

- god forbid y’all break up because he really spoils the fuck out of you with the wigs he buys you.

- i’m talking QUALITY hair!!!

- you stopped asking about the price when you noticed that one of the wigs he bought you came from the same place Meg Thee Stallion gets hers.

- he quickly becomes a hairstylist ngl.

- nami is a gentle giant and after much practice, he gets good at doing the basic plait or cornrow to help you out.

- it’s rough being in a Country with barely any black people there to do your hair.

- but don’t be mistaken, he will be the type to fly out a black hairdresser ASAP just to spoil you.

- switching topics, but because you are a sassy little thing that mouth often gets you in trouble.

- sometimes you’ll be hanging with the boys and you’ll get into it with yoongi (playfully of course).

- nami will try to jump in and calm y’all down because you guys WILL go rounds and he doesn’t want that, but you’re quick to butt him out.

- “Aht aht, the adults are talking.” Is your favorite go-to line because it never fails to make nami surprised.

- the other boys try to hide their smirks, but nami knows that they’ll use that against him any chance they get.

- so, he’s gotta make an example out of you. if you catch my drift *wink wink*

- whilst in the middle of roasting min yoongi, namjoon will scoop yo ass up and take you to his room.

- no questions asked.

- the boys know wtf be going on and are always shook to know that their leader be getting down like that.

- you still act up every once in awhile, because dominant joon is a different animal but the same beast

- i think overall, namjoon being with a black s/o and a thick one at that, would be such a cultural reset.

- like y’all mfers are on the cover of every magazine and doing couple questions with Vogue and shit.

- jay-z totally invited y’all and the boys to a Roc Nation brunch, don’t @me.

- you guys’ relationship is nothing but positive and wholesome behavior that we love and support a hundred percent!

#kmimagines #ambw imagines #kpop imagines #black!reader #bts imagines #kim namjoon x black!reader #kim namjoon imagines #bts namjoon #namjoon headcanon #bts headcanons #mayawrites #requested #namjoon x black!reader #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon

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furblrwurblr · 3 years

Text

I had to adress the trauma before they kissed

Part three to Patience, Love!

Douxie x Reader Soulmate AU, fluff, angst. crack if you squint.

《One》《Two》 | Masterlist

You'd had a few days of unfamiliar band after unfamiliar band and were glad for a taste of home when Papa Skull was up on the itinerary. You two slept in as you had for the past week and had an instant noodle breakfast (the good kind, none of that Maruchan crap Douxie's addicted to) before hitting the town. Dancing, walking, and browsing the streets with their little shops was a fun way to spend the afternoon before you made your way to the venue. You noticed Douxie was being… a little bit more. A little closer, a little softer, a little jittery. You'd had a mind to ask him but he interrupted you every time he saw your curiosity scratching itself on his forearms, running off looking over his shoulder for you to follow. At some point, he'd asked to split up, absolutely not because he wanted to find something for you, or so he said. You spent the whole time he was gone absently searching for something in return, preoccupied with the thoughts on your arms and legs that were just so very Douxie.

"Oh! That's nice! No, no no no, this is your soulmate! Nice isn't great, it's between good and okay. Or would it be between good and alright? Which trumps the other? Blast it all, this store isn't helping," or "This store isn't at ALL what I thought it was... No! Don't think about that, if they see that on their arm I'll be the impatient one!"

You told him where you were after he seemed somewhat satisfied. He walked towards you, the grin on his face falling into a betrayed look of feigned shock as he watched you taking pictures of all the thoughts he'd forgotten you could see. He groaned as he sat beside you on a park bench, seeing just how much you'd read.

"Did I give it away already?"

"All I know is it's somewhere between great and good, or is alright the better word?" you teased.

He bumped your shoulder with his. "Cheeky," he smiled. "Let's head back to the campsite, eat a quick meal, and grab a good spot!"

After a light dinner, you'd managed to squeeze your way fairly close to the front, far enough from the stage to risk being squished. You'd been there a few hours when Papa Skull finally made their appearance, you and Douxie amongst the loudest welcoming them onstage. Not long into their hit song, "Mean", Douxie was nervous.

"I’m gonna do it. I don’t want them to spook..."

You glimpsed his concern on your forearm, unable to make much out in your excitement for the live music, but you knew he was working up to something. You let it be, curious to see what he'd do.

Douxie slowed his breathing. He really liked you so far, and although your mind was quick to dive into the gutter, he didn't want to scare you off. Your own mishap ended in him seeing you once before ghosting for nearly a month. Not to mention, he could tell how embarrassed his little experiments on the boat had made you, what with the whispering and all. It may have been a different kind of embarrassed, more flustered than mortified, but you'd never spoken out against anything. He didn't have a clear grasp of your boundaries. While he'd been searching for a gift for you, he'd wondered how he was going to give it to you. He settled for another first- nothing big, it was pretty cliché, but he enjoyed doing it and hoped you would too.

Douxie placed a hand on your upper arm to make sure you wouldn't startle, it was a bit difficult to get your attention. He slid his arm behind your back, looking to you for confirmation. Your nod made him sigh in relief as he planted his hand on the outside of your shoulder. He felt you laugh and nearly withdrew before you grabbed his hand and pulled so his arm draped over your shoulders, placing your other hand across his back and gently curling your fingers into his waist. You two shared a tender moment of silence before half-turning your attention back to the concert, both too caught up in each other to be in the moment.

He fingered the large box in his sweater pocket, withdrawing his hand. It could wait, he didn't want to risk you moving to look at it, and Mordrax forbid you take your warm hand from his side before he was ready.

Later, you both fell into your sleeping bags with a mighty puff of the air rushing out under the sudden weights, both heaving great sighs of relief. You looked over to him in silence, waiting for his gaze to meet yours. His head turned quickly, smiling wide. Laughter built between you until the pair of you were wiping tears from your eyes, still feeling the euphoria from the concert and one another. Once you relaxed again, Douxie got up and beckoned for you to do the same. You looked at him quizzically.

"If I know I'm hungry then you must be too, I eat less often than you," he reasoned.

Reluctantly, you got up, sad to leave your plush dollar-store sleeping bag. Douxie started the fire while you zipped the tent to swap your themed tour outfit for something more comfortable.

Douxie rustled through the bags back on the ship, pulling out leftovers from the diner in town. He made his way back to the now-blazing fire, sitting on a log to prepare the meal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glow of the lantern in the tent--

blimey, was the tent always that sheer? It was night and the lantern made it far too easy to see your silhouette. "Woah, looking away now!" Ah, he saw how appropriate the word "blimey" was in this case. While he did enjoy what he saw, part of him did want God to blind himself because he was 90% sure he'd just watched you remove your top without your knowledge. "God, I tease them constantly, but I'm just as bad, aren't I?" he realized. He quickly went back to warming the food, hands rushed and face pink.

You watched his fault write itself on your torso, cheeks just as flushed, although with a bit more amusement than he was feeling at the moment. You finished and stepped out, a smug look on your face. Wordlessly, you sat next to him, studying his reaction. He avoided your eyes, recognizing the glint they had when his thoughts betrayed him. You slid off the log, reclining against it and making a show of placing your arms behind your head.

"I guess I can't really complain, you are making me dinner first, as per your own terms," you said, nonchalant.

Douxie cursed himself. "How could I have been so bold?" he lamented with a sheepish smile. Time to change the subject. He looked around, searching for anything to talk about, settling on the flames that reminded him of the familiar he missed oh so much. He broke the comfortable silence and turned to you. "Would you like me to show you something?" The nondescript watch on his wrist extended, magical glamour falling to reveal his brace, now glowing with energy.

You nodded eagerly. His magic was comforting and beautiful, just like he was… wait. Why not mess with him a bit?

"One condition."

He withdrew his hands from their position in front of him, face earnest.

"Take off your sweater. I've seen your tattoos under your short sleeves, and I know they glow, wonderboy," you half-demanded. Payback and your own reward in one? You deserved to be a little stern.

He laughed, shrugging off his sweater before putting his hands at the ready once more. With a smile, he pushed and pulled the bonfire from where he sat beside you, flames turning his signature blue the more he manipulated them. It was beautiful, drowning the verdant green of the forest in a blue that belonged only to your soulmate. Douxie reveled in your amazement, fire magic a new experience for a novice such as yourself.

You turned your attention to his tattoos and your lips parted in wonder. You'd never seen them in full, runes you couldn't recognize glowing a vibrant blue. The swooping lines didn't move, but it seemed the light shining through them did, glow rippling below his skin. You slid back onto the log again, closer this time, and brushed your fingers over them. Douxie let the fire swirl to its original shape, goosebumps raising at your feather-light touch. They dimmed, once again their original grey, but you persisted, enthralled by the runes.

Douxie had never loved someone so much. Sure, you'd only known each other a few months, but he felt justified since you were his soulmate. As much as he still couldn't believe he'd met you after all that time, he was more amazed at how often it proved true that you were made to fit one another. Your humor, your joys, your sadness. It made itself apparent in how you walked towards him, the way you smiled when he called you. The comfort in your voice that he could feel through the phone. Your eyes. Oh, your eyes, how they did things to his heart.

He pulled himself from his thoughts, eyes roving over your body intently, latching onto any exposed skin. He was looking in pride at his thoughts of admiration, feeling almost as if they marked you as his. "A reminder," he thought, that right now, you belonged to one another. He brought his gaze back to those eyes of yours, now studying his face. The two of you looked at one another in silence, watching one another's eyes flick down and back again, faces drawing closer. His tongue darted out to moisten his slightly chapped lip, causing your breath to hitch. His heart jumped at the sound, snapping him from his daze. He gently lifted your hand from his bicep, shakily breathing the same air as you. He folded your fingers into his chill grasp, bringing them to his lips and pressing a long kiss to your knuckles before bowing his head to press your hand to his brow. You smiled, heart beating from your chest, then grabbed his sweater from between you two with your free hand and sliding it up to his back and over a shoulder. He slowly released your hand with a small chuckle, twirling the garment from his shoulders and placing it on your own. His hands dragged down to the beginning of the zipper and tugged it forward to secure it on your body, pulling you just that much closer. He lingered, smiling gently at you. This. This was a moment he hoped would never end.

His long fingers withdrew to finally warm the food, the 'almost' of what had just happened filling the comfortable silence of the forest clearing.

It'd been a few days since the Almost (your affectionate lament for the kiss that nearly was), and the tour was nearly over. Only a few days were left and you weren't ready for it to end. Maybe after this you and Douxie could spend more time at one another's flats, just to have each other around. Your home was your sanctuary, and you were already fully prepared to open it to him. You trusted him and were happy you'd ironed out your initial issues. For the most part, that is.

"What's this, Y/N?" Douxie asked. You were taken from your thoughts by his sudden question and gave him a puzzled look. He gestured to the 'trust issue' statement written boldly across his bare shoulder before going to sit next to you, the distance between you feeling like an emotional chasm. He used to sit closer before the Almost. "Is something the matter? Did I do something to make you cross?" His face was less puzzled now and more anxious.

"Well," you began, "It's nothing recent. Maybe it is? I keep dwelling on the past, and I feel I need to bring it up."

"Go for it, darling, anything you need," he rushed, turning his entire body to face you.

"I've been running most of my life, as is the curse of an immortal, but I’ve spent the last sixteen years of it searching for you. I kept asking you questions, trying to find you. As amusing as it was to play cat and mouse, I felt displaced and restless. Friends came and went, I scoured America in its entirety. A hint, a clue, something!" You rushed, breathing ragged. "Arcadia was my resignation, you know," you continued, quieter now. "I've stayed as long as I have because I gave up, too tired to keep running towards something, no matter how much I wanted it. No matter how much I wanted you, I--" your eyes filled with tears and you paused, choking on a sob. You sucked in a breath. He needed to hear this. *You* needed him to hear this. "It hurt when I realized you didn't remember our fleeting moments together in combat. I enjoyed sharing that moment of revealing ourselves to one another, but it hurts that I've chased that beautiful blue for the past eight centuries and you don't remember those two years of patrolling the canals.”

Douxie placed a hesitant hand on the small of your back and his eyes dropped from your face to the forest floor, remembering why he'd been so excited to meet you. He'd seen your reactions to his thoughts back in Italy but quickly had to move on. He and Archie had decided long ago that no matter what, they'd put Merlin's tasks above anything else. Even his soulmate. When he realized how close you were he got excited. He couldn't search for you, but he didn't see anything wrong if you found him first. Even then, he kept you at arm's length, scared of the consequences. Merlin's tower, how could he have been so thoughtless? Douxie had never stopped to consider how his constant moving around would affect you. He never took the concepts of soulmates all that seriously. Sure, he could daydream about being with someone made for him and refuse to date anyone until he met you, but it became real the night he found you. Too real. So he ran. Dancing around you, pretending he was doing you a favor with his vague answers and puzzling riddles. Then, he met you again. You were real once more. After his comical encounter with you, he was too preoccupied to sleep, absorbing the finality of having a soulmate. You had come into his life with a bang, a reminder that Merlin and his tasks didn't define who he was. What had shaped him were small influences of the people he'd met throughout the last millennium, including you.

You were worried. Douxie's brow was more creased than you'd ever seen it. His hand on your back grew clammy, the cold night air quickly cooling the fresh damp patch of your shirt.

"...Douxie?" you whispered, afraid your rant had gone too far. His head turned just a little too quickly and you gasped at the tears glistening in the moonlight. He choked on a few unsteady breaths, mouth half-forming words. You reached your hand for the bicep of the arm loosely wrapped around your waist, but before you could touch it, he spoke.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, drawing his hand away from your torso. The first of many large tears burst upon the wood of the log you sat upon. Whose tears they were no longer mattered when both of you began crying anew. You wrapped your fingers around the arm he removed from your side and placed it there once more, throwing your arms around his middle. He sobbed at this, heart happy that you still accepted him, and brought his other hand to clutch your head to his collarbone. He wasn't running anymore, he'd done what was asked of him and was finally able to let you catch up to him.

The two of you were too caught up in one another to notice but had either of you been paying attention, you would have seen each other's skin being adorned with countless words of adoration, regret, and joy.

#patience love #douxie x reader #toa douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #too many commas #like WAY too many #not betaread #casual fic writing lmao im working on more polished pieces #x reader #toa x reader #toa wizards #idk how to tag things #furblewrites #I SWEAR THEY KISS NEXT BIT

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