#he fails every time. he cannot stop being so damn hot.

[princess00wifi]

I said this on the night Max won the title and I’m gonna say it again tonight. By hook or by crook, Max is leaving with his title. This is HIS NIGHT. I WONT HEAR ANYTHING ELSE.

And he’s bringing DRAMA? AN ORCHESTRAL ARRANGEMENT. MY LITTLE MUSICIAN HEART. AND THIS GEAR. I DONT HAVE THE HEART.

[calliesmemes]

ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED COMEDIC RELIEF

ASSORTED QUOTES FROM TUMBLR TEXTPOSTS, X (formerly known as twitter) POSTS, TIKTOK, MEMES, AND OTHER SOURCES AROUND THE INTERNET

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“   Currently considering becoming a bother and a nuisance, maybe even a menace or a rascal. ”

“   Hungry? Eat the government. ”

“   Yes, I wanna fuck after every argument. ”

“   Silence, you uneducated peanut! ”

“  They should invent a being alive that isn’t so difficult. ”

“   Women have to think I’m hot or none of this matters. ”

“   Due to personal reasons I will be named an enemy of the state. ”

“   Being overdressed is a myth made up by people who didn’t want you to have fun and be sexy. ”

“   What even are daddy issues? Just traumatize your father back. ”

“   I LOVE complaining! You can’t take that away from me! ”

“   I went to the silly goose convention and they all knew you. ”

“   I’m simultaneously ‘I’m tired of this grandpa’ and ‘that’s too damn bad!’ ”

“   The word ew coming out of a pretty girl’s mouth holds so much power … I think that it can tear apart nations. ”

“   Someone made fun of my shoes and the whole time I just thought of ways to push them out the window. ”

“   If you’re short, simply get taller. ”

“   I better think twice? Buddy I don’t even think once. ”

“   My off putting looks, awkward demeanor, and strange behavior have captivated you. ”

“   There’s something deeply, fundamentally wrong with you. Can we kiss? ”

“   You are a fool. When you walk, clown music plays. ”

“   I mean yeah he’s evil and all but what if I were his favorite? ”

“   I really do hate thinking. ”

“   In my defense, I simply do not vibe with the law. ”

“   I’ve done nothing wrong. Except all the atrocities. Besides that, I’m innocent. ”

“   Sorry I couldn’t hear you over my internal monologue. ”

“   Of course you have white hair and trauma. ”

“   So apparently the bad vibes I’ve been feeling are actually ‘severe psychological distress’. ”

“   Stop calling me a bad person just because I’m orchestrating your downfall! ”

“   The more lip gloss I collect the longer I live. ”

“   Sorry that I am obsessed with you in the unhealthiest way possible. As if it's my fault ”

“   The multiple failed assassination attempts against me have helped build both character and self esteem. ”

“   I could be your loser boyfriend. Do you ever think about that? ”

“   Accidentally went and got myself killed yesterday, but god wont let me die so I’m back ”

“   What do you mean napping isn't a good coping mechanism? What do you mean my problems are still here? ”

“   Academic validation is required for my sanity. ”

“   RIP to everyone killed by the gods for hubris but I’m different and better. Maybe even better than the gods. ”

“   Researching the stages of grief to see if I can get them finished in ten minutes tops. ”

“   My parents were like I’m gonna make a child that is so beyond help. ”

“   It’s not easy to admit when you’re wrong, and that’s why I won’t do it. ”

“   Why can’t this family ever have a funky good time? ”

“   How do I show people that I’m more than my unethical career choice? ”

“   I fucked my way into this mess, and I’ll fuck my way out. ”

“   You look so biteable today. ”

“   Why am I suffering? I have so many correct opinions and takes. ”

“   I AM HAUNTED BY A PAST THAT I CANNOT GO BACK TO! anyways ”

“   Challenging authority, angering gods. The family business. ”

“   Third base is me telling you about my father. ”

“   Hey girl. Plagued by terrifying visions? ”

“   Got caught giving a fuck. Embarrassing. ”

“   I didn’t ‘miss’ the red flags; I saw them and thought that they looked sexy. ”

“   Do my dark circles and deteriorating health make me look hot? ”

“   I get my news from the only reliable source, cryptic symbolism in my dreams. ”

“   Another day of being a bisexual disaster. ”

“   I’m going to let myself be a little unhinged today, as a treat. ”

“   Some of you act like murder is such a big deal. ”

“   You wanna hunt me for sport so bad that it makes you look stupid. ”

“   You’re not a girlboss unless you’ve killed someone. ”

“   It’s so weird how no one ever has correct opinions about things except for me. ”

“   Hello, my love — I mean, my rival ”

“   No one is calling me baby and it’s outrageous I can’t believe it. ”

“   No talking stage. Mutual obsession and you see god in my eyes or nothing. ”

“   I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOOKUP CULTURE DIE IN MY ARMS ”

“   Yes baby your emotional walls are high and impenetrable can we kiss now? ”

“   Affection is disgusting. Drown me in it. ”

“   I am gatekeeping my respect from you. ”

“   Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions. ”

“   I am equal parts fuck around and find out and please don’t yell at me I’ll cry. ”

“   Short legs, big butt. I’m a corgi. ”

“   Fuck being the bigger person; I’m going to start biting people. ”

“   Well that wasn’t very slay of you! ”

“   May I please get a crumb of affection? ”

“   I crave power! Please don’t yell, though; I’m sensitive. ”

“   You call it a near death experience; I call it a vibe check from God. ”

“   Here are some scissors. Now cut it out. ”

“   Might commit a little tomfoolery, maybe even some shenanigans. ”

“   All these flavors, and you choose to be salty. ”

“   How can I live, laugh, love in these conditions? ”

“   What if I said ‘to be honest’ but then lied? ”

“   I'm financially at a stage where I understand why people do fraud. ”

“   Yes I may be evil and morally corrupt, but I’m also incredibly beautiful and I think that makes up for it honestly. ”

“   Debates are stupid. Why would I want to sit down and argue with someone blatantly dumber than me? ”

“   I forget but I do NOT forgive.. I'm just walking around hating bitches can't remember why ”

“   Ding dong your opinion is wrong! ”

“   I’m coming for your kneecaps. ”

“   You dropped your nose you fucking clown. ”

“   Are you a fire alarm? ‘Cause you are really fucking loud and annoying. ”

“   Call me an escalator, because I let people down. ”

“   I love me a good lesbian scandal! ”

“   If you can’t run away from your problems, you’re not running fast enough. ”

“   Everything I want to do is illegal. ”

“   Don’t make me hit your ankle with my Barbie scooter! ”

“   I tell gay jokes because I am a gay joke. ”

“   Fuck! I dropped my mental stability! ”

[moon7jay]

please teacher heeseung x student reader..? 😩

Teacher heeseung who can't take his eyes off of you in class, gaze pivoted to you and how your skirt sits so temptingly on your plush thighs

Teacher heeseung who maintains eye contact when you smirk at him seductively, inching your skirt up and pushing your chest outwards, just for him to see

Teacher heeseung who doesn't miss your suggestive gestures in class, whether it be getting in trouble on purpose so that he can scold you or standing a little close to him just to look up at him with those seductive doe eyes "I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again" But it will. It will happen again and again cuz something about the way he yells or reprimands you has u rubbing your thighs together. Something that doesn't go unnoticed by heeseung

Teacher heeseung who feels his pants tighten when you open your legs wide just to give him a glimpse of your bare pussy under the table, the sight so sinful it makes him ache in his jeans

Teacher heeseung who is aware that what he's doing is wrong but can't help himself from asking you to stay after class, pressing you against the black board, his hips snapping against u at an animalistic pace

Teacher heeseung who is so angry and frustrated, so done with your constant teasing and seduction that he's going harder than you expected. But it turns you on, your pussy leaking juices that drips down both of your thighs and soaks his balls

Teacher heeseung who presses you against every surface in the class, one leg up on the table, bent over backwards, missionary on the floor, mating press against the door-

It doesn't end

Teacher heeseung who is extra mean to you during class cuz he knows you like it, it makes you crave him more, the sex after class becomes more spicy when one of you is mad

Teacher heeseung who cannot get enough of your fresh, young pussy and the way it clenches around his hot, throbbing dick when he's buried deep inside

Teacher heeseung who loves being wrapped in your tight little pussy for hours after class, everyday, sometimes even two times a day when he's pushing you in the storage room between classes and pounding that hot cunt

Teacher heeseung who fucks your mouth like it's your cunt on days when you're on your periods cuz why should he compromise with the pleasure when you're willing to drop to your knees on his single command

Teacher heeseung who doesn't care that you are sore from yesterday, when his dick aches for your pussy he couldn't care less about anything else, taking you right on the classroom floor, groaning and moaning like an animal in heat

Teacher heeseung who passes you in all subjects with good grades, you just need to open your legs and give him your cunt to fuck whenever he wants it

Teacher heeseung who thinks it's all just sex but you have started to fall in love with him, his dick and body being the only thing which occupy your mind

Teacher heeseung who catches up on your obsession with him from the way that you stare at him dreamily during class, or extra efforts that u do such as bringing him lunch and complimenting his smile

Teacher heeseung who finds you cute but needs to put an end to this cuz he can't afford losing his job

Teacher heeseung who breaks your heart in two when he pushes you away and starts actively ignoring you in class, him being the first and only man you had actually fallen in love with left you distraught

Teacher heeseung who starts noticing when u start missing his classes, eventually stopping altogether, your empty chair bugging him in a way that is borderline obsessive

Teacher heeseung who loses his damn mind when he sees you sitting too close to another boy who he recognizes as jake from his class

Teacher heeseung who doesn't feel guilty when he's wrongfully failing jake cuz his veins are filled with nothing but hot anger and disdain. The sight of you smiling at another man driving him up the wall

Teacher heeseung who shows up at your house, finding the perfect opportunity when your parents aren't home, pushing you inside and taking you against the wall

Teacher heeseung who doesn't even prep you or give you a chance to protest before he's slipping inside your warm fuck hole and starts fucking

Teacher heeseung who is spewing filth, his cock hitting your cervix, bumping your womb painfully cuz of how deep he's fucking, reminding you that you belong to him and how he's gonna ruin jake cuz how dare he breathe the same air as you

Teacher heeseung who doesn't stop pounding in your wet heat even though u r begging him to stop, the overestimation getting to your head

Teacher heeseung who fucks you 5 more times in your own house until all you're capable of doing is babbling incoherent words

Teacher heeseung who groans "mine" in your ear before cumming inside of your abused cunt one last time. Marking his territory

[undertheorangetree]

Under the God's Eye

Chapter One- The Deal

Summary- In order to have a peaceful holiday, Aemond asks his academic rival for a favour.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ This story is going to be NSFW. Female reader. No real knowledge of how law school works. Mentions of finals season.

Author’s Note- Making banners is very new to me but graphic design is my passion. I’ve had a couple people ask about tag lists and I’m willing to make one for this series so reply to this if you’d like to be on it :) Full chapter on AO3

Series masterlist

divider created by firefly-graphics

Despite appearances, she quite likes the train. It’s often overcrowded and either too hot or too cold, but she manages to find a seat more often than not. So long as she doesn’t forget her headphones, it can be almost relaxing to stare out the window and let her mind wander.

Today is the exception. With finals less than three days away, she thinks she would prefer to be anywhere but here on this sweltering train, packed to the brim with people just as sweaty and irritable as she is. But she had no choice but to pack her things and make her way down to campus today, with a roommate moving out and a new one moving in. She can’t afford to be distracted when she has two back to back finals and she would be damned if she failed them all because Alysanne had picked a bad time to move out.

The train lurches to a stop outside Blackwater station and she manages to push her way out of the car before the doors lock her back inside. It is not a far walk to the university library but she cannot help but think that it feels farther today, nerves wracking at her like they are. She nearly sighs in relief when she walks through the doors and finds a free table on the third floor, hidden behind some bookcases and overlooking the courtyard.

It isn’t long before she has three textbooks, two notebooks, and her laptop sprawled across the tabletop, scrolling through past cases she knows Professor Redwyne likes to cite. He is well known for his difficult exams- even for a law class- but she likes to think she has some kind of advantage over her classmates. She has had him before, though it was in undergrad, and thinks she has some idea of what he likes to test on. If she’s lucky, his exams won’t be too different from one another.

She isn’t sure how long she sits there for, comparing her notes with those in the text and lecture slides and reading court cases until her eyes feel as though they are about to bulge out of her skull, but it is long enough for her stomach to start to rumble. There’s a café across the courtyard and she considers getting up to stretch her legs and grab something to eat but the thought of losing her table ensures that she stays exactly where she is.

A coffee cup is placed in front of her while she’s contemplating, the chair opposite her screeching as it’s pulled back from the table. She pulls off her headphones, brows furrowed in confusion, only for her face to fall when she catches sight of Aemond Targaryen making himself comfortable across the table.

She sighs heavily. “What do you want, Targaryen?”

“Easy. The coffee is a peace offering.”

It isn’t that she hates Aemond, she just cannot stand him. They had been cursed to be in the same classes since the start of law school and she cannot remember a time where he didn’t have something to say. He treated class as if it were a competition and she was his greatest rival. He had a contrarian response for every question she answered and class discussions had turned into a ravenous debate between them more than once. If she was being completely honest, she thinks he’s a pompous, arrogant, know-it all with some weird vendetta against her. And perhaps she could forgive all that- this was law school and it was in near every student’s nature to be fiercely competitive- if not for the fact that he flaunted his familial wealth at near every opportunity. That combined with his insufferable personality had never done much to endear her to him.

Begrudgingly, she snatches the coffee and pulls it closer, reading the order label. How he knows her order, she has no idea, but she can admit he has always been uncomfortably observant. It wouldn’t take much effort to look over her shoulder in class and read her order when he was bored. If he ever got bored at all. She takes a hesitant sip before deeming it correct and setting it back down.

“What do you want?”

“A favour.”

Read the rest here

Taglist- @docmartinis @backyardfolklore

[lutewife]

luci with a short ma le reader the uses as an arm rest please?

Shorter!reader, male!reader, reader has anger issues, Lucifer is a smug mf, mutual pining

Warnings: Silliness all the way

Notes: I gotchu darlin'. My first ever male reader request, finally!! Sorry if it's too short (get it? short haha...), I have writer's block rn, so it's hard for me to even get to work 🥹🥹 But I cannot leave my requests hangin', so have it, nevertheless! Enjoy.

First of all, damn how come you're shorter than Lucifer?

Well, at least you're taller than Niffty, that's something. I'm sorry

The demon wonders that too when he first meets you. Considering that the first thing you do is...

Laugh at him.

"Damn, who would've thought that the king of hell would be this..." You gesticulate with your hand. "...Small."

You have the nerve to behave like that towards him, I'll give you that.

But the sight of Lucifer standing next to Alastor, who's a freaking giant compared to him is just too funny.

Until the irritated monarch comes up to you.

Everything would be fine, if it weren't for that you are MUCH shorter than him.

Damn it, genes!

The sight from above would be even funnier; an angry duckling, just looking up.

But he wasn't looking up, he was looking down. And he was fucking terrifying.

But hot.

You were just about to say "Sorry, daddy", but bit your tongue.

That would be kinda gay.

And a death wish to the boot.

But to your surprise, you weren't dead — yet. Instead, you felt something resting on your head.

Which was his arm.

How the tables have turned...

"Sooorry, couldn't hear you from down there, what were you saying?" He exaggerates smugly and leans into you even more, causing you to bend under the weight.

Oh, come on! You're not even that short! (You are.)

You try to free yourself from the fallen angel's strength, but fail miserably, as his smile widens even more.

So this is your life now...

From now on, whenever Lucifer visited the hotel, he bullied you, mercilessly.

Although the demon wouldn't admit it himself, it was only because he took a liking to you and your snarky behaviour.

That's why he loved turning it against you.

You were drinking with Husk? Lucifer sat next to you and used your head as an arm rest, causing you to slouch in your seat, comically.

You were trying to decorate the hotel with everyone and couldn't reach somewhere?

"Hey, dumbasses! I can't reach the place you made me 'decorate'!" You yelled with irritation. Why was the world always against you? After Angel told you to chill and Charlie apologized a little too much, Lucifer appeared. "Dad?! What're you..." "Don't worry sweetie, I got this." After saying this, he immediately scoops you up and using his wings, he flies up to the place (or rather much higher than it was needed). You blush furiously and swear him out in every language you know, just to hide the fact, that you like being bridal carried by him a little too much. Gay. "Y-You! You dumbass king! You, you, you...! You dumbo! Dumb bitch!" "Stop struggling! Is dumb the only word you know?!"

Anyway, you try to break free, and it ends with you falling on Lucifer and him falling face flat on the floor. Ouch.

Well, to put it mildly, your relationship was... Funny. One day, you were vibing in the library, as usual. But you couldn't reach the book on the last shelve, even after standing on a stool. Great. (Un)fortunely for you, Lucifer was just looking for you. Seeing you struggle as always put a smile on his face. "Need some help with getting that?" "Shut the fuck up. I can get this myself." You jumped up on the stool, but with no result. You tried to do it more times, but it was the same. "Sooooo?" God, you wanted to wipe his stupid, smug grin off his face. But you didn't have a choice. Bearing yourself, you groaned. "Get that for me." "Couldn't hear you from down there, what did you say?" "I'm... I'm literally higher than you, now." He ignored his obvious slip up and you sighed. "Can you..." You groaned again. "... Please, get that for me?" When you still didn't receive a reaction, you asked, as if on the verge of irritation. "...Seriously?" "Yes." He straightened out. You facepalmed, cringing, but said it either way, in monotone voice. "Oh, the all mighty and incredibly hot king of hell, please, for fuck's sake, GET ME THE BOOK!" Wow. You really had stroked his ego with that. Apart from the last part. "Gladly." In a blink of an eye, he flies up and, as if teasingly, leans on you to reach the shelf. Unfortunately, the stool you were standing on wasn't a very stable thing. So naturally, you fell down. And it looked painful. Lucifer hadn't expected that in the slightest, probably forgetting his strength. So when you let out a pained groan, he starts to panic. Blabbering incoherently, he fails to notice that you are okay and have literally stood up a while ago. Your irritation has now reached its peak. Who gave him the right to be this fucking cute while being so annoying at the same time?! You pull the literal king of hell by his bow tie to reach your level. Your noses were basically touching at this point. You definitely were intruding his personal space, but your anger was stronger than your common sense. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up." You whispered harshly. And as if subconsciously, without even feeling the movement of your body, you pulled him into a kiss, in which you expressed all of your pent-up frustration. Utterly flustered Lucifer didn't even know how to react, so he just gave into your heated frustration. After a while though, you move away and look into his confused eyes, slowly realising what you did. You turn around, not to show your undoubtedly too red face. "You are so fucking annoying, dumbass." You just say, trying not to voice break while doing so. You quickly run away from the situation, leaving the profusely blushing Lucifer completely flabbergasted. And then... "LET'S FUCKING GOOO!" You just cheered, being able to be finally honest.

End notes: Maybe it's not any good, but I tried to cook up something a little different! I hope you've enjoyed this lil' drabble and stay tuned for new posts!

[deeoccasionallyspeaks]

satoru takes up a large amount of space. no matter where you go or who all is there, he is sure to be the standout simply because his presence is so overwhelming (but in a good way).

good for him, as he loves the attention. bad for you, in the sense that people cannot stop gawking at your man.

you take him to one of your job’s holiday parties as your plus one. and you’d mentioned your lovely boyfriend to your coworkers on multiple occasions, but as your fairly new, this is their first time meeting him in person.

“be nice, toru. i work with these people every day so don’t be weird” you warn him in a playful tone, knowing that they’ll all love him but also reminding him not to lay it on too heavy.

“i’ll be good, sweetheart. i promise” he replies with that signature cheeky grin, but you know he genuinely plans to behave. he knows how important this is to you, you’ve been yapping about all week (his words, not yours).

& he does keep his word. maybe a little too well.

he’s making conversation with your coworkers, introducing himself as your “other half”- overall mingling perfectly well. all up until you start noticing a couple of them grouped in the corner, staring satoru down as if he were a piece of meat. you’re not dumb, obviously you know what they’re thinking:

“wow, he’s hot”

“& he’s with y/n?”

“i just would never expect the two of them together… good for them”

if you hadn’t introduced him as your boyfriend of 4 years, you’re absolutely certain they’d find the quickest way to weasel themselves into his life - or maybe even just his pants. you can’t help the jealousy that blooms in you.

but satoru, ever the most observing partner (and also sickeningly in love with you), notices the slight furrow in your eyes. who sees that you’re clearly uncomfortable with something - he’s just not quite sure what yet. so he does what any man who’s unbelievably in love does and walks over to you, briefly excusing himself from the people he was previously engaging with, & slinks his arm around your waist in a manner that seems almost innate to him. he noses into your ear, quietly whispering “hey, you good?”

& that’s the thing that amazes you the most about him. a lot of people will say satoru is full of himself; failing the capacity to care for others as much as he does himself. but they don’t know your satoru. the one who subconsciously puts your favorite tea blend on the counter in the morning because he knows for a fact that you’ll want it today. the one who offers to help you look through and sort your emails after a long day at work (he has not a clue how your job works, but is willing to help nonetheless). the one who pulls your feet into his lap and starts massaging them because he saw you slightly wince when taking your shoes off for the day.

& because of that, you’ll never worry or care about those who throw themselves at him. because you know for damn certain that you are his & he is yours.

you turn your head to look up at him, not being able to hide the smile finding its way to your face.

“im great, baby”

——————————————

i wrote this while drinking wine and i did not proofread it; im just in love with him is all. i want to live in his skin

[fengqingtrashgolbin]

alright go on then. fengqing for the ask game

Yay ok <3

SO

- Gives nose/forehead kisses

FX gives MQ nose kisses AND rubs his nose against MQ's own because he's cute and sappy like that.

MQ kisses FX between on the forehead when he frowns to get him to relax his brows. He says he only does it because "You're going to get wrinkles and people will think I'm dating some old fuck."

- Gets jealous the most

Hands down MQ.

FX cannot for the life of him get a hint when someone hits on him and he thinks people are simply friendly. MQ won't say something but anytime some poor person tries to talk FX up, MQ is right there behind him staring daggers in their soul. FX still wanders why the nice lady at the gym stopped talking to him after that one time MQ went to practice with him.

- Picks the other up from the bar when they’re too drunk to drive

Cannon MQ can't drink. SO modern au MQ is a fucking lightweight. SOOOO when MQ goes out for drinks with HC and HX (they're goth besties) and they drink like they both have bionic livers, he tries to keep up. He fails miserably and he ends up practically hugging the counter mumbling about how hot his boyfriend is and how he should tell him he loves him more often. FX picks him up after HC calls him. The drive to their house from the bar is 15 minutes but they make it 25 minutes cause MQ keeps trying to climb on FX's lap while he drives. "NOOOOOO. YOU DONT GET IT. I LOVE YOU LET ME HUG YOU."

"MQ. Baby. I get it.BUT GET OFF ME WE'RE GONNA FUCKING CRASH."

- Takes care of on sick days

Both<3

FX is whiny when he's sick and he needs CONSTANT attention. MQ is with him 24/7 checking up on him, making sure he eats, drinks fluids and gets his meds (and forehead kisses).

MQ won't ever admit being sick. But knowing him as long as he does, FX can see the signs. Runny nose, red eyes, zoning out. But FX also knows that MQ won't accept help so he's learned to be stealthy with it. If he succeeds in getting MQ to sleep on their bed, he knows that when morning comes he'll stay there, huddled under the covers and accept his boyfriend's care.

- Drags the other person out into the water on beach day

MQ goes to the beach exclusively because that's one of the only places where he can show of his swimsuit collection (he designs and makes them by himself). He won't even go out under the sun because he'll be damned if he let's himself get sunburns, or even worse, tan lines. FX does not give a flying fuck about all that and literally drags MQ by the foot in the water, because "He's being stupid as fuck."

- Gives unprompted massages

FX when MQ has spend 9+ hours on his desk, working non stop on some project. Talking to him won't make him leave his work unfinished, but these massages make him melt under FX hands.

- Drives/rides shotgun

They both do both. But MQ prefers being the one driving in the city especially when there's traffic, because FX is very vocal in his complaints about other people's driving (rage road galore).

- Brings the other lunch at work

In my mind MQ works from home as a fashion designer and FX works as a personal trainer in a gym. So I don't know about lunch BUT when MQ passes by the gym FX works at he brings him smoothies .

- Has the better parental relationship

Both. But MQ is a huge mama's boy so this is his prompt <3. MQ's mom loves FX's as her own son at this point and the both join her for dinner every week.

- Embarrassingly drunk dancer

FX has to get A LOT of alcohol in his system in order to get drunk. But when he manages to get there. He's unstoppable. It doesn't matter whether they're in a pub or a club he WILL get on the bar and dance. A couple of years ago, they celebrated PM's birthday in a newly opened club. PM made him drink 7 shots in a row and he ended up on the bar almost stripping to "It's raining men". MQ has the whole thing on video and says it was one of the most embarrassing moments of his life (he won't show the video to anyone though because FX saw him, winked at him, and the sound he made in response to that is the actual thing he's embarrassed about).

- Still cries watching Titanic

FX. And MQ makes fun of him for it.

- Firmly believes in couples costumes

MQ makes costumes for the both of them every Halloween. Last year they went as Morticia and Gomez Adams. FX was sure that they would win the costume contest but XL and HC won instead. They were dressed as salt and pepper shakers and MQ is convinced HC threatened the judges somehow.

- Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas

FX because MQ still won't buy expensive stuff for himself, even though he can easily afford to now. They will go shopping, MQ will see a bunch of clothes he wants to buy but won't buy them because "That's too expensive I don't need it." FX keeps a mental list of all those things and when Christmas comes around he buys what he thinks MQ will like best and spends an embarrassing long time wrapping it it in ugly wrapping paper.

- Makes the other eat breakfast.

FX has a very strict diet routine because of his job. So he gets up, washes up, and makes breakfast. Pancakes, waffles, omelets, oat bowls, avocado toast, you name it. MQ on the other hand gets up from bed, does his 12 step morning skin care routine, practically inhales a cup of americano and gets straight to work. FX gas been trying to get MQ to eat breakfast with him ever since they started living together. Sometimes he succeeds, sometimes he fails, sometimes he ends up with egg in his hair.

- Remembers anniversaries

MQ keeps track of all their anniversaries. ALL of them. First date. First kiss. First introduction to Ju Yang. First day in their joint apartment. He insists they celebrate all of them. The only date he can't remember is when they first met and it drives him insane.

- Brings up having kids

FX gets to have Cuo Cuo two weekends per month. The first times were chaos. He was not equipped to handle a baby. He doesn't have the patience or the mental strength. But then MQ started helping out. And he magically made everything better. He could make Cuo cuo stop crying with a hug. He could get him to stop biting with a firm "Sweetheart, stop that."

So one day, when they were hanging out in their living room, MQ on the carpet playing with the kid FX starts thinking. Of how MQ wasn't there for CC's first year but he still acts and feels like a parent. And how that's unfair because at this point MQ IS CC's parent and he should have gotten the chance to be there. FX thinks if they had a kid, he could give that to him and it warms his heart. He waits until they put CC to bed and cuddles MQ on the couch.

FX "You know, seeing you with CC, I keep thinking about how sweet you would be with an even younger baby."

MQ "How and why would I have a younger baby?

FX "Well, I could give you one"

FX winks and MQ gets up, kicks him on the shin and heads to the bathroom to "prepare for bed" pretending he's not thinking about whether their baby would have FX's golden eyes or his own silver hair.

I know I went a bit overboard. I can't write actual fics because my attention span is close to zero. So when I see mini HC prompt I go all out. Also I love them way too much.

[mymainwastoocluttered]

Actual Snake Boyfriend (Jamil)

Huh, a giant snake? Well, it's not like you can be surprised by whatever this new world throws at you– wait, is that Jamil?

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Naga! Jamil. A bit suggestive at the end?

Just some silliness, really. Prolly OOC.

— (⁠☞ﾟ⁠ヮﾟ⁠)⁠☞

Turning oneself into animals through magic is possible, but terribly taxing. Without proper training, one could overblot almost immediately

So the safest option is to drink a potion to change forms

(or to be Jack and have an Unique Magic that changes you into an ani)

But going back to the potions, they aren't simple to make, but a skilled potionologist can do it fairly easy

And when we're talking potionology, what duo is more qualified than Jamil and Azul?

(well, Vil and Rook, but shhhh)

At least, that's what they thought when Crewel told the class their task for the day

Except there was a slight miscalculation somewhere along the line

And now Jamil is a snake. Literally.

From waist down, he's a snake. Big, long snake, with shiny red, black and gold scales. Some scales also made their way up his back and under his eyes.

A few other things changed too: his nails became sharper, his fingers now a black gradient, his pupils are now slitted, and with his too long forked tongue, he can feel his already sharp canines become actual fangs.

Great. Jamil is very happy. Yay.

Thankfully, Crewel told him the effects of the potion would dissipate soon enough, maybe even later this same day.

So now he has to go through his day with about six feet of snake attached to his waist. At least he learns how to move quickly enough, not thanks to the Leech's terrible "tail advice"

Now, if only his crush the Prefect would stop staring.

— (⁠☞ﾟ⁠ヮﾟ⁠)⁠☞

"Can I help you?"

"Uh? Ah. No... sorry..." (Y/N) quickly looks away, failing to pretend she's interested on the book sitting on the counter in front of her.

It's been a few hours since Jamil turned into a naga, so he's had enough time to get used to the stares. He's never been one for having attention on him—easier to plot and scheme, after all—, but he can ignore most of it easily enough... unless the one staring is the Prefect, the Housewarden of Ramshackle. His heart cannot take being the recipient of her attention, specially when she seems to be drinking in his image with her eyes—if he's allowed to be a bit of a poet.

"You're staring again, Prefect," he points out as soon as he feels her gaze on him again, eyes glued on the food he's preparing in the hopes he won't blush too apparently.

Damn his stupid heart and its need to go in overdrive every time the girl is near. The time before his overblot was so much easier, when she was but a pawn for him to use. Now that he sees her as the incredible person she is, he has nowhere to escape.

"... Jamil, are you familiar with the term 'monster fucker'?"

If Jamil was eating something, he for sure would've died in a coughing fit.

"Pardon me?"

"Monster fucker is someone who is attracted to non-human beings, particularly the, uh, less human looking ones."

"..."

"..."

"... you want to fuck me?" is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, because it's the only thing his brain can process right now. Thankfully, he turned off the fire before she said that, or he'd burn something.

"Jams, you're the prettiest boy in this school, and I really like you, and you look really hot as a naga. Of course I want to fuck you!"

The hoodie is not enough for him to hide. He needs to dig a hole and die there right now. Not only because of his embarrassment over the sudden confession, but also because now that he is giving her 100% of his attention, his now heightened senses are telling him more things than he wants to know. Like the thumping of her heart, or the soft rustling of her rubbing her legs together, probably to alleviate tension.

Tension caused by Jamil.

And don't even get him started on the tantalizing smell of her arousal.

Dammit. The food will have to wait.

[garciaasfluffypen]

bright beginnings pt. 10

pairing: single dad!joseph quinn x fem!reader  wc: 868  warnings: grace being sneaky but in a good way i promise

part nine • part eleven

a/n: hi sorry im so bad at uploading mental health went poopy stinky but im back

“grace elizabeth vandien!” joe gasped, practically hitting the phone out of grace’s hand. “you did not just friend request my employee!” 

“well she’s cute and clearly you need to get your head out of your ass, so if you don’t do it i will.” 

“you’re not playing cupid.”

“and you’re stupid if you think i’m going to listen to you.” 

“i cannot believe you’ve done this.” 

“well believe it, buckaroo. this is happening whether you like it or not.” 

joe had to stop himself from shoving grace off the couch, instead choosing to throw a pillow at her face before getting up to pace the room. there was no way this was going to turn out good. there absolutely wasn’t. but it wasn’t like he was nervous, right? granted, the last person he was with was julia. she didn’t really do much in terms of their relationship, seeing as it appeared to be purely transactional. and the fact that she left the kids with joe a majority of the time. he wasn’t going to lie, the honeymoon phase was nice, but it didn’t last much longer than six months before he started noticing a few things. then six turned into twelve, julia got pregnant and those twelve months turned into 23 with divorce papers in his hands. and now the twins were three, he was sex deprived and dear god, he just-- 

but he couldn’t, could he? he wasn’t going to lie, y/n was one of the only things on his mind lately. okay so maybe he had looked at her profile picture on facebook for too long. and memorized the freckles on her cheeks and how some of them almost looked like the little dipper if you squinted just enough. or how her cousin commented “so hot so pretty you need a boyfriend” on every profile picture and y/n would just reply with an eyeroll emoji and a “get me one then”. how she laughed so gracefully when the kids at the daycare did something funny. or cute. or both. how she took such great care of the twins and didn’t care at all that they attached themselves to her. 

yeah, maybe he needed a new relationship. he needed to stop thinking about y/n. he needed--

“joe, get out of your head.” grace lightly slapped his cheeks. “i promise i won’t say anything too out of pocket to her.” 

“grace!” 

“i’m joking! mostly. listen, you know your worth and you deserve to have it. julia can suck my ten inch clit, and if she pulls a fuss to her lawyer about you moving on you can literally bring up the fact she leaves you with the kids and breaks her custody agreement almost weekly to go fuck some guy on whatever costal island she flies to with daddies money. you. deserve. so. much. better. don’t stop yourself from pursuing this because of some silly little lady who can’t tell her left from her right.”

“i— she’s not directionally challenged.”

“that’s not my point.” grace rolled her eyes. “stop being such a worry wort and just get back out there! what’s wrong with going on one date with y/n?” 

“well for one, if it goes bad we might lose our best employee.” 

“i doubt she would quit if the date goes that roughly. and you gotta believe in yourself, dude. you had everyone in college swooning over you. it’s a surprise you’re not playing some heartthrob metal head somewhere on tv that everyone is going to fall in love with.”

“stop reminding me of my failed dreams.” joe dramatically flopped back on the couch. “i’d much rather be on tv than running a daycare.”

“but you’re doing a damn good job at it. honestly? i think it's your calling.” 

“huh?”

“working with kids. maybe you could like, develop a show about a couple in a daycare that falls in love and has like ten babies.” 

“y/n and i are not going to have ten babies.” 

“i never said that.” grace cheekily smiled as she typed away on her phone. “and besides, you never know what’ll happen.” 

“i have two, and they are more than enough right now, thank you very much.” 

grace rolled her eyes. “puh-lease, you want more kids and you know it.”

“i do know it, but i have two three year olds.” 

“and like, how many girls watching them constantly? joe. i’m going to be blunt and you’re going to take it. you need to get laid. and i’m going to help you get laid.” 

“i- grace…” 

“listen, i’m gonna find you someone. even if it’s on tinder, okay?” grace pushed herself off of the couch. “i’m gonna head out because i have an 8am, but i’ll send you updates. also send me your favorite pictures of yourself in case i end up making you a tinder.”

“i don’t want to be on tinder.”

“i’ll do bumble then.” grace paused in the doorframe.  “oh, before i forget, y/n and i are getting tea tomorrow, i’ll let you know how it goes!” 

and with that, grace shut the door and joe was left to once again scream into his pillow.

[xleeleeboox]

Eddie Munson headcannons!!

Warnings: Some cussing, insecurity, at home piercings, dares, Eddie being a lil cute a lil gross a lil weird

686 words

——————

* goes into the changing room with you

* When you go shopping, he looks at all the things you’ve picked up or liked and picks something out to buy later to surprise you

* Literally saved up as much money as he can to spoil you, and ends up spending all his money even if you haven’t asked for a single thing

* Does not regret it

* But he did get a real job to make more money to take you out in more dates

* He’s actually really insecure in the relationship and he’s actually a little shy

* His favorite flavors are cherry and grape

* Hates watermelon flavor unless it’s sour

* Goddamn he loves him some sour fucking candy he loooooves it like destroys his mouth because of it

* Isn’t a big fan of chocolate (or so he says)

* Is not a picky eater usually, but if it’s even a little weird, he won’t eat it

* Unless it’s processed then he’s eating it

* Doesn’t like going into nicer restaurants only likes diners and stuff

* But for you, every once in a while he save up s lot of money to take you out somewhere nice

* He has to go shopping for nicer clothes because he just has his metal and casual clothes

* Cannot iron, cannot cook, cannot bake, cannot sew, can’t fix a leaky pipe, but damn he sure can fix your car

* Has eaten a cicada shell for a dare

* Gareth told you that and Eddie just smiled proudly at you

* He shows you off as much as he can, but in the beginning of the relationship he was worried about what people would think of you for being with him, again being insecure

* But you have shown him many many times that you do not care, he shows you off now

* But every once in a while he keeps it more on the down low around certain people because he knows they can be brutal

* Really likes the color yellow, like a light yellow because it reminds him of you but it doesn’t match his “aesthetic” so he never wears it

* The only not dark outfit he has that he likes is a pair of really light blue acid wash jeans and a cut up white t shirt

* You go feral for it, respectfully because fuck he’s hot ya know

* He has tried to paper mache things for a D&D set but failed miserably

* No night lights but this fucker sleeps with the blinds partially open

* Loves snails??

* You beg him to let you do his makeup and he pretends to hate it but he actually loves when you do his makeup because you do well and he gets to be close to you

* Loooooves to shower with you, I mean loves it’s his favorite thing ever

* Only pulls his hair back into a ponytail or bun with your scrunchies

* Hates iced coffee, in fact he’s the kind to drink it black or black with a looot of sugar

* Made you help him pierce his own earlobe at home lmao you did pretty good

* He tries to make you as many gifts as he can because he just loves doing it, but when you make him something, for some reason it always blows him away and it’s like a pea on a string

* Pictures of you and his friends are probably taped up all over his room

* None of his clothes are in his closet or dressers, he has the ‘depression chair’ iykyk

* Let you tied a bow in his hair ONE TIME at school and hellfire never let it go, Chrissy never let it go, you never let it go because you made him flower crowns after that

* Loves getting you flowers, it’s ones of his favorite things to do, when he sees one that he think you’ll like the colors of and it’s the flowers you like, get gets it and there doesn’t even need to be a reason

* You can tease him as much as he teases you and he ain’t gonna say a thing about it

* Alright I have to stop bc I’ve got more comin

——————

[thesmutalorian]

Yeah  they made the feral predator way too hot. The credits came on and I immediately went to Ao3 like “let’s see what the girlies have to say about thissssss” 🤭 I saw the original predator almost a decade ago and as much as I liked it, never would of guessed I’d be here now 🙂

 the ooman shit kills me, like why do they have these scary ass aliens saying such silly shit I’m gonna die. 

Turns ouuuuut, I actually have more to sayyyyy, but you don’t have to respond: I feel bad bc I don’t have an Ao3 account so I can never comment, but Gorl if I did, id have a whole essay for every chapter, including reaction images 😤. Ik you aren’t currently writing from Ta'Kesh’s POV (which is perfectly fine lol), but I really appreciated how you did so. The predator POV is so fun to read, they’re just so damn cold and pragmatic and just ALIEN yk? (Ta’kesh makes me laugh bc he’s such a lil psycho lol). At least when done right I think. The dynamic you have set up is really interesting, like I love a good slow burn enemies to friends to lovers, but the cultural differences and species hierarchy sets it up for some really fascinating (JUICY) interactions/character development. I was unfortunate enough to come upon your story very early, there aren’t many other fics that hold up to the standard you set! (Have you read The Devil You Know? One of the only other quality fics I’ve found that seems to accurately portray that sort of dynamic- 10/10 recommend). 

But anyway, the arrogance, the entitlement, just the cold bluntness makes predator fic so engaging to me. When you take a person with that deeply ingrained of a mindset (that’s another aspect I love, the question of whether or not yautjas are innately “predatory” or if it’s largely due to cultural upbringing) and force them to interact with with someone they deem inferior in a way they never have had to before (and there was only ONE BED heheh) I’m eating that shit up with 2 hands like GOOD SOUP!!😤😤😤

 I appreciate it even more with a quality OC and I like Charlie a lot. I really struggle with reader/you fics bc beyond me just being like “lol I would not do that”, I like having an established character to root for :). She has an interesting past that you’ve managed to portray in an appealing and unostentatious way. Reminds me of Rust cohle from True Detective.  I like that she’s very brave, but not to the point of ridiculousness lol. She has her moments where she’s able to act courageously in order to try to survive, but still gets intimidated/scared (extremely valid) sometimes with the big ass scary aliens. Do you have anyone in mind for how she looks?

Some highlights so far:

Greatly enjoyed ta’kesh’s cringe fail lake venture where Charlie showed his ass up while he fucking stands in the background looking like a drowned ass rat ahahah but watching her Commit Violence like 👀

Idk why but aliens using bidets is so fucking funny to me

Kinda living for ta’kesh being a dork and talking to his cat all the time hehe

let me see what the girlies have to sayyyyy 👏🏼 absolutely the correct response. my friend and I stand by that alien v predator could've been entirely more romantic if they were brave enough but 🤪 no cause literallyyyyy when I read ooman I hear it in a baby voice and I canNOT take it seriously, like bless those authors truly but whoever started the ooman precedent.... I just wanna talk 🧍🏻‍♀️ and girly pop ofc I'm gonna respond you took the time to let me know how you feel and I /love/ interaction okay (I think there's a way to comment anon on ao3 with like a guest account or name or something but maybe I'm wrong idk) but either way you take the time I want to show my appreciation

I stopped his POV just cause I felt like I was backtracking and I'm already so slow (rip sorry) but I really do want to come back to it in the future just to have fun revealing his inner workings (cause sometimes I be writing things and giggling like pookie is such a brat and then I remember y'all can't hear the goofy ass voices in my head and you only know the story I show you) but yes yes their differences are gonna play out in so many ways that I just can't wait for 😇 AND YES IVE READ FRIGGY one of the few I made it all the way through and then had to literally have a whole moment to process that there wasn't a second part 😗😗 sick I tell you, sick,, but I completely understand the not being able to read FPOV or self insert because of the "ummm I would never" --- because that's EXACTLY how I started writing 💀😭 I was chatting w my friend and we were like ok but isn't it kinda weird how fast some of these fmc just like... accept the whole ass murder crab men? also--- how do they survive well in space and from there Charlie was born ahahahHA I was like ok but what if I made it realistic for bits (as realistic as scifi can be) and then asked people to suspend their disbelief for the fun bits like the space pond and the tail n shit 🤭🤭

I have a whole board of art for ta'kesh but I've never really stopped to think about Charlie 🧐🧐

YES DROWNED RAT IS SOOOOO RIGHT mans really does have an ego, which, like rightfully earned? but also... must be checked whenever author feels he needs it (all the time 😇)

the bidet was me being like what is something that isn't necessarily commonplace, but feels bougie enough that an advanced society would have it regularly around.... ah yes.... Bidet.

ta'kesh is a cat girl, confirmed

I promise to bring you more good soup in the future 🍲

[jjorbles]

(Repost) The real reason for Warner/DC’s “no jokes” policy

Note: This article was originally posted September 4th, 2014 on the Agony Booth, which I used to write for. Since that site is sadly no longer with us, I’m reposting my old articles here.

First, I might as well get this out of the way, since I still get confused comments about this: Yes, I like Man of Steel significantly less than I did when I wrote my initial review last year. Honestly, I don’t think I ever truly liked it. I just so very badly wanted to. I clung to the elements that worked and told myself those niggling doubts in the back of my head didn’t matter. I wanted so much to like Man of Steel, had myself so on edge, torn between excitement and dread, and so turned around that in my zeal to be a “professional” critic and judge whether or not the film was “objectively” good, I managed to overlook the most important factor of all while watching it:

I wasn’t having fun.

After all, if you’re not having fun watching a damn superhero movie, what’s the point? Sure, comics can have different goals than pulp entertainment. They can be dramatic, or dark and depressing, or spiritual, or psychedelic, or whatever the imagination can conceive, just like any art form. But this isn’t Watchmen. This isn’t The Invisibles or Maus. This is Superman. Ground zero for the comic book superhero. And if you’re not having fun watching Superman, why are you watching to begin with?

And that was ultimately what killed Man of Steel for me. Not it being a bad movie (though it was very much that, failing to do a good job of being what it wanted to be, much less what I wanted it to be), but rather utterly joyless and morose. Even more so than the Dark Knight trilogy, Man of Steel was completely devoid of levity. And after so much anticipation, and so much promise, this was completely soul-crushing for me. Superman means something to me, and always has. This is a character I draw hope and inspiration from, a character who’s helped get me through my darkest days. And to see him drained of all that optimism and joy… I honestly think it broke something in me.

Ever since, I’ve been a more cynical person when it comes to movies. I find it much harder to get excited for anything movie-related anymore. Every time a new movie is announced that sounds like something I might like, I react with suspicion or apathy. The world of cinema post-Man of Steel just seems like a far bleaker place to me.

That may sound melodramatic, and it probably is. But as if to assure me I’m justified in feeling this way, along comes rumors that Warner Brothers has instituted an already infamous “no jokes policy” for all future DC movies.

Everybody together now…

(EDIT: I cannot find or remember what image was originally posted here as a follow up to that line)

I honestly can barely find the words right now. I feel crushed by the very idea of what lies ahead. I’m still feeling drained from Man of Steel, and the thought that there are more movies coming just like it, each just as depressing as the last… I just want it to stop. I don’t want to live in a world where this is what Superman is now. Where this is what Wonder Woman, what the whole Justice League is. I’d rather never see them onscreen again than have to sit through another movie like Man of Steel.

But I’ll try to compose myself long enough to say something of substance about this. Which is difficult, because as it is, it actually doesn’t seem to tell us all that much. For instance, exactly how literal a mandate is this? Are they actually saying that no kind of humor at all will be permitted in their films? Is any line of dialogue that resembles a joke to be purged from the scripts? Are actors to be forbidden from smiling during their performances? Likely not. After all, even Man of Steel had one or two jokes… I think. Let’s see, there was the bit where he smashes that guy’s truck, I guess. That was sort of a joke. Then there was the bit where that girl said Superman was hot. I think that was meant to be funny… for some reason. And I think Superman smiled once while flying… or maybe that was just a grimace. Ooh, that bit about his “S” we all remember from the trailer! That was a joke, right? Or was that just awkward setup? I really can’t remember; I was busy having my inner child stomped into submission at the time.

But regardless, surely they don’t mean literally no jokes at all. That would be ludicrous. Almost no movie in the history of cinema can claim to be completely devoid of any kind of humor. Hell, even The Act of Killing had humor in it, and that was the most depressing movie of last year (which I’ll remind you is a year that also gave us 12 Years a Slave and Fruitvale Station).

But even if Warners isn’t being completely literal, what do they think actively discouraging humor will accomplish? Who is this meant to appeal to, exactly? Robots? Vulcans? Oscar the Grouch? Is there a single demographic anywhere in the world that does not like humor at all in their movies? Are there actually people who walk into a film saying, “This movie better not make me laugh, not once”?

It’s weird, because from an outsider’s perspective, it feels like Warner Brothers, a company that’s been making films since 1923, has somehow forgotten how movies work. Humor is one of the basic tools of not just movies, but all forms of storytelling. It provides levity, which in turn provides relief from conflict and tension. Without it, the narrative becomes oppressively dull. Drama and tragedy don’t work when there’s no lighter counterpoint to balance them out. Sadness and anger have no meaning when they’re your character’s default state of being. And absolute stone-faced seriousness at all times makes characters cold and impenetrable, which in turn makes it very difficult for audiences to feel engaged.

Why? Why do this? What is to be gained, exactly? Is there some sort of fear that allowing Batman to ever again crack a smile is to risk another Batman & Robin, from which they must forever run in the opposite direction? Why mandate such dour and joyless tones for superhero movies? Why craft a Superman who spreads mass destruction instead of hope? Who sulks and broods instead of comforts and inspires? Who lives in a world of the worst possible tragedies that somehow have no consequences at all? Why does WB want to ban fun?

And then it hit me: Because Superman is Donald Rumsfeld now.

It came to me while reading about some of the plot details of Batman V. Superman: Dawn of Justice, specifically in regards to how Superman’s mass-murdering punch up will be viewed by the general public. What do we know? Apparently, they’ve built a statue of Superman. So it would seem the people of Metropolis aren’t terribly upset that he leveled their city and killed most of them. We even know that a crippled Jimmy Olsen may enter the story as a victim of Superman’s rampage, whose role is apparently to be totally cool with his horrific injuries. We’re told he still loves Superman, despite the fact that he, you know, maimed him for life. Because he saved the world, it’s all good.

And suddenly it all becomes clear. This is Christopher Nolan’s right-wing politics working their way into Superman the way they worked their way into Batman. This is turning Superman into a metaphor for U.S. actions in Iraq, by having him destroy an entire city full of innocents to kill one guy, and trying to make us feel like it was completely justified. It doesn’t matter who gets hurt along the way, as long as we get the bad guy. This is basically the misguided U.S. fantasy of the rest of the world loving us for what we’ve done in the Middle East. The filmmakers even give Superman a whole arc about rejecting and then violently destroying the remnants of his alien heritage, and then they throw in that “I’m as American as it gets” scene just to solidify him as America personified.

Regardless of your personal politics, we should all be able to agree on one thing: Superman should never say “It was for the greater good.” The whole point of Superman is he never has to say “It was for the greater good.” He’s so powerful that he always finds a way to save everyone. That’s the fantasy of Superman: The idea of someone who can fix everything, someone who’s incorruptible and can make everything okay.

Superman is not a character for a “post-9/11 world”, where everything has to be dark and morally ambiguous, with of lots of political undertones. That’s why Man of Steel didn’t work, why Dawn of Justice won’t work, and why this “no jokes” policy is a bad idea. They’re trying to force Superman into a mold that wasn’t made for him. And in order for him to fit into it, he has to be stripped of everything that makes him Superman: Hope, optimism… and fun.

[wincore]

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. 

[hotdamnhunnam]

Ironclad

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: Here’s Part 2 of this fun filthy little fic in which you and your beloved Ironhead are awaiting a sex toy shipment... and in the meantime he decides to improvise with military equipment!

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, dom!Will, light bondage, rough sex, roleplay, knifeplay (but no blood at all), gagging (sort of, nothing too intense lol) Request: Voters chose this option as the winner of my little drabble fic poll!

Word Count: ~1.7k

... Continued from Part 1 [Read Here]

“You know I’m gonna get what I want.”

Never in all his life has Will sounded so dominant. This isn’t the first time you two have indulged in some roleplay, but something about this whole enemy premise that he has decided to bring to the bedroom today... makes your man’s big dick energy even more prominent. Each word that spills from his luscious pink lips is a bomb going off in your wet little cunt.

He’s so savage and strong, and you shudder in silence just mesmerized by the pearl ridge of his teeth and the flickering slick of his tongue. Play the role of the prey that the monster in him lives to hunt. Ironhead knows the best way to rile you up is to torture and taunt.

“Bitch, the war has already been won. All the damage is done,” he goes on. Gloating over the contrast of him being all suited up while you’re lying in bed with no clothes on. Lady parts covered in nothing but lacy pink frills whereas he’s got a thick pair of pants over his cock to hide that it’s now raging stiff. “There’s just one piece of intel that you need to give. Give it up and then maybe I’ll think about letting you live.”

But—but why is that theoretical death threat so painfully hot?!? To indulge in this game you decide that you ought to say something so you summon up all the little resistance you’ve got. “And what if...”

“What if what?” Will quickly interrupts, merciless about shutting you up. Blue eyes dart to the crotch of your panties—he likes what he sees, the damp spot of arousal so noticeable it’s nasty. His gaze is so sharp it could cut. “What if you’d rather keep your mouth shut? Oh, I’ll find ways to get you to give in to me like a good little slut.”

Yeah, okay, you don’t even have balls but somehow you just busted a nut.

Now he’s leaning low over the bed, bringing his flawless face down so close to your own that the sight and the scent of him knock you right dead. Ever since you first met you knew that was the power of Ironhead.

“Like I said,” he snarls husky and deep slaying you even more with the sound of his voice, “bitch, I’m onto you. If you won’t play nice and tell me where they’ve hidden the key, you leave me with no choice. I bet it’s hidden somewhere on you. And I’m gonna search this pretty little body, till I get you to surrender to me... just the way the naughty slut inside you wants to.”

For a second you just lie there stunned, struggling and failing to recover from how hard those words hit your cunt. Unable to believe that this sex god wants you as his wife.

As you’re reeling from feeling so blessed, something then compels your gaze to drop from his face to his chest. To the dark wooden hilt of the weapon Will Miller wields best. At the center of his well-stocked vest is a knife.

For some reason you cannot stop staring at it as he hovers above you and then slowly lowers himself to the mattress with sturdy knees straddling your hips, storm-blue eyes fierce and sparkly and snickering darkly and licking his lips. You have never been so damn aroused in your life.

Reading your mind, searching for all the signs to scope out every unspoken thought he can find... Will then reaches to grip the handle of his blade. It’s the hottest move he’s ever made. And that shit would feel dangerous, if only it weren’t for your level of trust. You trust this man so much. Always have in each game that you’ve played. His dominance makes you feel safe and your only true home is the heat of his iron embrace and his soft loving touch.

Always soft, always so full of love, even more so when it’s raw and rough. You don’t doubt that’s what’s in store tonight and already you can’t get enough.

Leans down over you close. He’s so gorgeous it’s gross. Lets you ogle his breathtaking beauty, while teasing you rudely, the tip of his knife tracing over the outline of your lingerie which has you wrapped in delicate lace and dainty little bows.

For a second he pauses to drop a whisper of a kiss on the tip of your nose—blink and you would’ve missed it—so soft it’s a ghost. All the hot hazy energy buzzing throughout you and bringing you ecstasy gathers right there at that spot on your skin where he kissed it. It’s his favorite way of reminding your inner slut how much he loves her and treasures her although she already knows.

Now that you’ve been reminded, he’s back in the game on the hunt for that make-believe key and determined to find it. Here he fucking goes.

“Now let’s see what the enemy’s hiding,” Will sneers, and it’s music to your slutty ears. You’re already surrendering right fucking here. Even if you wanted to fight him there would simply be no hope of fighting.

Nonetheless when he slides the sharp metal tip under the strip of fabric at your cleavage and jerks it upward till the skimpy lace snaps, you can’t help but let out a shocked gasp. Just what he had planned with this blade, you should really have realized—it wasn’t so hard to anticipate—yet now that the move has been made, it comes as a surprise. No surprise that it feels fucking great. Intensifies the flood between your thighs. Brings you up to the highest of highs.

Some small part of you suddenly feels a bit sad though. This is your single favorite set of lingerie, one of many gifts that Will had gotten for your recent birthday. And this savage tear isn’t something that you can re-sew. 

“Will...” you whine as the corners of your pouty mouth turn down low.

He won’t let you continue. Quickly silences the little brat in you. He slams that door. “Did I tell you to speak, whore?”

... Oh. Fuck if that doesn’t make your already soaked pussy juices flow. 

“That isn’t what this filthy fucking mouth is for,” your man reminds you in a quiet growl that thunders like a roar. He’s such a motherfucking king. “If you won’t tell me what I want to hear then you don’t get to say a fucking thing. You understand?”

You bite your bottom lip and bob your head as all that you can do is yield to his command.

“Mmm, I don’t think you do,” he rasps, reaching to take your hips in his firm grasp, so he can make sure you won’t move then as the cold blade meets the fabric of your panties and rips them right fucking through. “I think there’s still a little fight in you.”

There really isn’t as you need this man inside of you. But in this game you’re playing you pretend as best you can. Pretend that you’re the mortal enemy of this god of a man.

Will lets his weapon clatter to the floor, now that it’s done its work of shredding up your lingerie so he can have you spread before him like a whore. He reaches up then to strip off the heavy scarf that he has tied around his neck but just why he’s removing it you’re not quite sure...

Don’t have to wonder very long. Next thing you know he’s wrapping it around the lower half of your face like a gag and fastening it strong, to make damn sure he doesn’t hear another word off of your tongue.

He’d thought of using it to blindfold you—that would’ve been fun too—but damn are you glad that he didn’t ‘cause you want to witness every kinky thing he’s gonna do.

“That’s better,” he says wickedly and you’ve never been wetter. “Now if you ever want to stop or tell me no, you blink three times real slow. You got that?”

Nod your head, swooning at how the captain never fails to have a system to ensure your safety and consent in bed. He’s just so good at being bad and that’s why he is the best fuck and biggest love you’ve ever had.

He kisses the tip of your nose once again, proud of how well you listen and all ready for the real fun to begin. “Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna make sure that every other part of this pretty naughty little body stays nice and still like it should.”

Next thing you know he takes the carabiner off his vest and the torn shreds of lingerie spread on the bed and somehow in a matter of five seconds—how exactly you can’t even reckon—fashions a contraption that keeps you securely hooked onto the bedframe. Both wrists pinned above your head and fastened to the wood. God, he is so good at this game. So fucking good.

Now you’re all bound and gagged and naked... and at last Will can go hunting for the prize he wants and take it.

Said that he’s searching for some kind of key. Said that he thinks you’ve got the jackpot hidden somewhere on your body.

By the ‘jackpot’ he means G-spot. Obviously. And in all the nights you’ve ever been together honestly, he’s hit that and every goddamn spot you’ve got.

You’re sure tonight will be no different and you’re already exploding at the thought. You’ve never been so hot.

In this role that you’re playing, the secret you’re keeping is locked. Ironclad. 

But it goes without saying... that really you’re just desperate for this sex god to unlock the floodgates of your tight wet cunt with his glorious cock. So fucking desperate to get fucked. And so you do tonight and it feels so good to play roles so fucking bad.

All the equipment on his vest rubs up so rough against the soft flesh of your breasts, as he plows into you and powerfully unlocks the core of pure passionate pleasure in your cunt and in the heart that pounds for him within your chest... fucking like mad... and it’s the motherfucking best. Without a doubt the best sex you and Ironhead have ever fucking had.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

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[nock-and-bolt]

Breaking the Programming

You ever think about Kara, Markus, and Connor breaking into deviancy? 

And how the way that they do it is so illustrative of their character?

First, we have Kara. How she legit stumbles into it. How it was instinctual, yet she was still tentative about putting that first hand against the red wall. But then she puts up a second hand, firming her resolve and confirming this choice, and then she is pushing harder and harder against it until it breaks. It tracks right along with Valorie Curry’s performance at the beginning of the game of portraying Kara as exploring these emotions she’s feeling—uncertain at first, yet undeniably moved by their potency. 

Even the way she talks to Rose with the upward lilt at the end of the line, “I felt like her life was more important than mine?” as though she still cannot quite comprehend these feelings of love-affection-protectiveness she has towards Alice. Though she doesn’t understand it, that doesn’t make it any less real; she still feels it and will do whatever it takes to protect this child.

Ugh, I love it so much—how it was the easiest choice in the world for her to make initially, then the hesitancy, then the determination, and finally the unyielding tenacity to keep pushing at that wall, just like she never stops working to protect and care for her loved ones.

Then we have Markus, our favorite revolutionary. This boi has no hesitancy, no doubts, no uncertainty, (no chill lol). He sees that RA9-damned red wall and immediately chucks a punch straight at it. Then another. And when that doesn’t work, he rams into it with his shoulder, running straight into this thing at full force—twice—before finally banging against it with two fists and his whole soul to shatter that thing into pieces.

Which, again, is just *chef kiss* perfect for him. Because unlike a lot of other androids, Carl has treated him like a living being with value. He knows he deserves better than to be scorned and pushed around and belittled and enslaved. And injustice burns white-hot in his veins. No matter what route you take, peaceful or violent or even failing everything, he never stops caring about this movement and about fighting for his people’s freedom. (And speaking of burning...)

Markus was driven like no android who had come to Jericho before. He didn’t just recognize things were messed up—he was determined to do something about it. He ran at the problem he saw before him and his people, just like he ran into that wall of code, with incredible passion and little regard for his own well-being as long as it got something done.

Last but certainly not least, we've got Connor, the android sent by CyberLife. ;) More than any of the others, his was one that truly felt like a wall for everything it took to reach this point, but man, when he tore his wall of programming down, he tore it down. Curling his fingers into it, bearing down with all his strength and body weight, ripping it to shreds. Not explosive and quick like Markus’ takedown, but painful and slow and a struggle, like Kara’s. Except for Connor, it wasn’t a one-time push; he had to keep going back at it again and again (three times total for those of y’all keeping count) to finally break that barrier down. 

Because that was his journey. It was long, and arduous, and a process of digging his nails into this obstacle and taking it apart brick by brick. For him, empathy, compassion, and autonomy were choices he had to make over and over until he could come to a place where he realized the implications of it and what that meant, where he could grasp this potential future for himself with two hands and decide that yes, this is what he wanted for himself.

For it was absolutely a conscious decision. He did not stumble into deviancy. He was not spurred into it by injustice and the heat of the moment. No, he walked into deviancy with both eyes wide open. It could be argued he was reasoned into it (which fits his logical nature so well btw), and it was a deliberate choice. The build up of every little decision, every scrap of software instability, every ghost of an emotion coming to a head, to the realization that he held the keys to his own prison and had the power to let himself out.

[whorefordazai]

“ THE SOUND OF SILENCE ,,

✿ pairing; akutagawa x gn! reader

✿ genre; fluff | university! au | violinist! akutagawa

✿ warnings; mention of hand cramps

✿ synopsis; a moment in which you steal a kiss from the gifted violin prodigy, leaving your ghost touch tainted in his mind.

✿ notes; my contribution to @tetsustation’s bsd university au collab <33

✿ wc; 1.3k

STRAY SCHOLARS COLLAB MASTERLIST

akutagawa ryunosuke is a prestigious young man.

he wakes up at the crack of dawn, earning only a measly four hours of sleep, and makes his way to the music room. sometimes when he’s feeling decent, he’ll grab a cup of tea.

he stretches his pale arms for exactly two minutes and smooths down his oversized sweater before picking up the carved wooden piece of musical instrument. his violin.

his face will lay on the chin rest while nimble cold fingers pick up the bow and play away at the strings. and there it begins. that feeling. where he can hear nothing else but the soft melody his violin plays.

the sound is an angelic blessing, but also a tiring poison that slowly eats away at his very soul.

eyes snapping back to the familiar redhead poking your shoulder, you intently glare at chuuya.

“you should probably go speak to mr. violin prodigy over there.” he whispers close to your ear, a smirk playing on his lips. your eyebrows narrow, astonished at his proposition. “huh?! i’m sure he’s busy…i wouldn’t want to bother him…”

chuuya let’s out a groaning exhale. “c’mon man. you’ve known each other for months and you still don’t have the guts to conFESS YOUR LOVE FOR—“

“SHUT—SHUT UP!” you quickly silence chuuya’s unnecessary booming words by smacking both your hands over his mouth. from the corner of your vision, you can see akutagawa’s eyes somewhat crack open at the noise. but he doesn’t stop playing. he turns his attention back to his violin.

a breath of relief escapes your lips as you scoff at chuuya, face burning hot. “what is wrong with you?!”

chuuya chuckles. “i swear, it’s getting painful watching the tension between the two of you.”

you bite your lip, fingers digging inside your palms as your eyes glance between akutagawa and the redhead in front of you. “don’t you have stocks to do or something?”

“yeah, yeah. stocks.” chuuya rolls his eyes, sighing as he waves a hand goodbye and leaves you to yourself.

you turn your attention back to akutagawa. the music room is empty, except for the two of you. the raven haired man seems to be heavily concentrated on his violin, his attention definitely not directed to your presence.

shuffling a bit to the left, you quietly take a seat on one of the cold leather cushioned chairs. a small smile forms on your lips when you look at the man in front of you.

his eyes are closed, feather-like brows slightly furrowed in concentration. posture perfectly straight and arms holding up his violin, he continues playing.

every once in a while his back will arch in exhaustion—but he’s quick to straighten it. his arms will start to fall limp before he shakes off the dozy feeling and clicks his teeth in annoyance.

after all, akutagawa ryunosuke is a man who does not give up. no matter the circumstance, nor the cost. he cannot and will not fail.

captivated by the eccentric melody his fingers playing with the bow, a sudden loud sound of a smash jolts you back into reality.

“shit…shit…” he hisses, tightly holding his hand with his face morphed into an irritated discomfort. your eyes trail down to the floor, where his violin lays in a few cracked pieces. gulping, you slowly stand up and move to the raven haired man.

“are you okay?” you cautiously ask, eyeing akutagawa.

he grits his teeth. “i’m fine.” he shortly mutters. you frown. he’s obviously not fine. akutagawa ryunosuke is never just fine. but he’s really damn good at pretending he is.

taking a seat next to his tired figure, you slowly reach out to grab his hands. pausing, you glance into his smoky eyes when a slight flinch pans out.

“you, um…” biting your lip, a sharp exhale leaves your lips. “you have a cramp.”

“well that’s obvious.” he simply states. his voice isn’t the least bit of hostile—it’s smooth and laced with curiosity. he blinks, bug eyes trained on your movements. a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as your thumb brushes across the pink on his knuckles and the bone of his wrist.

raising a brow, you look under the table and pull out a medical kit. taking out the roll of bandages, your head quirks toward the raven haired man. he immediately scowls, already predicting what’s about to happen. “i don’t want your help. i hate being taken care of.”

your lip twitches. before you can stop yourself, the words spill from your mouth. “no, you don’t. no one hates being taken care of. you just hate it when the love isn’t genuine.”

“…you’re calling this love?”

“…i’m calling it genuine.”

he stares at you for a moment, grey eyes displaying a tiny flicker of shock. a short cough leaves lips, and you unroll the bandages. he doesn’t resist your touch this time.

a pleasant yet nervy silence envelopes the room while you gently work your way on his hand. carefully wrapping his wrist, then his palm, you tie the ends of the bandage material. your hand doesn’t leave his once you’re finished.

“thank you.” he shortly mumbles, own hand limp in yours. you chuckle, softly patting his thigh. “what are friends for, huh?”

silence.

steady eyes peer into yours. his words come out as almost a whisper. “…friends?”

your chest tightens at the two simple words. but you don’t dare look up at his face. instead, your own fingers trace the knuckles of his hand. laid on your lap, his hand twitches when you trace the center of his palm. “just friends…”

gulping, you slowly lift your gaze to his face. your heart quickens it’s pace when you realize he’s glancing down at your lips. a cold hand gently clasps your own.

when his eyes look into yours, it’s like they’re searching for something. searching for a sign of want and urge. if he was being bold, perhaps he’d even say a rush. the feeling that’s closest to what playing his violin is like.

the urge act upon so many things he would never dare to say out loud.

just as he’s about to open his mouth to speak, your soft lips are on his.

frozen from shock, akutagawa’s hands stay halted by your waist, not saying to touch. it’s only when your own hand snakes it’s way to tug at his collar, that his eyes flutter shut and he kisses back.

once, twice, and for a third time, his lips meet yours between tiny gasps of air.

you pull away, eyes amplified in shock. the fact that your lips were on his just a few seconds ago registers in your head. smacking both hands to your face, you relish the leftover sweet taste in your mouth. honey flavored cough drops and tea…

akutagawa tilts his head, taking in small breaths of air. he bites back the small quirk that appears on his mouth. looking up at your wide-eyed face, he licks his lips. “do friends…do this?”

the words get caught in your throat. “no! no…friends definitely don’t…” biting your lip and averting your eyes, you grab the bag on your left. standing up, you turn back to the raven haired man. “i have…a class! so i have to go. but…i’ll call you later, alright?”

he can only nod, brain still feeling fuzzy from what happened moments before. glassy eyes traveling your body until it disappears from sight, he trails them back to the violin still broken on the floor.

a small smile starts to tug at the corner of his lips before his face goes red and a cough forms in his throat. this is embarrassing, he thinks. but it’s also the first time he’s felt a rush of anything in months. his fingers brush over his mouth, remembering all the place your lips had been.

akutagawa ryunosuke is a prestigious young man.

he is a prestigious young man who knows nothing about love. but he’d like to learn. after all, prodigies never fail. they’re always victorious.

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