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silverb0wties · 6 months ago

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Lemonade - Part 3

leah williamson x alessia russo x child!reader

Summary: When something bad happens to your Mummy and Daddy, you end up living with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah. But is there room for you considering they have a new baby on the way?

Chapter Summary: You go back to school and you try and make yourself useful

Warnings: bullying, homophobia, misogyny

|| Part 1 || Part 2 ||

PART 3

“30 days has September, April, June and November…”

You had set yourself the task today to make yourself a calendar. Maths had never been your strongest subject in school, but you were excellent at remembering, so you knew the month song off by heart and were mumbling it to yourself as you began digging into your desk draw to retrieve some art supplies.

The decision to make the calendar had hit you last night when you were reading one of your new library books before bed and the return receipt slipped out of the back cover and onto your lap. Normally, it was the very first thing you retrieved when you got home from the library, making sure to mark the return dates down on your big white board calendar on the fridge. But you were still getting used an entirely new routine in your new house and you’d completely forgot to look for the slip.

Now that you had it though, you had to make sure you noted down the dates somewhere you could easily see them. So, with a few pieces of paper, a ruler and some markers, you drew up a calendar for the next few months. By checking the borrow date on the receipt and counting how many days it had been since your library visit, you managed to figure out what todays date was. From there, and with the help of that handy month song, you’d managed to fill in the rest of the dates.

When it was all completed you stepped back to examine your work. If you were honest with yourself, your lines could have been drawn straighter and your handwriting could have been much, much neater. But you didn’t have the energy to redo it, so it would have to do. For now.

You surveyed your room for someone to put it. In your old house your calendar was on the fridge, out in the open for everyone to see and help you keep track of. Here, it needed to be hidden from your Aunties, so that it was your responsibility, and your responsibility alone, to make sure you were staying on top of everything.

Everything.

A wave of guilt crashed over you as you remembered all the other things you would keep track of on your calendar. Now that you were a big girl, you had been helping around the house and you had chores. You would set the table and help take the cups and plates and spoons out of the dish washer (only Mummy and Daddy could touch the knives). You would also check for mail every morning and there was a pretty purple watering can you got use to water the flowers in the front garden a couple of times a week.

But you didn’t do any of that here at your Aunties house.

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

Part of you worried that your Aunties didn’t trust you enough to ask you to help out around the house. Perhaps they thought you weren’t smart enough or strong enough or big enough to lend a hand. Or maybe they were secretly mad that you hadn’t insisted on helping and were keeping a top-secret list of all the times you didn’t help out and they would present it to you on a big, long scroll on the day they kicked you out their house.

You shuddered at the thought of that. That was a day you thought about often. You didn’t know how many days or weeks or months it was until the baby was here, but surely your time here at your Aunties house was running out. You needed to do everything in your power to be good until then so that they didn’t kick you out any sooner.

That night before tea, you made sure to wash your hands extra good before heading into the kitchen where your Aunty Lessi was cooking.

“Aunty Lessi, could I set the table?”

“Oh sure! If you’d like. Just give me a moment and I’ll show you where everything is.”

You grinned in silent satisfaction, glad that it seemed like your Aunty wasn’t outright opposed to you proving your worth. After your Aunty Lessi finished with whatever she was stirring on the stove, she led you over to various cupboards and drawers and pointed out where the placemats, plates and cutlery lived. Whilst there were a few plastic cups in the same cupboard as the plates for you to use, the glasses your Aunties drank out of were on a higher shelf that were too high for you to reach.

“Don’t worry about those, I can grab them” she insisted.

“I could get a chair or something to stand on?”

“Don’t be silly, Bun Bun. I’ll get them. Thank you for getting everything else though.”

Silly. Silly. Silly.

Once you were all sat down for dinner, you watched your Aunty Lessi spin spaghetti around her fork before you took a deep breath in and began.

“Did I do okay at setting the table?”

“You did a great job, Bunny!” Your Aunty Leah was smiling big and bright at you. She had a bit of sauce on her chin, but you thought it would be rude to tell her.

“Do you think I could do it every night?” you asked.

“Uhh… I mean, if you want to, sure.”

Victory. One chore to add to the calendar.

“What about the post? Can I be in charge of checking that too? Does it come in the mornings?”

You observed as your Aunties caught eyes with each other across the table, seeming to have a silent conversation.

“Umm, yes I suppose you could do that if you like,” Aunty Lessi nodded.

“Great! And I can help empty the dishwasher. No knives of course, but I can do spoons and plates and bowls and cups and stuff. And maybe I can water some of your flowers, or all of them? Or I can learn how to do other stuff too. Like I could figure out how to do the laundry or clean the bathrooms or anything you want really…”

You hadn’t really realised, but you had pulled your knees up to your chest as your rant had gone on. Your head was now resting on top of them as you looked eagerly between your Aunties, waiting for their response. They were doing the silent conversation thing again.

“You don’t need to do all those things sweetheart. We appreciate you offering, but maybe we’ll wait until you’re a bit older to do things like the laundry and stuff, yeah?” your Aunty Lessi responded.

You felt your stomach drop. Your Aunty Lessi’s voice was kind, but you knew what her words meant. They didn’t think you were big enough to help.

“How about we start off with setting the table for tea and checking the mail? You’re still just settling in here, so we don’t wanna overload you with too much stuff to remember to do.”

It may have been bright and sunny outside, but today was a day you had been absolutely dreading. You had decided to hang your calendar on the back of your bedroom door so that nobody but you would see it, and you had made sure to mark this day with a bright red circle and big a sad face. Today was the day you were going back to school.

You weren’t sure how it was decided or who decided, but you’d had a couple of weeks away from school after the fire and now it was time to go back.

You had only been back at school for 3 weeks of the new school year before the fire happened, so your parents had only just bought you brand-new dresses and shoes to replace the previous ones you’d outgrown. Your pencil case had been filled with fresh crayons and sharp pencils, and you’d only just put a really cool new bunny sticker that your Uncle Gio had given you on your lunchbox. But now, you had to start all over again.

So today, as you sat in front office with your Aunties, you were wearing a brand-new school dress and shoes and socks and Aunty Lessi had done your hair in a pretty braid with some pretty ribbons. You also had a brand-new backpack and lunch box and pencil case, and you even had a brand-new iPad in a shiny purple case.

In theory, you were all set to go.

But just under the surface, just beneath the layer of hairspray and the stiff gingham fabric, you were absolutely dreading heading back to the big noisy classroom and scary, sticky playgrounds.

You didn’t have heaps of friends at school like most of the other kids seemed to have. You did have one good friend though. Nora. She also really liked to read and was super into comic books and superheros. You didn’t really understand why she liked them, but you were more than happy to listen to her when she wanted to tell you all about them. You would then tell her some cool bunny facts in return.

This year the school librarian, Mr Webster, had let you both work on a big jigsaw puzzle every lunchtime. He kept it safe and flat on a special piece of wood that he hid on top of his bookshelf in his office when you weren’t working on it. It was a really, really big puzzle with loads more pieces than any other puzzle either of you had ever done before. You were both determined to finish it before Christmas, but you weren’t sure if Nora had kept going while you were away. You hoped she had but you also secretly hoped there was still some pieces left for you to do.

Unlike previous years, Nora wasn’t in your class this year. You were in Mrs Green’s class, and she was in Miss Roberts’ class. You’d both written a letter to each teacher requesting to be swapped into each other’s class, but it hadn’t worked. You were stuck alone in the classes you were in, and honestly, you were miserable.

You see, it wasn’t that you didn’t have any other friends, that didn’t bother you much at all. It was the fact that a bunch of the other kids seemed to actively dislike you. In fact, the thing they seemed to like most in the whole world was picking on you. They called you names and pulled on your hair and threw things at you. You couldn’r really pinpoint exactly when it all started, but your first and most vivid memory was when Mitchell Timms had snatched your copy of The Worst Witch out of your hands one lunch time. He threw it in a muddy puddle and stomped on it until all the pages were torn and the words had jumbled together. When you ran over to try and save the book, a gift you’d received on your latest birthday, Mitchell just laughed at you and called you a “loser weirdo”.

For the first 3 weeks of school this year, you had been sat next to a boy named Ollie and it had been awful. He kept bumping your arm on purpose while you were trying to write and had laughed whenever you got frustrated that you had to erase and redo your mistakes. One time he had even pulled your chair out from underneath you when you went to sit down, leading you to land on your bottom on the floor with a thud. The whole class had pointed and laughed at you. You had run out of the classroom and hid under a bench to try and calm yourself down.

When the teacher came to find you, you were curled in a ball, rubbing your Pocket Arthur softly against your cheek. Pocket Arthur was your school buddy. When you’d moved up from Reception into Primary School, your parents had bought you a miniature version of Arthur that you could keep tucked away in your pocket. They said that now that you were going to big school, Arthur could no longer come along with you, but they wanted to make sure you still had a little buddy to always keep you company. So, he was your Pocket Arthur, or Pockie for short.

But he died in the fire too.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

So, on the night before you went back to school, you’d searched through your room, trying to find something to fill the big empty space left by Pockie when he died – the pocket of your school dress. You tried crumpling up a wad of tissues, but the texture of it was all wrong. Next you tried a balled-up pair of socks, but it felt scratchy when you tried rubbing it against your cheek. You looked over the stuffies your Aunties had bought you, but they were all far too big to fit in your pocket.

One of the stuffies caught your eye however as your dug through the little pile of toys. It was on the bottom of pile, and you hadn’t seen it since you moved here. It was a lovely and soft grey kangaroo, with pointy ears and a long tail. You rather liked kangaroos, because while they were a completely different species to bunnies and could only be found in the wild in Australia, they kind of reminded you of really big rabbits. As you pressed the soft fur to your cheek, something small fell in your lap. Picking it up, you realised it was a baby kangaroo. It must have fallen from the big kangaroo’s pouch. It was perfect. The perfect size, the perfect feel, the perfect squish. You rubbed it against your cheek. Bliss. Holding it gently in your little hands, you squinted your eyes and ran your thumbs across the soft fur trying to figure out the perfect name for your new pocket pal. Bailey. She seemed like a Bailey.

And it was Bailey who you clung to, you hand shoved deep in your pocket, when the Headteacher Mrs Brinley called you all into her office.

You watched as both your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah shook hands with Mrs Brinley and then you all sat down on big uncomfortable chairs across the table from her. You’d never been in her office before, so you took a moment to look around, noticing a bunch of certificates in big frames on the wall, a huge bookcase full of books and some photos of who you assumed were her family.

“Well, while we were very, very sad to hear about what has happened, we are glad that Y/K is back at school with us. Hopefully being back in class will help her with getting back to her regular routine and schedule and assist her in feeling more settled.”

Her voice wasn’t unkind, but everything she said always sounded like she’d been rehearsing for it like it was a speech she had to give in front of the whole school.

“We have both of your phone numbers, as well as the number for your workplace, and we will call you should there be any issues. But I’m sure Y/K will do just fine.”

Your Aunty Leah gently squeezed your hand that wasn’t firmly stuffed in your pocket, clinging onto Bailey for dear life.

“Mrs Green is going to meet you just back out in the front office and she will walk you up to class. So, unless anyone has any questions, I’ll let you all get to it.”

You all shuffled back out the front office, where your teacher was waiting for you. Aunty Lessi knelt down and gave you a big cuddle.

“Okay Bunny. You have fun on your first day back, alright? And if anything goes wrong, or you don’t feel good or you feel sad… you just let your teacher know to call us okay.”

Aunty Leah leaned over and gave you a kiss on the forehead and stroked your cheek. “You’ve got everything you need in your backpack, so you’re all set to go. You’ve got this.”

“Okay.”

“We love you.”

The walk to your classroom was mostly filled with your teacher telling you about all the things you’d missed while you’d been away from school. A little bubble of dread was beginning to build in your stomach as you realised all the work you now had to catch up on. But by lunchtime that bubble had been replaced by a boulder.

Holding your lunch box and book tight to your chest, you looked around the hall for a spare seat. Normally, you and Nora would sit together to eat your lunch and then go to the library, but to make a bad day even worse Nora was away from school today. You had spent a solid 5 minutes looking for her, but according to a student in her class she’d had to stay home because she a nasty tummy bug.

The hall was quickly filling up as students grabbed their hot meals or lunch boxes and sat down at their chosen tables. It quickly became apparent that the only spot left was one on the end of a table filled with some of the children who didn’t like you. You’d spent so long looking for Nora, you’d been left with no other option.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

With a deep breath, you headed over to the table. You sat quietly in the seat, hoping you would go unnoticed.

You didn’t.

“Why you sitting with us, Y/K? Isn’t there anyone else you can sit with?” Jessica asked as you unzipped your lunch box. You just shook your head in response. A chorus of grumbles followed from the rest of the kids sitting at the table.

“Eww yuck, why does she have to sit with us?”

“Where’s her weirdo friend?”

“Maybe she can sit on the floor instead.”

You just tried to tune them out, grabbing a sandwich out of your lunch box to munch on. Your first bite was interrupted when the boy sitting beside you, Max, nudged you.

“Hey, were those your new Mums who brought you into school today?”

You hastily swallowed your sandwich, wanting to explain. “They’re my-” It was no use. The group quickly began announcing their thoughts on the matter before you had a chance to correct them.

“Two Mums? How can someone have TWO Mums? That’s not right.”

“Yeah, my Dad says that it’s disgusting when two boys or two girls are married or kiss and stuff!”

“Oh yeah, like, have you ever saw two lads kiss? It’s weird!”

“I saw two ladies kissing when my Pop took me to the football last week. He said they were going straight to hell!”

“As if she wasn’t weird enough, now she’s got two Mums too!”

Something inside you snapped, and you found yourself with your fists clenched and your cheeks red, Bailey long forgotten in your pocket.

“Yeah, well, they’re not my Mums, they’re my Aunties. And they’re really nice and really clever and super cool. And they play football for England, and and for the red and white club with the cannon! And my Aunty Leah is the captain and everything! So that’s cooler than any of your families, ever!”

There was a short silence before they all started laughing.

“Girl’s football! That doesn’t count!”

“That’s not real football!”

“Arsenal! Pfffft.”

“I can’t wait to tell my Dad about this.”

“One of them looked pregnant when I saw them outside the office. There’s no way they let her play like that!”

“That’s why they shouldn’t let girls play!”

“Wait, how is she having a baby if there’s no Daddy to put the baby in her?”

Whilst the rest of the comments had begun to muddle together and fade into the background as you tuned them all out, this last one pierced through. Your head shot back in the direction of Jessica, the girl who had asked the question. She was looking straight at you with her eyes squinted, twirling a strand of her hair around her pointer finger.

You hadn’t ever stopped to think about this. To be honest you’d never really been interested in where babies came from. You knew that whilst it varied from breed to breed, bunnies were pregnant for an average of 31 days and had litters of babies. You also knew that humans usually only had one baby at a time and they were pregnant for around 9 months. But you didn’t know how either bunnies or humans became pregnant. Honestly, you were stumped.

“Guess you didn’t learn that in any of your stupid books, huh? Loser.”

#woso fanfics #leah williamson x reader #alessia russo x reader #woso fanfic #woso imagine #arsenal x reader #leah williamson x alessia russo x reader #woso fic #woso x reader #alessia russo #leah williamson #lemonade

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shiningjustforreid · 4 months ago

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aura

where Spencer Reid meets someone who shares his pain - if only for a bit.

word count: 1774

a/n: hi! this is my very first published fic (even though i’ve read for years!) and it’s nothing major, but i thought it would be fun to finally write! i hope you enjoy <3

warnings/tags: 18+ (implied intimacy), migraine-era spencer reid, reader has migraines, reader is called ‘girl’ once, heavy themes at the end, spencer rambles about stars, hospitals, spencer calls reader ‘angel’, no use of y/n

- ✩ -

Hospitals may be one of his least favorite places.

“Did you know that actually on any given day 1 in 31 people in a hospital have a hospital induced infection? these include things like a surgical site infection, MRSA,”

Cue the smell of the antiseptic, drowning out the smell of people dying. It’s too clean.

Makes him on edge. But then again, most things do. When people give him that look that clearly says ‘shut up.’ He seems to pull in darkness, trouble, and maybe it’s because he creates it for himself.

Currently, he’s sat, in one of those uncomfortable hospital benches, foot tapping anxiously, sunglasses on, because everything hurts. Notably, his head and eyes.

The lights. The lights build a nausea in him that’s like a tidal wave, build an agony behind his eyes that threatens to reduce his thought process to ash. He still squints, behind the black plastic; it’s not enough, not enough to quell the pain entirely.

“No, I’m, about to go in, actually.”

Is what he should’ve said. But Spencer Reid, a forward man, an eloquent man, is not.

“Can I sit here?”

Quiet, but polite. He makes the mistake of looking up. Your hair is messy, probably from the wind outside, and tucked away from your face. The coat you have on is a deep admiral blue, and it just makes the lack of color in your face all the more apparent. A green bag, slung on your shoulder, as you fiddle with the zipper. Chapped lips form into a halfway smile, and, most noteworthy of all, you have black, plastic glasses on.

“I have an appointment, it’s probably, it’s right after yours, but if I can’t sit here, it’s okay, I-“

You’re backtracking, which means you’re nervous, probably because he’s just been looking at you with an impassive expression, even more unreadable due to the glasses. He clears his throat, and opens his mouth.

“No, um, actually I’m waiting. Hopefully not much longer though.”

God help him, because there’s a shared struggle here, between the two of you. He sees it, in your tense shoulders, the way you sit down slowly, as to not generate any more pain than necessary, the way your hands tremble like leaves in the wind when you adjust your glasses after slowly turning to him. Your halfway smile stays put, though, even through the slow movements.

You move like that, because every movement seems to intensify the burning hot behind your skull.

He knows. He doesn’t know you. Not at all.

But he knows your pain. And maybe that’s enough.

You don’t nod, because it’s unnecessary movement.

“Yeah, I finally gave in and booked an appointment. I’ve had to call out of work for them at least 3 times in the last two weeks.”

Them. The migraines. You don’t need to name them, you both just know. You’re clearly both there for a reason.

“I’m uh, Spencer, by the way. I’ve had mine for a bit now too.”

You tell him your name, and the sound makes a welcome warmth flood through his chest. A star, tiny, but burning, is born. Gravity in his chest, tugging you in, as your heat floods his heart.

Bad idea, bad idea - the alarm bells are clanging. He doesn’t know how sick he is, and he really doesn’t know how sick you are. This could spell disaster, and yet-

He’s intrigued. You radiate this nervousness, a distinct desire to be understood, seen, known. He knows that desire. He has that desire. He wants to know you.

“I think mine might just be due to stress, but, I don’t know. It’s the easiest explanation to deal with.”

For your sake, he hopes that’s all they are. Stress.

And, you’re still sitting there, head bowed, when the nurse comes out and asks questions.

She asks about hallucinations. As if this hell is all in his head. You sit there, silent, biting your lip, worrying the cracked skin in your teeth, your hands picking at the fraying edge of your coat.

When he comes back out, somehow even more tired, even though all he did was lie there and answer some questions, he speaks your name, softly.

As if he has the right to.

You jump a little, look up, and remove your glasses. He stares, he can’t help it. Visible, is the pain, the way your ocular muscles are tense, your skin without color, but you smile, still.

He makes you smile.

“Everything okay?”

Spencer nods hurriedly.

“Fine, for now, I have to get to work. You uh-you’re next?”

“Mhm. Will I—is there any chance I’ll see you again, Spencer?”

You don’t know him. You know him, you must.

“Uh, I mean, I—you want to see me again?”

When will he learn to speak when it actually matters?

“Only if you want to, I-I know I would like to see you again.”

He leaves the hospital, that damn hospital, with a small slip of paper, with ten numbers scrawled in purple ink, and your name below it, a tiny smiley face beside it.

When he gets home from his next case, he fishes that paper out of his messenger bag and types each digit into his cell phone with shaky hands.

Is he tempting fate? Perhaps. But fate answers, your soft voice coming through the phone.

Soon, he finds himself at a café with you, sipping his saccharine sweet coffee and telling you about his job, or some book he just finished, in detail that you don’t seem to protest against. It’s refreshing, really - just to be listened to. To be heard. When you leave, you give him a barely-there kiss on the cheek, a soft goodbye. The star burns brighter.

“I had my follow up appointment.”

He tells you, on the third date, as you two sip coffee once more - are these dates? Would Morgan be impressed? - trying to keep the conversation casual, yet relevant. Your eyes widen with interest.

“And? Did they give you answers?”

He makes a face, shaking his head.

“No. Well, yes, but they told me it’s psychosomatic.”

All in his head.

Your face falls, and you look truly sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, Spencer. I knew how much you didn’t think that to be the case.”

He takes comfort, then, in the way you hug him goodbye, your cheek pressed against the cotton of his cardigan, eyes shut against the light. He tenses, only for a second, before his arms curl around you, resting against your coat.

“We should do dinner.”

He mumbles into your hair, before he can stop himself.

A real date.

And you do. You have dinner, and he makes you laugh, even though it’s quiet, like a bell ringing at Christmas, tiny, joy-filled, and the star in his chest just glows. Your face is tense, though, and he can’t figure out why. You won’t say. either. You never do. You keep your responses composed, and careful, calculated. Like you’re afraid. He wonders why, but won’t press it. You are made of nervous energy. He knows this now.

A few months, of appointments for both of you and cases for him where he aches for your hand in his and coffee and dinner and museum dates, and one ice skating excursion he will not mention, and then—

He makes another mistake then, when he asks you to come over, after a case.

“Just for coffee, or to talk, not to-you know, unless that’s what you want, I—“

Yet, that’s how he ends up with you in his bed, in his lap, your warm hands sliding over his skin like you’re in awe, your wide eyes meeting his own, because he dimmed the lights, and thank God neither of you are hurting right now.

He takes you apart, piece by piece, with his mouth on your collarbone and fingers across your ribs, learning, seeking to know. Because that’s what he wants, to know you, fully, in every way he can, until there’s nothing left for him to study.

After he watches you tremble under him, with his name on your lips, he realizes he’ll never be able to memorize all of you. You’re too extensive, with the blush on your cheeks and the way you cling to him and the way your eyes sparkle for a moment, just a moment, before they dim again.

You’re tucked into him, under his chin, as he traces shapes mindlessly into your back with his fingertips. He feels that star, burning bright in your arms, for millennia to come.

“I love you.”

You smile against his chest, before you speak again, choked up.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Whyever not, angel girl?”

Because you are like an angel, come down from the heavens, his angel, gracing his life during some of the most incredible pain he’s ever felt.

“They told me I’m dying. They found the source of it all.”

And the star fizzles, and sparks, and slowly, a cold ice begins to dwell where the star was. Months fly by, and yet drag, each day feeling long but the weeks short.

He finds himself in the hospital - miraculously, his migraines have given him respite today - your hand in his, his eyes on you. You don’t say much, you never did, but now, he feels like you don’t ever speak at all.

Until you do.

“Spence?”

The light in his chest flickers, illuminating his darkness.

“Yes, angel?”

“Can you talk? About anything? I just wanna hear you.”

He nods, and his voice gets quiet, almost breathless, the longer he speaks.

“Did you know that stars actually are simultaneously pulling apart and being pushed together? The heat from inside the star creates a pressure that causes the atoms to separate, but the gravity attraction forces them back together, as it burns. The bigger a star is though, the less time it takes to go through that fuel.”

He stops, looking down at you. He wonders if you’re listening.

“But when the heat is gone, when it stops burning, there’s nothing to counteract the gravitational pull, and—“

And it collapses in on itself.

“And it just sort of sucks everything else in without its heat, the light, if it’s large enough. Pulling everything in, everyone in-“

He’s said too much. You open your eyes, your voice barely a whisper.

“I don’t want you to do that. You won’t, Spencer, I swear.”

In a rare moment of strength, you tug yourself up, to hold his face in one hand.

“You burned before me. You’ll burn again.”

He nods, desperately trying not to weep.

But I won’t burn like I did with you.

“The brightest stars burn the fastest, so we must love them while we can.”

- Anna Todd

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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joons-cinnamon-bun · 7 months ago

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The holiday pretense -1-

Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend.

But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request.

Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, anddd… I didn’t write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. And I know I am literally that meme rn, the: summer is over-skips straight to Christmas. But do you have any idea just how slow I write? Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 1-9k Credits: this was literally one of those ‘if no one is going to write this, I will’ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what I’d do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: again, I didn't write in 8-ish years, so this is very very scary. Add in a dash of 'English is not my first language' and you get whatever this is. enjoy. Merry Christmas. part 1: reading, part 2: here , part 3: here , part 4: here

Ah winter, the most wonderful time of the year.

The season when the air is crisp, and the city gets blanketed in thick, white snowfall. When the satisfying sound of crunching snow accompanies every step and every word transforms into nothing more than a puff of steam dancing through the chilly air.

When Mariah Carey’s voice echoes in literally every store for an obnoxious 24/7, as if she has some kind of personal vendetta against silence…

When the heating bill increases by 37%, and it takes an extra 15 minutes for the heater to kick in and for the hot water to grace the showerhead. Ergo, Namjoon now has to wake up half an hour early if he wants to take a shower and not freeze half to death during the day, because the landlord was adamant that there was nothing to be done about the situation.

But it wasn’t all bad.

Sure, Namjoon was never one to possess the so-called Christmas spirit. In fact, he was known to be a bit of a grinch among his friends.

Jin, in particular, enjoyed telling anyone who would listen about their first Christmas at college, when Namjoon adamantly refused to help him decorate the tree after begrudgingly lugging it to their shared apartment.

And most years Namjoon’s lack of enthusiasm for the season was palpable. While his friends reveled in the cheerful atmosphere, he somehow managed to remain detached and aloof, his grinch-like demeanor becoming a defining characteristic, much to the amusement of his companions.

However, there were still aspects of the holiday that Namjoon couldn’t help but secretly enjoy. The food, for instance, was undeniably good. Although the movies were mediocre and the music overplayed, he still found himself humming along to Winter Wonderland whenever it played. And the energetic buzz that seized his friends was no doubt contagious;

This year, before he could even process it, he was dubbed designated fairy-light fixer, the judge of the ugly sweater contest (solely because he had the audacity to show up wearing a black hoodie) and somehow promised Jungkook to help him pick up gifts for his mom, his cousin, and girlfriend.

And now, with the holidays looming just around the corner, and the entire city buzzing with chatter about family feasts, romantic rendezvous, and the art of gift-giving, Namjoon couldn't help but feel a little pang of longing. It had been a solid two years since he last set foot in his hometown, and the melancholic urge to return home seemed like the only logical response to it all.

Or maybe he just needed a vacation…

But there was just one thing that kept Namjoon, a logical being, from making that phone call home.

He knew that part of the reason behind his mother’s question was for organizational purposes, yet he couldn’t help but notice the mischievous twinkle in her voice each time she sweetly asked:

“And are you coming alone?”

Few things managed to irk him as much that specific question in that specific context. And even with countless nights analyzing the emotions it stirred within him, Namjoon found himself very stupidly replying with:

“Uhm, no actually-” despite being painfully single, and fully aware of it.

Following that, the hope of regaining any sensible thought was gone as a chorus of ecstatic comments erupted form his mother’s end of the phone. With a hurried, “Can’t wait to see you, yeah, love you too,” he was left in the suffocating silence of his bedroom, with a new predicament he needed to solve.

Now, let’s not forget, Namjoon is no ordinary man. He possesses a brain that could rival Einstein’s, and he knows all too well that he could simply call back and clarify that his plus one is as real as Santa Claus.

But Namjoon doesn’t half-ass anything. He full-asses it.

That and showing up alone would undoubtedly result in his mom’s attempts to play matchmaker. And if he were to show up alone, after lying about it, well, he might as well prepare for an arranged marriage.

Namjoon sighed as he looked at his phone. He couldn’t understand why his mother had this new found obsession with his relationship status. Especially after she witnessed just how bad his last one ended. Now sure, he may have taken the whole ‘healing-era’ to a bit of an extreme, seeing as he had no relationship, no situationship and no inclination to entertain any romantic thoughts whatsoever. But this was getting ridiculous. Lying to his own mother?

Perhaps he could ask his assistant to pretend to be his girlfriend for the week? No, that wouldn’t work. She mentioned she was hosting the Christmas dinner this year. And it would involve more explanations to HR than it’s worth…

And he couldn’t overlook the fact that her fiancé would most certainly not be amused by that idea.

Just as he was about give up and plunge into another rabbit hole of despair, the solution to his problem came accompanied by the familiar sound of glass smashing in the kitchen.

You.

You would be perfect.

Most people already assumed you two were dating, seeing how seamlessly you fit yourself into his life after moving in.

And last he checked you couldn’t make it home because of some pesky law-jargon issues that required your presence at the office. And changing your flight to a few days later cost you an arm and a leg, while changing it to January was completely free.

And last he checked; you were just as chronically single as he was. (He knew because your last date was so disastrous that he had to abandon his gaming night and rescue you from the restaurant).

Another crash in the kitchen summoned him back into action. Swiftly snatching his hoodie from the designated clothes chair and making his way to you, detouring only to retrieve the medical kit from the bathroom.

He was quick to spot you, still clad in your work attire, crouched besides the counter, diligently sweeping the stray glass shards of what used to be an ugly mug. His eyes involuntarily wondering towards your ass, once again marveling at how flawlessly you wore that office skirt before snapping himself out of it.

“And I believe that evens out the score, seeing as I only broke a plate, and you killed two mugs this season” he declares, ensuring you weren’t bleeding before abandoning the first aid kit on the counter to fetch the trusty vacuum cleaner.

It was standard procedure by now.

“You also managed to break the microwave, so the title remains yours,” you grumble as you rose to your feet, a smile unconsciously tugging at your lips when you caught sight of his charming dimpled face. “Hey there.”

“Hello,” he replied, giving you a swift once-over in case he missed any hidden hemorrhages “what happened?”

“It just jumped out of the cupboard when I opened it,” you gestured towards the dust pan, as if to prove the cup suddenly acquired acrobatic skills before its untimely demise, causing him to break into a grin “I’ll get you a new one.”

“No worries, it was a gift form an ex, and it was hideous anyway.”

As he vacuumed the area, you disposed of the glass, making sure it wouldn’t slice through the trash bag like last time.

Once the kitchen was safe again, you returned to your previous task, grabbing a new cup and casually turning your back to him.

" Do you want to try an unreasonably expensive hot chocolate with me?" you playfully suggested, catching his eye as he noticed the purple tin on the counter, adorned with a big red bow, alongside a very generic Christmas card.

"Secret Santa?" he inquired back, picking up the card, already aware of the answer to your question.

Unconsciously, he began mentally listing reasons why you would make a good fake girlfriend. Topping the list was your uncanny ability to understand him without lengthy explanations. And it was all quite digestible, wasn't it? Two long-time friends and roommates, thrown together by chance, suddenly discovering hidden feelings for each other?

All his friends seemed to have unanimously agreed that the two of you would make a splendid pair, back when you met, when his roommate, Jin, started dating your roommate, Myeong.

On their inaugural date, Myeong, in a fit of paranoia, asked you to tag along, in case her potential lover turned out to be a serial killer. And Jin, ever the considerate soul, felt compelled to invite Namjoon, not only to spare you the agony of being the third wheel, but also in the hope of pulling Namjoon out of his dating slump. Not that you would ever notice, as you were knee-deep in exam session, sleep deprived and buried in a mountain of law books.

Poor Namjoon somehow ended up carrying the weight of being third and fourth wheel simultaneously.

But you eventually made up for it, once your exams were over and had a proper 18 hours of sleep.

In no time you wiggled your way into his heart, transforming those awkward double dates into enjoyable hangouts. You’d spend countless hours discussing everything from books to the latest plot twists in popular dramas, to sharing dreams, fears and hopes.

As Myeong and Jin’s relationship blossomed, they gradually faded into the background of your outings, until they were eventually excluded all together. And neither of you seemed to mind, as you found it easier to focus on your conversations without their constant chatter.

That and they couldn’t be quiet in movie theatres like decent human beings.

It was during one of these outings that Namjoon realized just how alluring he found you. The way your eyes lit up when you laughed at one of his jokes made his heart race. Your sharp mind and wit were a match made in heaven for him. And your ability to render him speechless was both infuriating and exhilarating.

But Namjoon also knew that you were deeply committed to your studies, and he didn't want to do anything to distract you from your goals. So, he held back, admiring you from a distance and hoping that someday things might be different.

And as time passed, and he graduated, he came to terms with the fact that you two would never be more than casual friends.

Little did he know that the universe had its own wicked sense of humor. When fate decided to play its sly hand and leave you virtually homeless, because your respective roommates decided to take the next step in their relationship and move in together.

It was only logical, then, for the two of you to shack up as well. After all, you were friends, both neat freaks, and most of all, desperately in need of a roommate.

“The roommate switch”, as Jimin so eloquently put it.

And thus began the most wonderful living arrangement Namjoon ever experienced. Not that he would never tell Jin that.

Suddenly, his bathroom cabinet resembled a Bath and Body works store, and your pink pots and pans had taken over his kitchen. But he wouldn’t mind, seeing that the cooking interdiction was extended, once Jin started recounting all the times Namjoon almost turned their previous apartment into a bonfire during your housewarming bash.

However, you never scolded him for his butterfingers because, truth be told, you had your own healthy dose of clumsiness, (the cup chilling in the trash an indisputable witness to it).

It was quite refreshing to find someone who shared his knack for dropping things.

And he made up for all the free meals by taking care of the dishes. He even went above and beyond by meticulously following the odd care instructions for your fancy pots.

And the rest of your household chores fell into perfect harmony.

He willingly handled all the ironing, including your own, simply because you couldn’t be bothered. In return, you would dutifully clean the lint tray in the dryer, even when it was his turn to do the laundry, because he found it absolutely disgusting, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to gross him out.

It suddenly dawned on him why all his friends were convinced that you two were together. He was smitten with you, after all.

But again, time has worked its magic! His infatuation had been long departed, so he could proceed with his plan and not let it affect your friendship in any way, shape or form!

“You know, I never quite understood the purpose of Secret Santa,” you confessed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I mean, sure, it makes sense in a small group where you can actually get to know the person and buy them something nice. But in a corporate setting, where you’re thrown together with people from different departments, it makes absolutely no sense!” you spoke with passion, even stirring the milk a little harder, causing an impish smile to dance across his face.

“Because you end up with situations like this, where creepy Greg from the watercooler suddenly feels the need to win my graces and splurge on stupidly expensive hot chocolate.”

Namjoon was familiar with your HR endeavors involving Greg, especially after he hit on one of your colleagues.

“Do you want to know how much this monstrosity costs?” you asked, trying to contain your amusement at the sheer absurdity of it all. Pouring the cocoa into the milk and placing the mugs in front of him, you couldn’t help but grin.

“Surprise me,” Namjoon took a sip, which he regretted because he choked once you answered,

“Sixty dollars!”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous” he coughed, once he regained control of his lungs.

The hot chocolate was nice, but nowhere close to justifying the hefty price tag. For all he knew, it could have been dollar store cocoa. But your contagious laugh made it all worthwhile, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe Greg deserved to lose his Christmas bonus on overpriced cocoa that you both would mock.

“Tastes like cardboard” you concluded after a mouthful, “maybe it was meant for that hideous mug your ex gave you,” you teased, earning a puzzled look. “This has horrible taste,” you tack on, noticing his raised eyebrow “just like your exes.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended by that,” he replied, feigning offense.

“Well, they did break up with you, so clearly their taste is questionable,” You ruffled his hair as you walked past him, your cocoa abandoned on the table.

This wasn’t uncommon in your friendship. Afterall, you were his biggest supporter, as he was yours. But now, with the odd favor he was about to ask you; he couldn’t help but ponder your words for longer than usual. Until he heard the door to your room close and he realized he was left alone in the kitchen.

“Any updates on that flight of yours?” he asked, shooting a glance towards your door. Perhaps the universe would take pity on him and spare him the embarrassment he was dreading.

“Still in January!” you hollered back, your voice muffled by the commotion in your room.

“Ah, cool, cool…” he muttered under his breath, more to psych himself up and gather the courage needed to go over and make a complete fool of himself.

“Are you still planning on heading home?” your voice was barely audible amidst the movement, so he walked over and propped himself against your door to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” He replied absentmindedly massaging the back of his neck.

Not unless he can find a girlfriend for the week. “Hey,” he continued, his voice devoid of any moisture, “can I ask you a favor?”

The door swung open, almost causing him to stumble, to reveal you, wearing pajama bottoms and a black tank top, clutching one of his sweaters.

“Depends.” You answered flatly. “Mind if I borrow this?” you gestured towards the sweater, awaiting his nod of approval before slipping it on and sauntering past him to claim your usual spot on the couch. With your feet cozily tucked under the cushion, you scrolled through your phone, probably looking up another horrible movie you’d force him to watch. Oblivious to the fact that you ticked off another item on his mental checklist: looking damn good in his clothes.

“Okay” he took a deep breath and settled down beside you, his posture impeccable and his gaze fixed on the blank tv screen. You glanced over intrigued by his sudden shift in behavior.

“This is going to be weird, and you can tell me to fuck off any moment this makes you uncomfortable. And I promise I’ll never bring it up again, and we can pretend this never happened,” he stumbled over his words, a stark contrast to his usually calmed and composed demeanor.

Your mind raced, conjuring up the worst-case scenarios as you slowly set aside your phone, captivated by every word leaving his mouth.

Was he about to kick you out?

That only seemed to aggravate whatever Namjoon was on, as he continued to mumble, insisting that you didn’t have to agree to it if you didn’t want to. Which didn’t make any sense, because if he was going to kick you out, he should at least have the balls to tell you straight forward.

You gently collected his hands, causing him to halt abruptly. His wide eyes finally locked with yours as you softly uttered “Just tell me.” You peered up at him, bracing yourself for the worst, and completely unprepared for what was to follow.

“Will you please do me a solid and pretend to be my girlfriend for a week?” he stammered, unable to maintain eye contact, his voice fading into a whisper towards the end.

“What?”

“I might have told my mom I’m in a relationship, and now I desperately need a stand-in girlfriend for the next few days” he confessed sheepishly, quickly adding, “But seriously, if you’re uncomfortable with this, just say the word and we can erase this whole conversation from existence.”

“Oh my goodness, Namjoon,” you breathed out in relief, a laugh escaping your lips as you rested your head on his lap, leaving him even more perplexed. “I thought you were kicking me out.”

“What?” he chuckled, watching you raise a few seconds later, rubbing your eyes before fixing your gaze on him, contemplating his request.

“How can you be so brilliant and so dumb at the same time? Just call your mom back…”

“No, you don’t get it. I can’t do that. If I do, she’ll set me up with the neighbor’s daughter again” Namjoon explained, clearly not in the right mindset to entertain that idea again.

“You want me to lie to your mother?” you asked incredulously.

“Please don’t phrase it like that.” he covered his face, deflating completely besides you.

“This is essentially what you are asking me to do... I don’t know how that makes me feel. Your mom, by the way, is an absolute sweetheart…” you trailed off, observing him intently as he brushed away the hair in his eyes.

You didn’t get to know her too well, but the last time she visited she made sure to stock up your whole fridge with homecooked meals. And to top it off, she even baked cookies especially for you once Namjoon mentioned he had a new roommate.

The discussion, however, took a bit of an unexpected turn when she realized the roommate was you. A girl and not another frat guy. But she quickly developed a fondness for you. Or at least, that’s what you believed when she gave you the tightest hug goodbye.

“I know. It’s a stupid idea.” He muttered, rubbing his face a bit harder than necessary. Then he locked eyes with you and continued. “I am well aware of how dumb this is. And that is exactly why I need you there with me.” His statement left you dumbfounded, completely unable to find any words. “I just want to go home and relish in the fact that I am there without constantly worrying about being single.” he took a shaky breath before continuing,

“I can’t comprehend why my mom is so fixated on this matter.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I just need someone to navigate this absurdity with me for the holidays, and then we never mention it again.”

His little speech left you stunned, and before you knew it, you were actually considering his proposal.

Your Christmas plan was already ruined, and agreeing would mean that you would not be confined to your couch, enduring cheesy Hallmark movies and crying alone on Christmas eve.

Moreover, you were convinced that you had moved on from the little crush you had on him back when you met. Refusing still to admit that you’ve always had a soft spot for the gentle giant that slowly became a staple in your life, and that spending the holidays with him would be the best scenario that could ever happen.

But could you make it through this without getting your heart trampled and your friendship going up in smoke? As these thoughts started to swirl in your mind, your eyes began to wander aimlessly. From his eyes to his chiseled cheekbones and strong jawline, down to his neck and collarbone, and finally to his impressively muscular chest that seemed to only have grown since he started attending the gym religiously with Jungkook. And not to mention those arms that give the most incredible bear hugs. It was strange to allow yourself to notice his physicality in such detail, as if you had been willfully blind to his newfound buffness until now.

“Forget it, I’m sorry I asked,” he said, sensing your hesitation and preparing to end his suffering. But you stopped him in his tracks.

“If we are going to do this, we need a plan.” His eyes light up, color returning to his cheeks, before he squeezed you in a tight embrace “and just so you know, you owe me,” you laughed once he released you.

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want.”

“You take out the trash for a month,” he was too quick to nod “and I want you to take me to that bakery you and Jin always rave about.”

“Ajumeoni’s bakery?” he smiled at your request. That was the bakery Namjoon visited with his sister every Friday as a child, and every other day with Jin, on their way to school, because the milk bread was to die for. “Of course. It’s already part of the commute, so consider it done.”

“Good. We have a deal then,” you extended your hand as if sealing a business agreement, instead of setting yourselves up for a disaster. He reciprocated with a firm shake, and you swiftly retrieved your notepad from the coffee table. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, let’s establish a few key details about us. We need to become well-acquainted with each other’s personal preferences, so it doesn’t come across like we are just… pretending” he looked over at you as you scribbled.

“I mean, it’s a digestible story already. Two oblivious roommates, suddenly realizing they have feelings for one another after living together for years.” You mused, only to be met with his response.

“And once this is all over, we can simply tell everyone that we figured out we were better off as friends than lovers,” he pondered aloud.

“Right,” you replied, looking up from your notebook “How long have we been dating?”

“Anywhere from three to six months” he promptly answered and you jot it down before firing off your next question.

“And why haven’t we told any of our friends and family?”

“To avoid the inevitable ‘I knew it!’ and because we like the trill of keeping a secret.”

“Fair enough,” you chuckled “So, how did we get together?”

“You finally realized how charming I am and just couldn’t contain yourself?” he flashed a cheeky smile and you playfully deflect by giving his chest a gentle push.

“How about your birthday party?” you offered “We were both buzzed enough to share a kiss and then you confessed?”

“Why do I confess?” he whined, peering over at your notebook page where you already wrote down your version of events.

“Because I’m shy about that kind of stuff” you mumble, burying your face in the cozy confines of his sweater, avoiding any potential eye contact.

“That’s adorable,”

“Shut up.” You chuckle “Alright, is there anything I should know about you?”

“I’m not a big fan of PDA, especially when we’re out and about, so don’t expect me to be all over you.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But since we’re going home and pretending to be a couple, what level of affection are you comfortable with?”

“Well, I’m comfortable with you,” you cleared your throat, that bit of information being more truthful than intended “we can hold hands, and do normal couple stuff.”

“How do you feel about kissing?”

“Well, yeah, sure,” you responded nonchalantly, eyes fixating on the notepad in your hands.

A mischievous grin played on his lips as he teased, “Good, because I happen to be quite fond of leaving hickeys.” That broke you out of your little spiral, rolling your eyes at his poor attempt.

As if you weren’t already aware of this tidbit from his past conquests during your college days, before you two became roommates.

“You do know this is all pretend, right?” you retorted, refusing to take the bait.

“Oh, but baby, we’ve got to make it feel real,” he insisted, his tone dripping with charm. However, it did nothing to sway your logical approach to it.

“Right, ‘baby’” -you said it as if it was a legal term, “any preferences for pet names?”

Your serious charade did little to detour him. “Just promise me that our interactions won’t be like Jin and Myeong��s.” He smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And surprise me, I’ll be putty in your hands.”

“So, you are not set on honorifics. I can call you Oppa if you want,” little did you know, your innocent suggestion struck a hidden chord within him. A new kink that needed further assessment later on, preferably after this week was over.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, clearing his throat and reclining against the couch. “Anything I should know about you?”

You pondered his question for a few seconds, allowing a sly smile to play your lips. “I don’t like feet.”

“No duh!” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, before regaining his composure. With a meticulous air, he went over all the details once more. “Ah, you need a new background on your phone.”

Swiftly, he snatched your phone form the coffee table, catching you off guard, and planted a quick kiss on your cheek before snapping a selfie. “Perfect,” he declared, a proud smile spreading across his face as he set the picture as your home screen and background, leaving you to gather your frenzied thoughts.

“But wait, you also need a new photo,” You retorted, only to find him already one step ahead, pulling out his phone from his pajama bottoms and scrolling through his camera roll.

“Done.” He announced, turning his phone towards you to reveal the horrendous picture he had chosen as his own home screen.

A candid shot he took during your last year at college, on one of those late-night noodles runs to the local shop next to the library. You were draped in an oversized hoodie, greedily slurping a mouthful of noodles. With eyes blissfully shut, you savored every bite, as it was your first meal of that day, completely oblivious to his hidden photography skills.

It wasn’t until you accidentally stumbled upon your caller ID that you saw it and naturally, grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him, demanding an immediate change. But he stood his ground, claiming it was his favorite photo of you.

Claim proven yet again as now it was Namjoon’s home screen.

“I hate that photo.”

“I know.” He gave a smile, before safely tucking his phone back in his pocket, and rose to his feet, stretching leisurely. “I think we are good to go, girlfriend,” he said it in such a way that sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “I’ll go book our train tickets, and you better start packing soon,” he playfully pointed at you, before gracefully disappearing into his room to retrieve his laptop.

“Oh, wait, I need to get a present for your mom!”

~~~

Before the train even arrived in the station, the sky was threatening to unleash upon you. The air filled with delicate snowflakes, determined to bury you, Namjoon, and your luggage. But it was yesterday’s conversation that still lingered in the atmosphere, weighing heavy on both your minds.

The darkness of the night had given you both time to process what was about to unfold. Your only anchor on reality being Namjoon’s surprisingly warm hand clasping your freezing one, and tucking it away in his warm coat pocket.

And the fact that he looked like he just strolled out of the latest winter Vogue edition for men didn’t help. While you attempted to make a lasting impression, donning a cream knitted dress, black stockings and boots, topped off with a cream coat, that was far too flimsy for the weather, Namjoon effortlessly sported a navy-blue hoodie, snug jeans and a stylish black trench coat, and even a matching beanie that made his hair look absolutely flawless.

But beyond his impeccable fashion sense, he also proved to be quite the gentleman. Not that you ever doubted it, but now he seemed determined to showcase his chivalry. He wouldn’t even let you lock the door to your own apartment. It was a miracle he allowed you to carry the bottle of Chardonnay you insisted on getting his family, despite his protests that it wasn't necessary. You slightly regretted it now, seeing as your other hand was enduring the elements, instead of being intertwined with his.

“You have snow in your hair,” you pointed out, stating the obvious with the brilliance of a water-is-wet revelation.

“As do you.” he looked up from his phone, where he was engrossed in checking the train’s schedule for any potential delays. “And your lips are blue.” with a swift motion, he untangled his scarf and gently draped it around your freezing form. Something he had done many a time before, anytime he saw you slightly cold, but never before had you considered this gesture to be more than your friend looking out for you.

But today, things were different. Today you were pretending to be his girlfriend.

The sudden surge of warmth that enveloped you left you wondering if it was due to all your blood rushing to your cheeks or his scarf possessing some sort of magical heating abilities.

“It says here that the snow storm shouldn’t intervene with the scheduling, so the train will be here in a few minutes.” He looked up again, a cheerful grin appearing across his features as he caught sight of your pink face. “Aw you’re blushing again,”

“Shut up.” you retorted with the quick-wittedness of a third-grader.

“If I would have known it was this easy to make you flush, I would have made my fictional moves much sooner.” His voice did that thing again, where it went slightly deeper and, only the look in his eyes ticking you off to his teasing.

Your only response was to nervously nibble on your lip. Again, the realization that you are about to deceive not only his mother, but his entire family nestle in your chest, squeezing at your heart like a snake wrapped around it.

“Namjoon, I’m not sure about this.” you confessed, pulling the scarf closer to your face. It was a bit late to be getting cold feet, but this was your last opportunity to speak your mind before embarking on this little ordeal. “I don’t think I can pull this off.”

“Come on now, aren’t you an intern at a law firm?” he raised a playful eyebrow, attempting to ease the tension, but you only glared at him.

“I can’t lie.” You stated firmly “I’m the absolute worse at it. That is why I always find alternative ways of convey the truth. That’s what lawyers do. We don’t resort to lies.”

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he quickly apologized, before falling silent for a few seconds to ponder a solution. "Okay, listen. You don’t have to say anything."

"What do you mean?" you looked up at him, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

"I can take care of all the relationship talk, and I won’t say anything unless prompted.” he replied, trying to inject a touch of wit into his response. “Afterall, you are just my friend that just happens to be a girl.” He playfully wiggled his eyebrows at you “And I want you to spend Christmas with me and my family instead of being alone at home.” Namjoon gave you a sincere smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the grip on your heart slightly loosen.

“Okay,” you gave a small nod “Thank you Joon.”

The nickname slipped by unnoticed, but you noticed the way Namjoon reacted, rekindling your burning cheeks.

“So, no Oppa?”

When your train arrived, Namjoon swiftly took charge, effortlessly carrying all the bags to your seats, settling in comfortably for the four-hour journey ahead.

He had come prepared, armed with at least three books to keep himself entertained, while you had grand plans of getting a head start on your work, perhaps even sneaking in a personal lecture and a quick power nap. However, much to your surprise, the allure of a nap quickly surpassed all other ambitions, your head found a cozy resting place on Namjoon’s shoulder, and you drifted off into a blissful slumber for the remainder of the journey. A sleepless night imagining what it would be like pretending to date your roommate could do that to you.

Only stirring awake when you were less than a few minutes away, because Namjoon was constantly shifting in his seat, half of his body numb from your weight on him.

“Oh hey,” he whispered, swiftly stretching his legs as soon as you moved off him. “I just spoke to Minhi, she said she’d come pick us up from the train station,”

“Oh, that’s nice.” you yawned, rubbing away any remnants of sleep from your eyes “You could have told me to move, you know.”

“Yes, but you looked so peaceful. It felt almost wrong to disturb you.” He grinned, fully aware that he also indulged in a little nap, using your head as a pillow just half an hour ago.

“Shut up,” you whispered, poking his thigh and retrieving your makeup bag to quickly fix your face before the train pulled up in the station.

The frigid air pierced through your very bones, sending an instant shiver cascading down your spine as you stepped into the snow filled air. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, trying to ward off the cold as you looked around for Minhi, seeing as Namjoon was on luggage duty again.

However, before you could spot her, Minhi’s voice sliced through the chilly air,

“Kim Namjoon, you have got to be kidding me.”

Namjoon’s little sister, all bundled up in a thick winter coat had fixed you two with a piercing stare, her hands on her hips in a classic display of sibling disapproval.

Namjoon’s wonky smile did nothing to deter her piercing gaze, or calm any of your fraying nerves. “It’s good to see you too?”

You feel your heart drop as Minhi's gaze shifts from her brother to you, her expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. Your worst fears are confirmed - she's figured you out and you haven’t even been off the train for 5 minutes. Now Namjoon will be married off to some rich middle-aged woman and you'll never be able to look him in the eye again.

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you look away, silently praying that the snow beneath your boots doesn’t melt into a puddle while she stares.

But then, unexpectedly, Minhi starts to laugh. At first, it's a quiet chuckle, but soon it grows into a full-blown laugh. She laughs so hard that she has to hold her stomach, and at the end she wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.

“You two are perfect for each other,” she says still chuckling “Fine, I’ll play along. How did you two end up together?”

“Got drunk one night.” Namjoon casually replied, rubbing the back of his neck before wrapping his arm around you, “Turns out all I had to do was say something, because she was all over me the next second.”

Minhi raised her eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right,” She hugged Namjoon tightly, and then turned to you, surprising you with a warm embrace. She muttered something about Namjoon never confessing his feelings in your coat, but you were too busy drowning in a whirlwind of confusion and relief to register it.

“We'll talk more later about how inappropriate this is." She added cheerfully, beckoning you to follow her towards her little yellow jeep, bright against the snowy backdrop.

You look back at Namjoon just in time to catch him winking in your direction and giving you a thumbs-up that sent your heart whirling in your chest.

The car ride was over faster than you would have wanted. Minhi navigated the snow-laden road while she and Namjoon chatted away about mundane topics—work, rent, the best coffee in town. You sank deeper into the backseat, overwhelmed and lost in your thoughts. Because What the hell was that and If this was how you were kicking things off you might as well turn around now. Was it just fear of ruining the friendship or was an old crush budding again? The way he ‘claimed’ you in front of Minhi clearly ignited something in your chest that was not appropriate for friends or roommates or roommate-friends pretending to be dating.

As if sensing your turmoil from the front, Namjoon caught your eyes, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile before the car came to a halt. He gallantly opened the door for you, his hand grasping yours and squeezing it tightly.

“I got you, baby,” he says, teasingly, but the poorly-timed joke earns him an immediate glare and an elbow to the ribs.

“Oh, come on. They are lovely people.” Minhi interrupts before Namjoon can retaliate, “You should’ve seen the way mom was dancing around the kitchen once she heard Namjoon was bringing someone over.”

You just blink at her, your breath misting in the air as you unconsciously step closer to Namjoon, giving him a small nod of support. His presence radiates warmth, his fingers tightening around yours as you walked towards the small house that looms in front of you. Minhi ambles ahead, dropping her bag near the entrance, while you could practically feel Namjoon vibrating with excitement.

“Someone’s in trouble” She whispers dramatically, letting you both into the warmth of the household, where laughter and the mouthwatering scent of home-cooked food intertwine. You follow her into the kitchen and you see the older couple husting about, half-focused on a pot bubbling over the stove and half on each other.

“Mom! Dad! Look who I’ve brought!” she announces, and the couple turned, smiles blooming as they spotted you and Namjoon.

For a fleeting moment, you felt exposed. Like an exhibit at a museum, thrust into the spotlight. Your breath hitched as Namjoon gently nudged you forward, a gesture both comforting and terrifying, but steeling yourself, you bravely stepped ahead, bowing as a sign of respect.

“I knew it!” The affectionate glow sweeping across Mrs. Kim face relaxed your nerves considerably, “I’m so glad you could make it!” her eyes sparkled with genuine delight, and you suddenly realized that Namjoon inherited his dimples from her. But the thought was quickly squeezed out of you as she enveloped you in that bone-crushing hug.

Namjoon’s father, a tall elderly man with kind eyes, patted him on the back. His approval apparent, before he turned his attention to you, “Welcome to our home,” he said warmly.

“I’m honored to be here.” You managed to respond, your voice quacking slightly but laced with sincerity. You heard Minhi groaning in the background but did your best to ignore her exaggerations and focus only on Namjoon’s parents, as you exchanged the required pleasantries.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Mrs. Kim said, bustling around the kitchen with effortless grace. The contrast between her elegant movements and Namjoon’s clumsy demeanour in the kitchen made you smile inwardly “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Yes, we didn’t get a chance to eat today,” Namjoon added quickly, casually leaning against the counter and stealing a taste from the simmering pot.

“I’ll call you over once it’s done. Go show our guest to your room until then,” Mrs. Kim commanded, expertly shooing him away from the stove and passing plates to Minhi.

“My room?” Namjoon echoed, his eyes widening as if the concept had floored him.

“Yes, dear. I know we are old-fashioned, but we are not under any illusions that you two don’t already share a room.” Mrs. Kim replied, stirring the bubbling pot without sparing him a glance.

Minhi shot you a look that was equal parts amusement and something you couldn’t quite place—sympathy, perhaps? Or pity?

“Yes- No. I just thought that it would be more appropriate to let her have the guest room,” Namjoon articulated, his voice half-hearted in its conviction.

Mrs. Kim merely cooed, waved away his protests with a flick of the wrist. “Minhi and Jackson are staying in the guest room. You can have your room.”

“Come on, Namjoon. You always make everything so complicated,” Minhi chimed in, her voice laced with mischief. “Just accept it. You guys will have an entire night to sort things out, right?”

“Right.” he grumbled, shooting her a glare that softened as he turned his gaze back to you “Let’s get you settled in,” he gestured for you to follow him.

The moment you step into Namjoon's room, a charged silence enveloped you- like the kind that proceeds a brewing storm. The room was exactly as you imagined, a blend of cooler minimalist décor and hints of his personal touch, a few pieces of art and pictures hung up on the wall, all whispering tales of youth, friendship and moments you yearned to know more about.

But all those sweet memories fade into the background as the reality settled in: there was only one bed.

“So, let me get this straight,” you began, the awkwardness hanging heavily in the air “You thought about everything, including phone wallpapers, but forgot you only have one bed in your room?”

“No, of course not.” He lied, that endearing grin spreading across his face. “I just thought it would be polite to let you have the bed… since you’re my guest.” He seemed genuinely proud of the excuse, but that pride melted when you teased,

“Before or after you plan for the guest room fell through?”

“After.” He admitted at last, glancing away, as if the walls held all the explanations he could not muster.

“Don’t tell me you planned on sleeping on the floor too,” for a brief moment the ridiculous image of him curled up on the hardwood floor, blankets draped haphazardly around him pops into your mind, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“No.” He smiles, “I knew you’d take pity on my lower back,” his dimples deepened and you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“Very strategic Mr. Kim,” you laugh, walking further into the room and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The playful banter creating a familiar atmosphere, dissolving any lingering tension. A part of you almost couldn't believe you were in Namjoon’s personal space, taking your sweet time admiring the various little parts of him decorating the room, while another part was acutely aware of his gaze on you, observing you as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

He stepped closer, his expression sincere, drawing you in gently as he took your hands in his. “Are you sure?” The tentative nature of his voice hinted at a deeper question—he was about to add an ‘I was only joking’—but you quickly shushed him.

“Yes, of course.”

There were a few past occurrences where the two of you ended up falling asleep together on the couch, limbs tangled under the fuzzy throw blanket, with a movie playing in the background. Without fail, one of you would wake up in the morning to find the other wrapped around them, as the night was chilly and body heat was a rare luxury. Most of the time it was Namjoon that dozed off first, his head lolling in an awkward position until you gently nudged him into a more comfortable posture, knowing he’d whine about neck and/or shoulder pain come morning time if you didn’t. But his lug of a body was always warm, so you didn’t mind snuggling closer to him when it mattered.

This was more of the same. Just in a bed.

You swallow drily, eyes flickering away for a quick second, “I told you, I’m comfortable with you.”

“Come on, lovebirds!” Minhi’s voice rang through the door, breaking the spell. “Dinner’s ready!”

You shared a hurried glance, perspectives shifting as the familiar nervousness rushed back to you.

“Ready?” he asked, his smile spreading across his face, deepening the dimples in his cheeks as he tugged you up to your feet. You nodded, suddenly buoyed by a sense of belonging.

To your surprise, dinner goes by without a hitch. You may have gone a little overboard on the kimchi, but it wasn’t anything you wouldn’t recover from. However, the warmth of Namjoon’s hand resting softly on your thigh might etch itself into your memory for all time.

Halfway through the meal, Jackson showed up, and you got to observe with amusement as Minhi transformed in his presence, her demeanor shifting from the laid-back hostess to a giddy schoolgirl. The way she playfully nudged Jackson, her eyes sparkling each time she teased him, be it about his late arrival or some inside joke, was a refreshing sight. And you couldn’t help but snicker each time Mrs. Kim would chastise them, before dotting lovingly on anything you and Namjoon did together.

As the lively conversation flowed around you, you leaned into Namjoon’s warmth. It felt easy, and so right to nestle beside him, to let your fingers brush against his with familiarity, each touch igniting tiny sparks. You stole a glance at him, watching as he engaged wholeheartedly in the conversation, his contagious laughter filling the room.

After dinner, you offered to help Mrs. Kim clear up the table, even if it was to get a second to clear your thoughts, but to your surprise, Mr. Kim placed a soft hand on your shoulder, smiling, as he gently guided you back to your seat.

“You’ve done enough, dear,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring “We appreciate your help, but tonight is for you and Namjoon to enjoy.” He gave you a kind nod, and you felt your cheeks warm.

“Yeah, there will be dishes tomorrow too,” Minhi interrupted, getting a heartfelt laughter from her father before he left the room, to join his wife in the kitchen.

You shared a sheepish glance with Namjoon, who watched the exchange with an amused smile. His eyes twinkling in the soft light of the dining room, and you felt your heart pick-up the pace in your chest again. You really needed to get away, perhaps splash some cold water on your face. But just as you felt the urge to excuse yourself, you overheard Jackson's whispered confusion.

“Wait, so they’re not actually dating?” His voice was muted, and laced with confusion as he looked between you and Namjoon, his eyes wide with bewilderment.

“Kyung Min!” Namjoon called Minhi by her full name, which made her owlishly blink up at him.

“What? He asked how long you two have been dating for,” she defended.

“And you couldn’t just say three months, like a normal person?” Namjoon shot back, half laughing, half exasperated and watched as her brows knitted.

“No! He deserves to know.” She persisted, glaring at her brother, and you felt the heat crawl up your neck, trying desperately to remain inconspicuous under Jackson’s incredulous stare.

“So how exactly does this work?” Jackson asked, stopping the siblings from their bickering “Is it like friends with benefits or-?” just when you thought it couldn’t get any more awkward, the sip of water you took ended up going down the wrong way, making you choke and sputter.

“No! it’s nothing like that.” You stammered, trying to form a coherent thought, but all you could manage was a mangled mess of words.

“No babe, they don’t even kiss,” Minhi added, placing her hand over his as if she were breaking some bad news.

But Namjoon reacted with the prove-your-sibling-wrong part of the brain, making you stare at him in disbelief.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we do.”

And your pulse picked up again when you saw him leaning in, the implication clear in your mind. You steeled yourself, closing your eyes. But to your astonishment, he didn’t press his lips against yours as you had envisioned. Instead, they grazed the curve of your cheek, followed by a loud, exaggerated kiss.

“I’m confused.” Jackson mumbled, looking over at Minhi as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re not the only one.”

~~~

Why didn’t he just kiss you?

The thought still lingered stubbornly at the edge of consciousness, even as the icy water from the shower jolted you into the present. You fumbled with the knobs, trying to figure out the right temperature, but your mind was elsewhere.

That scene kept on replaying on a constant loop in your head, each time leaving you just as stumped.

What stopped him?

You talked about this- he brought it up! And you agreed, so what was the hold-up? Was he really so uninterested that the mere thought of kissing you sent him into retreat mode?

Frustration bubbled up alongside the steam, and you invertedly cringed at the image of his nervous smile that still haunted you, his eyes darting away. Scrubbing harder at your skin, you wish the shame and embarrassment would simply wash away with the suds.

And the absurdity of getting worked over your friend not kissing you was not lost on you, but at least if he had gone for it, you might have been able to push that nagging question aside ~What would it be like to kiss Namjoon?

His lips looked so soft, like they were meant for more than just talking…

You violently shook that thought away, and with a resigned sigh, you turned the water back to cold in an attempt to wash away your sins. Friends don’t kiss!

And he clearly wasn’t interested, so the sooner you silence these thoughts, the sooner you could go back to being normal. Just four more days of pretending to be his girlfriend. You could manage that. And after, you promised yourself you’d lock yourself in your room and avoid human interaction for rest of your miserable life.

As the water continued its relentless pour, you felt your fingertips start to wrinkle, a reminder that perhaps it was time to step out of this session of self-pity. With one last shudder, you turned the water off, determined to face the world- if only for a little while longer.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the room. Namjoon was already tucked into bed, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he quietly looked over the pages of a book. Only, in reality he hadn’t been able to absorb a single word in the past fifteen minutes, his gaze lost in a world of his own.

Silently, you made your way to your side, wrapping yourself in the blanket and turning your back to him. A slight shiver coursed through you as you felt the warmth envelop you, the little tremor alerting Namjoon to your presence.

“Why are you so cold?” he asked softly, shifting slightly closer to you.

Your heart thudded at the caring tone, and for a moment, all the questions crowd your mind again.

Instead of answering, you huffed in frustration and turned to face him.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” the words blurted out before you could stop them, surprising you both with their boldness, but your face flushed when you met his gaze.

Namjoon’s eyes widened, and he froze, the book forgotten on his lap. “I-I don’t know.” He stuttered, his hand running though his tousled hair, the soft strands falling back in place but not hiding the flush creeping up his neck. You watched the muscles in his jaw tense, eyes averted again in a way that tightened your stomach.

“It would’ve convinced Minhi sooner,” your added, your words hanging heavy in the air. Namjoon chuckled awkwardly, running that same hand down his face.

“You want me to kiss you?”

You hesitated, the corners of your mind fanatically searching for a safe answer

“I’m just saying it would’ve made things easier,” you deflected, avoiding his question much like he had done moments before.

He studied you for a moment, gears visibly turning in his mind before his lips curved into a small, daring smile. “Because I can kiss you if you want.”

Your breath caught in your throat, surprised by the sudden shift in tension.

“Now?” you breathed.

“Why not?” he shrugged “We’re both clearly anxious about it, so why not just get it over with?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, lost for words, staring up at him. All the courage from before evaporating into thin air. You quickly searched his features, seeking the playful glint, the laughter behind his eyes, but instead, his eyes just flickered from yours to your lips.

“Do you want to kiss me?” you finally found the words, and his eyes snapped back to your own.

“I think it would make things easier going forward,” he replied, his voice low and earnest.

A heavy silence settled between you, stretching like an elastic ready to snap at any moment, as snowflakes continued to drift outside, dressing the world in white.

You took a deep breath, “Fine.” Ultimately you mumbled, sitting up against the headboard and turning to face him.

“Are you sure?”, The way he phrased it made your stomach flop, as if he were validating a choice that seemed both reckless and somehow still challenged you.

“Yes, now stop talking and just-” The words were lost as the space between you disappeared. But now you knew; his lips were soft, warm and tentative against yours. It felt wonderful, and sent tingles shooting through your veins while your heart tried erratically to catch up. He hesitated for a heartbeat- less than a fraction of a second- before he leaned further in, deepening the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. And you soften against him, all the tension melting away. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as if anchoring yourself amidst the storm of emotions that released once you tasted his mint toothpaste.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping for breath, the world resumed its muted noised- the quiet hum of the heater, the faint sound of voices downstairs, Namjoon’s breath against your lips. You could hardly meet his eyes, until you heard the first thing that left his lips.

“I just kissed you.”

Your eyebrow arched, blinking at him as if waiting for the punchline that never came.

“I know. I- was there too.” You replied, a little smile creeping on your face despite the rapid thump of your heart. Namjoon laughed softly; his cheeks still tinged with a shade of pink. “You’re a good kisser.” You added after a few beats of silence, before chewing on your lip, and unintentionally drawing his attention back to them.

“You too,” He gave a curt nod, remembering he has a book on his lap and fumbling to bookmark and put it away.

Another moment of silence followed once he settled back, and your eyes desperately scanned the walls for something, anything to say.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” you settled on the worst option, slightly cringing.

“No!” he answered louder than he anticipated, slightly shocking you which in return startled him. “I mean-” he let out an exasperated breath, “Friends kiss all the time.”

He didn’t believe it. And neither did you. But you still nodded in agreement.

#namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x oc #namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #knj x reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts x fem!reader #namjoon x y/n #the holiday pretense

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honestlyanowl · 1 month ago

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gamer!jinx X plussizedcurvy!reader where jinx has reader cockwarming her strap while she's playing a game plsplspls 🙏🙏🙏

heyy, it's been a while since I've posted a proper smut blurb like this, so I thought I'd make some time today :)

i've been on a trip for about 1-2 months back and fourth, so it's been hard for me to find time or motivation for writing, sorry for the wait. <3 (REQUESTS OPEN)

Content: nsfw - gamer!jinx, plussizedcurvy!reader, cockwarming, strap usage, silent sex, modern au?

Jinx hadn't been paying much attention to you this week, her schedule seemed to always be booked with twitch streams, that lately had seemed to be her priority.

It's not that she didn't see or talk to you throughout the day, you lived in the same apartment after all, but it was only really when you'd bring her food, water, or snacks in between add breaks that you could get a word in.

You were happy she found a career she could enjoy, but you wanted some time with her too. ***

Today however, was slightly different.

How? You may ask, well... most was as pure usual— Jinx had her headphones on, her hands working with practiced ease over the controller she held; eyes focussed on her monitor.

Except it wasn't usual, not with the way you straddled her hips, knees pressing uncomfortably into the arms of her gaming chair, muffling your soft breaths into her neck every time the blue-to-pink gradient strap would slightly nudge more inside of you with every annoyed twitch Jinx's hips would make, usually whenever she'd die in game.

It was both heaven and hell at the same time.

You were more than happy that she was finally allowing you to get close to her, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin, and how your body greedily absorbed it.

However, it was also torture being unable to move, the strap was so deep inside of you, and yet there was so little stimulation...

The best you got were occasional shivers that would climb up your spine whenever the toy massaged that gummy spot inside of you as you shifted on her hips. But it wasn't enough, barely anything compared to what she'd given you a week or so prior. You felt deprived.

You pawed almost pathetically at the freckled skin of her arm, pouting up at her and batting your lashes in hope for something more.

Jinx's gaze flickered down to meet yours for a moment, smiling a little to herself and rolling her eyes back to the screen, her face illuminated by the soft light.

How could she just deny you like that? You deserved it after all the weeks she'd delayed this!

You nudged her again, harder this time. which she obviously didn't like, shooting you a glare, giving your thigh a firm slap, before returning it back to the controller, the fast paced clicking sounds returning to haunt your ears— This was a game to her.

You spent at least thirty strained minutes trying to be pliant, grumbling every time she'd squeeze or grope your stomach to calm herself down. Sometimes going as far as dipping her head down to knowingly nibble at the chub of your cheeks... before continuing her gameplay like nothing.

Maybe she'd whisper sweet nothings by the shell of your ear, or peck your forehead to distract you from the ache inside of you.

You had given up a while ago, slacked into her chest, face nuzzled into the crook of her neck, thriving off the soft lifts of her hips whenever she felt bad, driving the strap slowly in and out, then sinking back into the chair.

"Hey chat, give me like... five minutes? I'm going to go fetch a snack."

You swore as those words left her lips you just about saw heaven, knowing goddamn well she had one or two full packets of chips beside her out of frame.

She placed her controller down, hands reaching down to settle on her hips, nuzzling your face almost apologetically as she helped you get into a higher position, so she could have a nicer angle. Sliding the colourful length in and out of your pretty pussy with long languid strokes. (while also getting a jaw-dropping view.)

Your eyes crossed, it almost hurt how good it felt, how badly you'd been craving this sensation for what felt like hours.

In fact it, you were so deep inside your head now, that you completely forgot about Jinx, who's eyes were staring harmless daggers into your frame. drinking in the sight of you.

her hands kneaded at your chest, dragged down to your stomach and pawed at the fat of your abdomen, dipping lower to grope at the flesh of your thighs.

You groaned, voice crackling as you focussed your gaze, peeking down to watch her, lip bitten between your teeth as you made eye contact.

"Jinx- hng- fuck..!" You almost cried, embarrassed at how little time it took to make you come.

"Wha- already?" Jinx's voice was thick, mocking. And yet all so amused at the same time.

pulling you back down into her chest and sheathing the strap fully into your warmth to run your high out.

Usually you'd rush to pay her back, to make her reach the same peak you did. But not today, definitely not today... you were already curled up against her, dazed out and lulled into Jinx's touch.

Her hands ran over your hips, not bothering to pull out as she rolled small circles into your sides.

"My pretty trinket."

(NOT PROOF READ) - Owl

#@honestlyanowl #lesbian #arcane #league of legends #sapphic #jinx x reader #jinx #jinx arcane #get jinxed #jinx smut #smut writing #smut #gamer!jinx #request #got warning banner from @cafekitsune !

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selineram3421 · 9 months ago

Text

👁️

You're Off-key

Part 1

Prologue

Reader X Gravity Falls

Warnings ⚠

⚠ italics=thoughts, swear words, some or many book of bill spoils, blood, mentions of a concussion, minor panic attack, we pacing now lol, ugh Disney mention ⚠

Ow..

You woke up in pain and the sunlight hitting your eyes.

Everything hurt.

Like a lot.

Geez.. You thought with a groan. Why is everything so bright? What is this vividness? Disney?

Sitting up, you notice that you're still in the woods and it's around noon or at least in the afternoon. Rubbing the back of your head, you try to remember what happened.

I was in the woods..with spaghetti and..my best friend was going to take my picture. Ow-!

You hiss and you pull your hand away from your head, finding blood once getting a look at it.

"Oof ok, time to go get help.", you said to yourself and stood up.

Like any gamer out there, you checked your surroundings before checking your inventory. So far you were deep in the woods that looked oddly..cartoonish? And you had a backpack nearby with a water bottle, phone, and wallet inside.

Where's my flashlight? Wait, I had a flashlight? Also, where's by bestie?

Every time you thought about it your head would start hurting.

"Never mind that, I have to get moving before it gets dark out.", you sighed and began walking.

In all honesty, you did not know where you were going. Just picked a direction and decided that was good enough. Maybe you'll find civilization or maybe you're walking deeper into the woods. Who knows!

My brain is a little optimistic right now. You thought. Or maybe it's due to lack of sleep.. I was driving the whole time.

Then you started getting a little clumsy.

Tripping, swaying, falling flat on your face a few times, and overall just feeling drained. Also, you kept hearing maracas? Was that some kind of bird or something?

Ah, wait. Wasn't that the Hide Behind? You remembered about reading it in Journal 3 and that scene when Mabel says maraca owl. Maybe it is a maraca owl or maybe it's the tall thing that follows people.

Currently, you were laying on the ground because you fell..haha. AGAIN.

Thank Glob you landed on grass this time.

Ok. Do I or do I not take a nap? Probably not the best choice because I might have a concussion. Hm..the choices.

Deciding on one last try, you push yourself off the ground, take a quick sip of water, and continue on your journey! Nothing was gonna stop you now-!

Oh, a bird!

Then you ran into something, fell back and hit your head on the ground.

It was silly because it was kinda like a light switch.

You were awake and then you passed out,

Ha!

⯅

OW! How many times am I going to wake up in pain!?

"Great job Dipper! You killed someone!", a feminine voice said.

"They aren't dead! They just hit their head and passed oUt after they fell!", another voice says with a slight voice crack.

"Haha ha!", the girl laughs. "Your voice cracked."

Slowly waking up, you feel a type of rocking motion, like you're in a car or something.

A car!?

You sit up quickly. Too quickly and almost fall out of the golf cart but someone manages to pull you back to the seat.

"Whoa! Careful, you do not want to fall out of this thing when going almost full speed.", the female voice says next to you.

Looking over, you find a brown haired girl wearing a keyboard sweater.

"Hi! I'm Mabel! I have a pet pig named Waddles!!", she introduces herself loudly.

You feel your head hurt at her polite screeching.

"Ow. Hold on, give me a sec.", you say and rub your forehead.

"Uh.. Mabel? It's not a good idea to be loud around someone who just woke up after hitting their head.", the guy says, who you are assuming is driving the golf cart.

"Oops.", the girl, Mabel, smiles at you sheepishly. "My bad."

You wave her off.

"It's fine, I've dealt with worse.", you reassure.

"Let me start again.", she says and extends a hand for you to shake. "I'm Mabel and the one driving the golf cart is my twin brother, Dipper."

"STOP THE CART!"

The golf cart screeches to a stop and you hobbled your way out, beginning to pace back and forth.

Holyshitthisexplainsalot!That'swhyeverythingwassobrightandcartoonybecasuethisisfuckingDisneyshit!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH-!

"Uh..you ok there?", Mabel asks.

"Um? Maybe? I-", you begin but then panic about what to say next.

Shitshitshitshit! Think of something! Anything!

"I don't remember how I got into the woods..", you say and cringe.

Yeah! Nice job! Now you're suspicious! YA DOINKUS!

"O..k, so you hit your head harder than we thought.", Dipper speaks up. "Let's get you patched up and see what we can do from there, ok?"

Pros: Going with two of your favorite characters will lead to adventures. Cons: They might try to read your mind to see if you're a threat and might threaten you with some random weapons..

.....

"I guess I can go with you guys until I can go to the hospital or something.", you say and finally stop imprinting foot prints into the dirt.

"Cool!", Mabel cheers. "Let's go! I've got Mabel juice in the fridge and I wanna see if the new dinosaurs inside taste different!"

"That's not how that works.", her brother mumbles and puts the golf cart in drive.

Hopping back on, you notice your backpack was opened.

"Uh? Who raccooned into my pack?", you asked.

"Racooned?", the Pines driving asks.

"Dug through your stuff? That was Dip.", Mabel says, completely understanding what you meant.

"Oh, sorry.", Dipper pipes up. "That was to see your ID, nothing else. I mean, wouldn't you try to identify someone after they passed out randomly?"

He is kinda right.

"Understandable racooning.", you say and start to brain storm ideas for a plan on how to stay under the radar.

Ok, so I might have/most likely freed Bill and now I have to do something about it before he's running wild around Gravity Falls again...fun.

You sigh and just decide to sit back and enjoy the ride for now.

Jerk didn't let me keep the pictures.

The sun was starting to set, within a few minutes you saw the Mystery Shack in the distance.

23 1 12 11 9 14 20 15 20 8 5 16 9 14 5 19

~Seline, the person.

Part 2

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juyeonszn · 2 years ago

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BAD IDEA RIGHT?

PAIRING lee juyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 4.10k

GENRES … smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, literally porn with plot. like i’m so insane, enemies to “we fuckin” as reese put it 🥰, frat boy tbz again!!!, juyo is literally so irritating in the first half im not even gonna lie, he’s also a manwhore, making out, reader is a bit of a brat, juyeon has a dirty mouth, kinda dom!juyeon, vaginal fingering, oral (m! receiving), SHOWER SEX !12!1!, he’s hitting it from the back btw, unprotected sex, creampie, juyeon is actually… i don’t even know how to describe him writing his character made me want to claw at the walls lol

SUMMARY deep down you’re fully aware that you’re probably making a huge mistake by giving into juyeon just like every other girl on campus ever has. but paired with how intoxicating his mouth feels on your own and the steam filled bathroom clouding your head, you can’t seem to find a logical reason to stop.

MORE heheheh im back 🤭 oh my god this was actually the cause of a week full of sleepless nights. i genuinely drove myself crazy writing this bc NEED FRRRR like idk i’m so 😭 delusional. ANYWAYS. ANON. THIS ONE IS FOR U. U REQUESTED THIS AND I RAN WITH IT. u wanted more juyeon, i deliver more juyeon ;) also shout out to ally, moni, AND reese for beta’ing 🥺 i love u my cupcakes!! prompt used: 18 <3

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble

If there was anyone on Earth that you hated more than anything, it had to be Lee Juyeon.

To put things plainly, he was quite literally the bane of your existence. Being around him made your blood pressure skyrocket and gave you migraines that lasted for days. It was insane how one person could affect you so much by doing so little. It seemed as if he thrived off of getting under your skin.

Considering he was the captain and the pitcher of the baseball team, it wasn’t shocking. He was also a member of one of the most popular fraternities on campus. But he happened to be roommates with one of your best friends, and that made it ten times worse.

You’d known Changmin since third grade, along with Kevin and Chanhee. When he mentioned he’d be joining a fraternity in college, you were a bit apprehensive. All you knew about them was what you’d read in YA books and seen in movies. Neither gave them a good rep. Part of you wanted to talk him out of it, but you knew this was something you had to let him do, given you were adults and it was his college experience. At least you still had the other two under one roof.

The first time you met Juyeon was also the first time you attended a frat party. Changmin had just passed his initiation after waiting a year and he invited all of you to celebrate. You were excited for the most part since high school parties were more for an adrenaline rush due to the fact that your parents never let you go to them and you either snuck out or lied about going. You didn’t have to worry about the limitations of parents this go around.

The boys disappeared almost immediately upon arrival, leaving you to fend for yourself in the very crowded fraternity house. You could hardly pass through a room without bumping into somebody’s shoulder or elbow, huffing as you maneuver around the house equivalent to a sardine can. Your drink nearly spilled onto your top multiple times and you were glad you decided against the heels for the night.

You chugged the rest of the jungle juice in your cup as you stepped onto the patio, where it’s just as noisy and just as packed. You’re lucky enough to find an empty lounge chair near the house’s pool, unoccupied and calling your name. When your legs touch the plastic chair, you flinch at how hot it is, most likely from being in the sun all day.

“Woah, do you want a cushion?”

You look up at the source of the voice. You’ve seen him around campus before, and even at Changmin’s games. Lee Juyeon was just one of those people that you had to know, unless you’d been living under a rock. Just like everyone else in the world, you couldn’t deny how attractive he was. From this distance, you truly understood why girls would giggle like high schoolers over the guy.

“Uh, sure. Yeah, that would be great actually.” You nod, watching as he wanders towards the shed in the corner of the big ass backyard. He returns promptly, holding his red solo cup between his teeth and one hand on your lower back guiding you to a standing position so he could place down the cushion.

“As a thank you, can I get your name?” He gives you a cocky little smile that should’ve been a warning. And looking back on it, you should’ve seen his true personality sooner, to be completely honest. The way his lips curled at the corners, like a conniving bastard who got off on irritating others.

“It’s Y/N,” you say, messing with your empty cup. “I’d ask for yours, but I kinda already know.”

He laughs at that, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s not surprising.” It’s at this point that you’re starting to see through his sweet facade, but despite knowing better— despite always keeping your guard up— you let yourself fall for it just this once. All because you didn’t want to fuck things up for Changmin. He owed you big time.

“Well, you are a talented athlete.” You didn’t want to fuel what is probably already a massive ego, but you’d rather compliment his baseball skills than the fact that he was infamous for screwing around with half of the girls on campus. Technically, that was a feat of its own since he’d only been in school for a year.

“Oh, so you think I’m talented?” He rested a hand on your chair, leaning down to your level. Confidence oozed from every corner of his being and if you weren’t so self aware, perhaps you could’ve ended up like all those other victims of his charismatic behavior.

“I go to the games for Changmin,” you scoff, glancing away from his face to stop the heat rising up your neck. “I’ve only paid attention to you once or twice.”

“Yeah, sure. Let's go with that,” he bites his lip, blatantly checking you out. “I wouldn’t mind paying attention to you a little.”

“I’m unimpressed, Juyeon,” you snort, raising an eyebrow at him. “Does this shit really work on everyone?”

“I can drop the act if you want, baby. Just let me know when you’re ready to stop playing hard to get.” He stands upright, running a hand through his hair.

Every time you ran into Lee Juyeon after that, he was more and more insufferable. He knew his influence on you, too, if his smug fucking grin was anything to go by. You wish you could just slap it off of him. However, you stood by being the bigger person in any given situation, so that was off the table. (And half of you still felt a moral obligation to not get your friend into hot water.)

“Would it kill you to play nice every once in a while? I do live with the dude, you know.” Changmin whines, trailing you in the supermarket like a lost puppy.

“He’s got a point, N/N,” Kevin adds, humming as he tosses a boxed dinner into the cart. “I get that he’s a little bit of an overconfident douche, but rolling your eyes at him when he hasn’t even done anything just makes it worse on you. And JiChang, too, I guess.”

“Bro…”

You weren’t even sure why he decided to tag along with you and the other boys when you mentioned grocery shopping. In fact, he might as well have stayed his ass home if he was just going to gang up on you the whole time. Chanhee sighs dramatically, bringing your shopping cart to a halt.

“Can we not have a peaceful grocery trip? Is that impossible or something?” His lips form a thin line. “I swear, all we do is talk about how much Y/N hates Lee Juyeon. Can we please move on?”

“Thank you, Chanhee, I agree,” you nod along, walking backwards as you do so and ignoring the faces your friends make. “He makes me want to kill myself.”

“Who makes you want to kill yourself?”

You jump up, frightened by the sudden voice in your ear. Your friends all give you sheepish smiles, as if they’d already tried to warn you. (What shitty jobs they did.) With a hand over your heart, you turn around to meet— speak of the devil— none other than Lee Juyeon himself.

“What are you doing here?” Your eyes narrow and your arms cross over your chest. Luck could never be on your side when it came to this guy.

“Uh, last I checked, this was a public supermarket. Where I can publicly shop. I wasn’t aware that I had to run that by you. So sorry, sweetheart.” He pouts, his expression so theatrical you nearly give in to your constant urge to punch him in the face.

You feel your eye twitch, and it takes everything in you to step back and assess just how bad it would be if you committed murder right now. Changmin comes to your rescue, doing damage control as best as he can while Kevin attempts to talk you out of becoming a criminal.

The two frat brothers do their little fraternity handshake thing and then finally he’s out of sight, out of mind, allowing you to visibly relax. Chanhee purses his lips. “Okay, so maybe I do see where the anger comes from. And holy shit, Y/N, you have the patience of a saint.”

“The person you have called is unavailable! At the tone, please leave a message. When you have finished recording, you may—”

“Goddammit.” You curse, ending the unsuccessful call.

The downside of working far from campus, was working far from campus. You didn’t have your own car and usually relied on one of your roommates for a ride to and from. But now here you are, stranded at work while it’s pouring cats and dogs outside. Kevin was in class and Chanhee wasn’t picking up his phone. You could call Changmin, but you’re pretty sure he also had a class around this time.

Just as you’re about to succumb to your demise, you receive a text from Chanhee.

[2:57 pm] michael jackson: IM SO SORRY AJNSSJNW BUT SOMETHING CAME UP WITH A GROUP PROJECT

[2:57 pm] michael jackson: DONT WORRY THOUGH, IVE GOT IT COVERED UR STILL GETTING PICKED UP

“Could today get any worse?” You mutter to yourself, locking your phone and tossing it into your purse. As if your timing couldn’t be better, you spoke entirely too soon. Your eyes squint at the unfamiliar car rolling up under the carport. Your brows furrowed in confusion, because you had no idea who could be your saving grace. Chanhee was a wild card so who knew who he had on speed dial.

But then the passenger window rolls down and you wish the ground would just swallow you whole. Lee Juyeon grins that stupid fucking grin of his, beckoning you to his car as it unlocks when he shifts into park. You shake your head.

“No way. There is absolutely no way I am getting into that car.” You shout over the pelting rain.

Juyeon tsks, his eyes rolling when he reaches over the center console to open the door for you. “Is there anyone else who would drop everything they’re doing to pick you up in this weather?”

Your lips pull into a flat line. The answer was no, you didn’t have anyone else who would drop everything they were doing to pick you up in this weather. That was the reason Juyeon was here, you supposed. It didn’t mean you weren’t at least going down without a fight, though. Except, Lee Juyeon was a man who was all too comfortable with how expressive you were. Most notably towards him.

“What? Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”

“Fuck you. I’d rather walk.” You seethe, starting straight in the direction of your apartment. Juyeon groans at first, your constant need to prove yourself getting on his nerves for once. Then his eyes widen slightly when he realizes you’re not joking.

The truth was that the rain was freezing and you’d love to be in the shelter of a warm car. In fact, you didn’t really care that Juyeon was the person driving. But you were too deep into the bit now. You couldn’t just turn around and get in the car, for you had a pride to protect at this point.

“Shit.” Juyeon swears under his breath, reaching into the backseat to grab an umbrella. Sure he loved to tease you and rile you up, but he wasn’t cruel. Your friends would have his head on a silver platter if he let anything happen to you.

You pause in your steps when you’re no longer being showered in rain water. Juyeon holds the umbrella over your head with a worried expression. You feel kind of bad for making him chase after you even though he’d already gone out of his way to pick you up. Sometimes you wish your ego wasn’t so fragile. Maybe then you could accept help when you needed it instead of making things worse.

“Can you please stop being so stubborn and just get in the damn car, Y/N? Do you have to make everything difficult all the time?” Usually, pissing you off made him over the moon, but you can tell he’s not exactly pleased at the moment. You swallow thickly, nodding quietly and following him back to his car.

The whole drive to your apartment is silent save for the song playing on his speakers. It’s not as loud in comparison to the storm outside, but you’re grateful that it’s filling the space between you. If only Lee Juyeon hadn’t done such an excellent job ticking you off like a bomb, then maybe you would’ve just hopped in the passenger seat with ease. But no, he had to goad you until you made an irrational decision and now here you are.

As he pulls up to your building, you say a little prayer that you don’t regret your next actions. He stops as close to the stairs as he can, but you turn to him before unbuckling your seatbelt. With a deep breath, you ask, “Would you like to— uh— come inside?”

He glances from you to the stairs and then shrugs, parking in the nearest empty spot. He holds the umbrella over both of you as you make your way to your unit, lightly sprinting so you don’t get anymore soaked than you already are. You figured the least you could do was invite the dude into your home and offer him some hot tea, just so he could warm up before heading back to the TBZ house. Your roommates not being here to make fun of you was also a plus.

There’s still an unspoken tension even after you’ve shed your raincoats and shoes by the front door, settling into your apartment and its coziness. Juyeon sits at the breakfast bar as you busy yourself with preparing the kettle and getting a couple tea bags. His watchful gaze is a little intimidating now that you’ve seen his serious side.

Once you’ve finished making the tea, you set his mug in front of him. You look everywhere but him when you say, “I’m gonna take a shower if you’re okay waiting out here by yourself.” He doesn’t respond verbally, so you take it as your cue to leave.

You turn on the water to let it heat up before gathering your essentials. When you’ve completed your back and forth trip from the bathroom and your bedroom, you’re finally ready to just relax in your shower and forget about today’s events. But how could you ever truly relax with Lee Juyeon in your space, permeating your peace?

As you’re shutting the bathroom door, a foot jams itself between the threshold and stops you. You glance up from the floor to meet Juyeon’s eyes. They’re darker than you’re used to, a deep shade of brown that has your stomach twisting into knots.

“You know, Y/N, this game of cat and mouse is starting to get old,” he takes a step into the steaming room, locking the door behind him and trapping you. “Just admit to yourself that you want me.”

You sputter at his bold words, because you don’t. You don’t want Lee Juyeon. Why would you want Lee Juyeon? “I’m not gonna lie to myself. I don’t want you.”

He laughs humorlessly, closing the gap between you just a little more. You don’t have it in you to back away from him. He reaches a hand up to tuck some damp hair behind your ear. You’re still wet and cold from your stupid idea to walk in the rain, but Juyeon plans to warm you up perfectly. “You sure?”

“Positive,” you breathe.

“Why don’t we test that theory?” Now he’s got you backed into the wall, his face a hair’s breadth distance from your own. “I have a feeling I can change your mind.”

You don’t know if it’s the heat of the bathroom or Juyeon’s lips being so close, but so far simultaneously that has your brain turning into static. Your head feels fuzzy, like you’re watching TV on an empty channel through a blurry lens. You lick your lips, vision trained on his. “Why don’t we?”

That’s all the confirmation he needs to press your mouths together in a searing kiss, hotter than the temperature of the room. You feel him smile against you when you make no move to push him away, instead carding your fingers through his hair. He groans when you tug a bit, twirling the longer strands around your index.

His hands slip under your top, thumbs rubbing circles into your waist. This is a terrible idea. Deep down you’re fully aware that you’re probably making a huge mistake by giving into Juyeon just like every other girl on campus ever has. But paired with how intoxicating his mouth feels on your own and the steam filled bathroom clouding your head, you can’t seem to find a logical reason to stop.

When you part for air, you both start stripping your top layers, resuming your attacks on each other’s lips once you’re left in nothing but undergarments. Juyeon trails kisses along the side of your neck, nipping and sucking wherever he feels fit. You gasp when he finds that particular spot that contributes to the butterflies fluttering about your stomach. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“Yeah?” And despite getting ready to give you the pleasure of your life, his grin against your skin still manages to irritate you. “You hate me so much, huh?”

“Mhm,” you whine as his fingers dip beneath the band of your panties, toying with your sensitive cunt. “Hate you so bad— ah…”

“You might wanna shut up soon, sweetheart,” Juyeon warns, sliding his ring finger between your lower lips. “Or else I’ll give that mouth something to do.”

“I’ll do whatever I want,” you pull his hand from your underwear, kneeling in front of him when he furrows his eyebrows in confusion. Your nails scrape lightly down his abdomen before hooking into the waistband of his briefs, freeing him from the material. It takes a lot out of you to not visibly react at the sight of his cock, hard and flushed to the tip. You couldn’t dare inflate his ginormous ego, the situation you were currently in already doing enough on its own. His size is impressive too, making you wonder just how he expects you to take him like a champ.

“What a fucking brat,” he hisses, your tongue swiping along the underside of his dick. “Always gotta have the last word, don’t you?”

“Mmmm,” you moan, mouth full with just the tip. You’d never been the type of person who cared about size. As long as they knew what they were doing and made you finish, you held no qualms with their length. In fact, you don’t think you ever even paid much attention to anyone’s dick in your life. But if there was anything to back Lee Juyeon’s cockiness, it had to be, well, his cock.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this moment,” he confesses, wrapping your hair around his hand into a makeshift ponytail. “But, fuck, this is so much better.”

The admission shoots straight to your core and you find yourself whimpering, the vibrations against his dick driving him crazy. He has to support his weight with one hand flat to the wall, the other still tightly fisting your hair. With every suck and flick of your tongue, he tugs a little more, the sting on your scalp providing you with more pleasure than pain. You pull off of him to take a breath, jerking him off as you do so.

“Am I meeting your expectations?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, drool sliding down your chin and makeup smeared under your eyes in tear streaks. He groans at the sight of you, forcing you to a standing position so he could kiss you again.

You start dragging him towards the shower, unhooking your bra and stepping out of your panties. He raises an eyebrow at you, amused. “You want me to fuck you in the shower, baby? Have you slipping all over my cock?”

“Duh,” you can’t help but roll your eyes at his question, practically pawing at his underwear to get him out of them fully. “Did you think I sucked your dick on the bathroom floor for fun?”

“That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one of these days.”

He kicks them off, reconnecting your lips as you step into the shower. The hot water hits your back almost like a massage, synchronously getting in your mouth as you make out with Juyeon aggressively. It’s like he can’t get enough of you, big hands kneading and groping everywhere and nowhere all at once. You feel insane, especially with how good of a kisser he is. It’s like you’re on cloud nine and nothing’s capable of bringing you down.

When he’s finally lost his patience, he spins you around, pressing you cheek first to the shower wall. You feel him against your lower back, his lips leveling with your ear. In spite of acting as if he had himself under control, you can hear the pant in his breathing, deep voice a little desperate than usual. He has a hand gripping your thigh and picking up your leg.

“No protection?” He asks, his cock already gliding between your folds in anticipation.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head as best you can with his body sandwiching you to the tiled surface. “Wanna feel you raw.”

“Fuck, you can’t say shit like that to me,” Juyeon groans into your ear, giving no warning as he spits down your front and hikes your leg higher, thrusting into your cunt. “You’ll make me wanna stay buried in you forever.”

You moan, hand coming up to hold the side of his head as he fucks you into the shower wall. If someone were to ask about this very moment, you weren’t too sure how you’d defend yourself. A moment of weakness, perhaps? But if a moment of weakness felt this fucking good every time, you might fall into a habit of judgment lapses.

He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling and biting your shoulder and the surrounding area with each snap of his hips. The angle he drives into you at has stars forming at the back of your vision, the tip of his cock brushing that one spot deep inside of you whenever he thrusts up. You don’t even think his entire dick is in you as he does this, but you also don’t really have the mind to care, way too focused on memorizing the veins of his shaft with your walls.

You’re far too gone to consider the consequences of your actions, the horizon of your release just beyond your fingertips now. You’d never needed someone so viscerally before, so carnally. Yet here you were, sucking Lee Juyeon’s cock in with your pussy like you were a damn vacuum. The sounds you’re making bounce back and forth on the walls, no doubt louder than the shower water itself.

“I— I-I’m so— fuck,” you mewl, words wobbling. “I’m so, so close, Juyo.”

“Yeah, baby?” He sighs in your ear, nudging your sensitive clit with his thumb while raising your leg as much as he physically can. “Me too, where do you want me?”

“Inside,” you don’t think you even make sense anymore, babbling as he continues to fuck you stupid. “Please. Want you to cum inside me.”

Juyeon grits his teeth, pleased with himself that he didn’t orgasm right then and there. He uses his last ounce of strength to get the two of you off together. “C’mon, sweetheart, cum for me.”

The fogginess subsides pretty quickly after you’ve finished, your brain registering what just happened almost instantaneously. If you weren’t so hypersensitive, you would’ve pulled him out yourself and scrambled to flee the scene. (And maybe even the country.) There are many more rational thoughts running through your head now. The entire trajectory of your life has just been changed, whether you realized it or not. But the biggest issue was:

What the hell do you do now?

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz juyeon #tbz juyeon #lee juyeon x reader #lee juyeon smut #juyeon x reader #juyeon smut #juyeonszn #juyeonszn.100🪩

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avelera · 25 days ago

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(Writing Advice) Did you know that time skips are considered quite risky for new writers?

The teacher at my writing workshop was a miracle worker of an instructor and among the things she would often stress were the causal chain and the importance of pacing to make a tight story.

This is why she did not recommend time skips for beginner authors unless they really understood the risks. Not that it couldn't be done, but that many didn't recognize how much a time skip can mess up the pacing of your story.

Here are some risks of time skips:

1 ) Destroying your forward momentum: If you've spent a huge swathe of your story up to that point building the tension and urgency of the Big Thing that's going to happen in the future, having a time skip can stop that momentum dead. A time skip represents a reset of your story and is not advised if you're trying to ratchet up tension. A time skip, even of a few hours in a really tight and action-packed story with urgent pacing, can leave audiences scratching their heads wondering what happened during that missing time and why did the characters (and the author) take their foot off the gas?

2 ) Breaking your causal chain: In a tightly-written story, your cause-and-effect chains (aka 'causal chain') should be ironclad. Even if not everything is shown on the page, you, the author, should know how events and characters got to where they are at every moment, at both the large scale and the small scale. But when you throw in a time skip, suddenly you have a huge break in the tight line of your cause and effect. How did we get to where we are now? Why didn't we do something sooner? What has everyone been up, were they just twiddling their thumbs? It's all lost in the blank space and that can be unsatisfying for audiences if not handled well.

3 ) The need to backtrack to explain skipped events: This is in large part what killed the forward momentum of "A Song of Ice and Fire" for George RR Martin. Originally, ASOIAF was supposed to have a several year long time-skip, hence why the characters are so young at the beginning of the books. But then he realized, after publishing the earlier books, that he wanted to explore a lot of the events that would be skipped and the amount of flashbacks and backtracking required would be prohibitive. He decided to write through the timeskip instead, but that created a lot of deadspace and a less-tight story because not everything in those years really needed to be explored on a day to day level. (Frankly, I think he made a mistake by building this time skip into his outline, BUT that he was a skilled enough author that he should have trusted his instincts and kept the time skip, and just resigned himself to losing the chance to explore the events of those intervening years.)

If what happened during the missing time can't be quickly and elegantly summarized or referred back to, it might be better not to build a time skip into your story.

Raising more questions than you answer: How did we get here? What are we doing here? Why are characters in trouble that weren't before? Why didn't other characters intervene before things got so bad? Why didn't our heroes stop the new bad state of the world before it happened? Did everything the heroes did before to save the world not matter?

Many genre fiction stories will use a time skip after the Bad Guys have won a battle in the larger war in order to show the world plunged into a new darkness that the heroes have to face. For example, in The Force Awakens installment of the Star Wars franchise, the story was often criticized for having the bad guys of the Empire return without explaining why the previous generation of heroes were unable to stop this threat in the apparent 20-year time skip it took for them to return. This was quite unsatisfying for many audience members, to put it lightly and it seemed to invalidate much of the story the audience had been invested in up to this point, namely the ability for the good guys to stop the bad guys and save the world.

Just because you skip a period of time between one story and the next, doesn't mean you the author gets to skip over what happened during that time. If anything, you might need to work even harder to work out what happened in the missing space, in order to make your causal chain bridge the long span of that gap in a coherent and satisfying manner.

TL;DR Anyway, this is not to say you can't do time skips. Time skips can be great for purposefully wiping the slate clean, or purposefully resetting the story so a new evil can arise when your prior story has nowhere else to escalate too.

But a professional editor might caution against it if you don't really know what you're doing, and what can be lost when utilizing this particular plot device.

A lot of creators seem to think that a time skip will allow them to cover up sins and not force them to explain how a new world-state they wanted to explore came to be, but just as often it reveals the weaknesses of the story and demands more work of the author than simply following that time span linearly would have required.

#writing #writing advice #maggie rambles #I'm also thinking of the Arcane S2 time skip and why I think they stumbled over a lot of these time skip pitfalls

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doctor-dusk · 8 months ago

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𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

well, your second time on omegle definitely wasn't that bad.

warnings: male masturbation, nipple playing, exhibitionism and voyeurism.

word count: 2.4k

part. 1

well, everyone was hyped for part 2 and consequently me too lol, hope you enjoy it :3

your week passed slowly. torturously slowly. all you could think about when your mind was empty was him. you replayed the scene in your head like a movie. your favorite movie, actually.

‘’you've been having your head in the clouds lately,’’ your mother would say when you were caught too distracted. all you could do was smile and agree with her. you really were too distracted to think about anything other than alex.

in the nights that followed, you found yourself sighing between your sheets, vividly remembering every detail, every moan, every eager stroke, and you couldn’t wait to see him again. you found yourself asking too much if your parents were going out again on this friday, needing to contain your excitement as much as possible when your mother confirmed that they were going to a company party where your father worked.

‘’don't forget to take the trash out.’’ your mother told you for the second time as she walked to the door, your father was already waiting for her inside the car.

‘’yeah, don't worry. will you be back long?’’ you asked, but you weren't genuinely worried about whether they would be late, but rather how much time you would have alone.

‘’i don't know. i'll text you, but if it gets too late, don't forget to lock the doors and windows.’’ she said, giving you a brief kiss on the cheek, leaving the mark of her red lipstick like a soft tattoo on your skin.

‘’alright. bye, have fun!’’ you said waving excitedly at them, watching the car leave the garage, the anticipation running through you from the inside out, you just wanted to see the car disappearing from your field of vision so you could finally run to your room.

you left the door ajar, running to the kitchen just to take out the trash, and when you finally found yourself free, you ran back to your room.

your laptop was already on above your bed, the lights on the same way you had left them last friday. you looked at yourself in the mirror on your vanity, seeing if you looked presentable enough for him. you had even put on some mascara, it was almost pathetic to think that you weren't even hoping to want anyone to see your face.

but as you always told yourself, he was different.

you typed the website so quickly that you even got some letters wrong, but the search engine was equipped enough to already have the website saved in the search bar, since you had visited it once.

and of course, you covered your face again. you were no longer interested in talking to strangers and learning about their crazy addictions. now, you just wanted him.

you had been there for almost 40 minutes, jumping from conversation to conversation, hoping to find him, like in a cliché where you accidentally bump into your love interest and end up knocking your books to the floor. but here, as time passed, the uncertainty became greater than your hope.

did he lie? did something happen, did something unexpected prevent him from showing up tonight? did you go to the site too early? too late?

the questions ran like a carousel in your head as you watched the different people in different scenarios pass by like photographs on your laptop screen. you swallowed hard, thinking about giving up. maybe he can show up next friday. or maybe you should stay a little longer. just a little longer...

you stopped skipping conversations as the familiarity of the scene hit you. was it finally him?

you could only see from his chin down to part of his waist. this time, he was facing forward. last time he was sitting on his side. the angle was different, certainly.

but oh, it could be him, it had to be him. you knew you had seen that fist clenched around that cock before.

you were silent for a while, clearing your throat before speaking.

‘’alex?’’ you asked, bringing your face a little closer to the screen. his hand stopped, and just like you, he also came closer to the screen, and now you could see his face.

‘’there you are.’’ he smiled warmly. ‘’i was waiting for you.’’

‘’and i was looking for you.’’ you answered, pulling the blanket off your face since you no longer needed to hide. ‘’i thought you wouldn't be here tonight.’’

‘’told you i’m here every friday. it's like going to church on sunday.’’ he joked, relaxing a little more in his chair, his toned muscles flexing a little as he found a comfortable position. ‘’is the angle okay for you? i can change it if you want.’’ he asked, adjusting the height of the camera a little.

‘’yeah, that's fine. as long as i can see you.’’ you suggested, seeing a little smirk sprouting on his lips.

‘’oh, i see. you seem to have been really looking forward to seeing me again, huh?’’ he deduced, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, his right hand resuming his slow and subtle ministrations. as always, you could only see the tip smeared with precum, but it was enough to make your body a little warmer.

‘’i'd be lying if i said no.’’ you bit your lip. something about him made you feel bolder, you didn't know exactly what.

‘’mhmm, that's what i thought. do you want to tell me how your week was? you know i like to hear your voice.’’ he suggested, starting a conversation so you could say something, his breathing was calm, as were the movements of his hand. you could tell that he liked to build the mood of the moment before intensifying it.

you summarized your week as much as possible, sparing some details because you weren't that interested in talking about your week when he was slowly masturbating in front of you, surprisingly attentive to what you were saying, humming in agreement without interrupting you. as much as talking about something mundane while he did this was unusual, you enjoyed it.

‘’it seemed like a pretty tiring week. i'm glad you're here, by the way. i was also looking forward to talking to you again.’’ he admitted, making you raise your eyebrows.

‘’you were?’’ you almost giggled, but you couldn't help it.

‘’oh, you know i was.’’ he said in a purr. ‘’i kind of like seeing you look at me like that. you're an excellent spectator.’’

you felt a knot in your stomach, like butterflies circling inside you like a whirlwind.

‘’can i see more?’’ you asked anxiously. he tilted his head, looking at you.

‘’wanna see more, baby?” he chuckled, his head falling back against the back of the chair as he pretended to think, his thumb ghosting on the tip, spreading the wetness around it in a lazy motion. ‘’let me see... do i get something in return?”

you thought for a moment. it was fair. whether you liked it or not, the only thing you showed him was your face. and deep down, you wanted to be seen by him, little by little.

‘’what do you want to see?’’ you asked, settling yourself in your bed.

‘’anything you want to show me.’’ he replied, his tongue ran over his lower lip, wetting it a little with saliva. ‘’but it's okay if you don't want to show me, i just thought it would make things more interesting.’’

you chuckled. as always respectful. well, he certainly deserves this.

you sat on the bed for a moment, out of his field of vision. you took off your shirt, keeping your black bra. you made the right choice, it accentuated the curve of your breasts, giving the impression that they were bigger. plus, there's a cute bow in the middle.

you lay back down on the bed, your almost bare torso on full display for him, his eyes going a little wider as a lewd smile appeared on his lips.

‘’boobs. i like it.’’ he said and you chuckled, he looked like a child in a candy store, like he wanted to grab you through the screen if he could, his grip on his cock getting stronger without him even controlling it.

‘’yeah? wanna see more?’’ you giggled, playing with the right strap of your bra, stretching it as much as you could to loosen it, the elastic hit your skin and it stung a bit, but it was worth it to see how his eyes darkened at the sight of you.

‘’hell, yes. show me your tits, babe. they must be as beautiful as your face.’’ he instigated you, shifting in his chair, his hard cock was more exposed to you now, the tip was almost red, the excitement was already starting to take over him.

you giggled, your hand ran up to your back, unclasping the bra with one swift motion, you were so used to it that it was no surprise when the straps became looser and you could let the piece slide down your arms, and your chest was finally bare for him to see.

‘’gorgeous.’’ he praised you, his eyes watching you like a prey, his hand almost twisting around his cock, pumping up and down. “play with them, can you do that for me, love?”

you nodded, moving your hand up, tracing a path from your belly to your torso, feeling the bones of your ribcage as you ran your fingers tortuously over your skin, getting close to your left breast, supporting the weight of your body on your right elbow, laying on your side.

your palm landed on your left breast, the contact made your skin shiver, your nipple automatically stiffened, perking up as you squeezed it softly, as if you were kneading bread dough.

you watched his every reaction, his mouth agape, his breathing starting to get ragged as the strands of hair started to fall down on his forehead because now his hand was moving eagerly, stroking his cock faster, fucking his fist like a desperate.

you moaned softly when your thumb and your index finger trapped your nipple, squeezing and twisting it, the sensitivity was practically at its peak, your panties were so wet that it was almost uncomfortable. you wanted to touch yourself, but you weren't ready to show him that, not yet.

“fuck, you're so pretty.” he panted, his voice was stained as he watched you giving slight slaps on your breast, making it bounce a bit. “i wish i could cum on those tits, cover you with me.”

the mere thought already made you delirious, your two hands gripping your breasts tightly, your skin flushed right where your fingers pressed, like a blank canvas being painted red.

“yeah, just like that, baby. so fucking beautiful, playing with your tits for me, you like that?” he asked you, pausing for a moment to spit on his own cock, the saliva sliding down the tip, down the rest of the length, and soon he moved his hand again, spreading it and making it slide easier.

you nodded, your lip was trapped between your teeth, but soon you opened your mouth, adhering to his idea, bringing your fingers to your mouth, your tongue running along your digits to make them wet enough so you could spread saliva across your nipples, the wet feeling made everything better not only for you, but for him as well.

he panted desperately, nearing his climax and you wanted to keep your eyes very wide to see him, your boobs almost sticking to the screen of your laptop, as if you wanted to rub it in his face.

“god, i'm gonna-” he said, his sentence being replaced by a broken moan as he came, the jets of cum shooting out of his slit as he spasmed slightly, his hips jerking against his closed fist around the base. “oh, fucking hell…” he trembled, his body completely spent on his chair, just like the last time.

“are you okay?” you chuckled, moving back a little to get back to your starting position, supporting your body on your elbow.

“yeah, yeah, just… fuck, give me a minute.” he gestured with his hand, he was clearly still recovering, his body was experiencing slight spasms as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

you gave him time to recover, he blinked a few times, taking a few deep breaths before settling back in his chair and looking back at the screen, widening his eyes a little.

“shit, can you believe it splashed a little on the screen? it even looks like it's on your face, how i wish.” he joked, cleaning the screen of his laptop with a clean tissue, looking for more places where there might be more residue.

“i do believe.” you chuckled, watching him grab a small bottle of water from behind his laptop to take a few sips. you couldn't explain how wonderful it was to see him like that.

“tell you what, girl... you wrecked me and i haven't even fucked you. how do you do that?" he laughed, like he didn't even believe it. it inflated your ego.

“i don't know. guess i'm just charming." you said modestly and he chuckled. you adjusted yourself in bed, the material of your panties was sticking to your pussy, your wetness was too sticky and slimy at this point.

“what?” he asked curiously.

“nothing, i’m just… too wet.” you answered, watching his smile grow.

“yeah? can i see it?” he asked eagerly, shifting in his chair and getting closer to the screen.

“nah.” you teased, watching him pout.

“oh, c'mon, you can't just throw this at me like that. now i won't be able to sleep.” he spoke in a dramatic tone and you laughed. “you're a bad woman.”

“maybe next time?” you suggested. oh, of course you wanted a next time. and another, and another.

“ugh, such a bad woman. i don't think i’ll be able to wait until next friday.” he said, his playful dramatic tone still on, making you laugh again. it was true that he wanted to see every bit of you, but you were willing to make him wait. maybe beg for it.

he took his cell phone from the desk, unlocking it after entering the password, looking at the screen again.

“can i have your number? i definitely want a next time.” he asked politely.

“a private session, you say?" you raised your eyebrows, seeing him smile. you both knew very well where this was going. and you couldn't deny that you loved it.

“a private session, baby.”

#doctor says #alex turner x reader #alex turner smut #alex turner fanfic #alex turner x y/n #alex turner fanfiction #alex turner

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karmanun · 2 months ago

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OTP Questionaire

1. Who pulls the other closer while sleeping?

Jinx. She’s very touchy-feely and wants to be as close to Lux as possible. In her more vulnerable moments, it’s to reassure herself she’s still there.

2. How do they wake up next to each other?

Jinx is either spread-eagled or curled around Lux like a baby monkey and she definitely drools. Lux doesn’t move much in her sleep unless she had a bad dream and yet she always manages to have the worst case of bed head

3. What movie do they watch when they both had a bad day and want to turn their brains off for a little while?

Something dumb with a lot of explosions and B-list monsters, like a silver-age Godzilla sequel

4. Who picks something up, says a pun with the object and then laughs like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard?

Lux easily. I can totally picture her making dinner, holding up a bean, then telling Jinx it’s them because they’re lesbeans. She’s such a huge dork and it never fails to make Jinx smile

5. How do they hype one another up?

Jinx enjoys giving Lux things, so she tells her she has a surprise for her and refuses to elaborate until Lux is practically bursting out of her skin with anticipation. Jinx doesn’t like surprises as much so Lux just talks about every little detail and exaggerates as much as she can because the bigger, the better in her partner’s mind.

6. When one of them gets a new outfit, how does the other react?

Jinx gets uncharacteristically shy. She’ll blush furiously and fumble her words as she tells Lux how pretty she is. Lux enjoys taking Jinx shopping and buying her new clothes, but even when she sees them beforehand they never fail to make her blush and get her horny

7. Who tries to playfully scare the other person and who always knows where the other person is?

Jinx can never resist pulling pranks like this on Lux when she’s absorbed in a book or has been working too long. Lux tries to get her back but because of Jinx’s enhanced Shimmer-hearing and lifetime of looking over her shoulder Lux is never quite able to sneak up on her, but she pretends to be surprised anyway

8. When they go to the grocery shop, what is one section they like to mess around in?

Oh, they’ll totally just run around and ride shopping carts up and down all the aisles (they are banned from several stores because of this) but specifically Jinx will deliberately loiter in the candy aisle with armfuls of candy until Lux has to playfully (but sometimes unironically) drag her out.

9. When their partner has a bad day, what is something the other picks up to try and make their day better?

Lux will order Jinx’s favorite dish from Jericho’s! Jinx will rent a cheesy movie or take her to the library

10. Who runs up and hugs their partner while the other catches them?

Smol gremlin bean Jinx is always childishly excited to see her partner and will straight-up jump on her - good thing Lux is so tall and strong and can carry her around

11. What song reminds them of each other?

Rebel Rebel by David Bowie and P.U.N.K Girl by Heavenly never fail to remind Lux of her little wildling Jinx. Jinx doesn’t normally listen to love songs but I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys is her special song for her flashlight

12. Who presses their nose against their partner’s cheek before kissing them?

They both do! And they touch foreheads, and nuzzle their noses into each other’s necks and each other’s hair, and give each other butterfly kisses, and Lux will trace Jinx’s tattoos… they have so many little gestures of affection and can never get enough of each other

13. What small quirks do they love about each other?

Jinx makes faces (like scrunching up her nose) without realizing when she’s deep in concentration, which Lux could stare at all day. Lux trips over her words when she gets excited and has an ugly laugh, both of which Jinx could listen to all day. Honestly I could go on and on about this one, they love everything about each other.

14. Who accidentally snorts when they laugh and that makes both of them laugh harder?

Lux! Her laugh is one of the few unrefined things about her and that’s why it’s one of Jinx’s favorite things about her

15. What are some things they do for each other because they know the other hates it?

Lux talks to strangers (except when it’s a confrontation, Jinx is absolutely the “excuse me she asked for no pickles” girlfriend) and does the laundry - Jinx would rather (and does) live off the dirty clothes on her floor than do a load of laundry. Lux is also the better cook between them but it can be a chore for her, especially after she’s had a long day, so Jinx relishes every opportunity to make dinner for her sunshine

#lightcannon #jinx x lux #lux x jinx #jinx #jinx arcane #luxanna crownguard #otp

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nofomogirl · 11 months ago

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We need to talk about body snatching

I'm not a massive fan of the 1827 minisode - if you're curious why it bothers me, I've explained it in my post about two GO canons - but there's no denying it does an amazing job at exploring the complexity of morality and moral choices. It starts with a very black-and-white two-dimensional image and gradually adds shading and perspective, making it harder and harder to judge as we go along.

I think it's worth digging into (pun not intended but I'll take it).

Layer 1: body snatching bad

We learn someone did something

It's those first few seconds where we see a person robbing a grave, and since we know that robbing graves is a crime and generally not a good thing to do, we can quickly form a tentative conclusion that this is wrong.

Okay, in this exact instance, we immediately get enough context clues to see that this kind of judgment would be oversimplistic and superficial. Only Aziraphale, who for some reason acts as if it was his first day on Earth after a thorough memory wipe, is ready to condemn Elspeth based on just that.

Nevertheless, this is the first layer - the deed itself with no context.

Layer 2: body snatching acceptable

We learn about the person who did the thing

That's the whole journey with the first dug-up body where we get to know Elspeth and become privy to her circumstances - she's desperately poor, she has another person depending on her, she robs graves to survive. Aziraphale's suggestions that she might earn her living by selling books, weaving or farming just serve to prove how inaccessible more honest and dignified professions are to her. In turn, her comment about how she's not hurting anybody who isn't already dead hints that from the realistically available options, Elspeth could have chosen something much worse.

Technically this layer is a significant step up from layer 1 but it still isn't really challenging. Things are spelt out really loud for us, and most importantly everything we learn about Elspeth is just attenuating circumstances. To top it off both she and Wee Morag are immediately endearing. The takeaway is that sometimes things that in theory are bad can be excused which is important but the verdict still comes without any second thoughts.

Layer 3: body snatching complicated

We learn the larger context around the thing

This mostly happens when Aziraphale and Crowley discuss body snatching with Mr Dalrymple. We learn that the stolen corpses are used for a medical study that can advance human knowledge and make it possible to save living people and that surgeons have no legal means to obtain enough of them for their research - hence their need to buy them from body snatchers.

At first glance it's just more of what we got in layer 2 - more agruments in favour of body snatching that aren't all that nuanced and don't really give us any pause - just from a larger perspective, beyond Elspeth's individual experience. But if you glance more than once you'll notice this is when things stop being straightforward and easy to judge.

The moment we enter a proper grey area is when Aziraphale asks why Mr Dalrymple doesn't acquire the bodies himself. This is a very valid question - while we might easily agree that studying the human body to further medical knowledge is a good thing, and with just the slightest hesitation admit that it's acceptable to resort to using stolen bodies if that is the only way the research may continue, it's not as easy to excuse taking advantage of the poor and the desperate to do the actual stealing that we know is very dangerous.

The moment we know without a doubt we are in a proper grey area is when Mr Dalrymple laughs at Aziraphale's concern.

Objectively, the surgeon is right that it's more effective if he doesn't risk his own life in the graveyard and uses his time on actual research, teaching students and saving lives. But it's also clear he doesn't exactly see people like Elspeth as actual human beings and feels he has every right to use them. On the one hand, he is paying, on the other, he happily benefits from the cruel class system and is not even one bit remorseful about it. On the one hand, he takes risks too, on the other he has a chance of rewards Elspeth will not benefit from. It's not the poorest whose lives will get bettered by the progress of medicine, even though they're the ones who pay with their lives for that progress. And if Mr Dalrymple gets lucky and is knighted for his work (we know he wasn't in the end but it was a possibility), the poor still won't be pardoned for stealing for him. Nevertheless, he has no issue with that.

As I said, things get nuanced.

Layer 4: it's different when it's someone you know

The thing actually happens in your life

I think you'll all agree that the turning point of the minisode is when Elspeth decides to sell Wee Morag's still warm body. This is what finally leaves us speechless.

That's because up until now we've been approaching the issue intellectually. It's not that we didn't care about the characters, but we were allowed to keep a safe distance. The whole thing was like a problem to be solved - "Is body snatching right or wrong? Discuss in 500-1000 words" - and everything we've learned so far was data for this assignment. I believe that one of the reasons why this detachment came naturally was that there was a very thick line between people involved in body snatching and the bodies that were being snatched. The former were, well, people, obviously. The latter were inanimate objects.

It isn't until Wee Morag is to be sold that we are forced to see a person in a dead body. This is also when real emotions enter the equation.

This shift forces us to question our judgment for the first time. It was easy to justify Elspeth when she was selling a nameless corpse. But the fact that she decided to sell her closest companion - and most likely lover - shocks us. Something inside us strongly objects to how quickly she makes the decision.

And then there's the transaction, and it is also different when it's someone we know. The fact that we knew Wee Morag fully exposes Mr Dalrymple for the heartless jerk that he is. The way he treats Elspeth is the absolute worst and if you haven't realized he was a hypocrite earlier, you should be disillusioned by now.

But at least Elspeth is not a hypocrite, right? It may seem cold that she sold Wee Morag but it just proves she simply believed it's all right to sell a dead body, doesn't it?

Well, about that...

Layer 5: it's different when it's you

You are forced to face the thing happening to you

This layer is reached when Elspeth plans her suicide and asks Aziraphale and Crowley to bury her "somewhere where no ghouls will ever dig her back up again".

It turns out Elspeth McKinnon really was a filthy liar.

Not long ago she was insisting that body snatching doesn't hurt anyone who isn't already dead, and asking why she should let Wee Morag rot in the ground when she starves. But she wants to make sure it doesn't happen to her own body. The idea that someone might dig her up terrifies her and she calls people who do it ghouls. So why was digging up other people okay again? Why should she rot in the ground while other people suffer? There were other people living in the street where she and Wee Morag hid. Why not ask Aziraphale to give the money to them? Or just anybody in need? Why not ask to sell her body as well and use the earnings the same way?

Also, if you look at it from a certain perspective, Elspeth betrayed Wee Morag in the worst possible way. Wee Morag believed that if someone's body gets cut, that person's soul cannot enter Heaven. Yet Elspeth sold her to Mr Dalrymple, claiming that Wee Morag would have wanted her to have the means to survive. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps Wee Morag would have made that sacrifice. But then Elspeth decided to kill herself and use the money she got for Wee Morag's body for her own funeral.

But does it make Elspeth wicked? Certainly not. She's simply torn by grief. I seriously doubt she's been planning to commit suicide when she was taking Wee Morag to Mr Dalrymple. She might have genuinely tried to carry on but the reality of what happened caught up to her. Mr Dalrymple's cruel words certainly didn't help her cope with a personal tragedy. I even suspect one of the reasons she sold her friend was that she had no idea what else to do with a dead body.

Does this excuse her actions? Kind of, but not really.

Elspeth was a tragic character, not an innocent lamb with a heart of gold.

The point is - can any of us really judge her?

Which, coincidentally, is a question that the original Good Omens book toyed with quite a lot.

If you've reached this far, thank you for reading!

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #season 2 episode 3 #the ressurectionists #elspeth #wee morag #body snatching

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floatingcatacombs · 4 months ago

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The Normal Author’s Girlfriend’s List Of Bad Yuri Anime

12 Days of Aniblogging 2024, Day 11

So you’ve seen some good yuri anime: Revolutionary Girl Utena (and the movie, if you want), Bloom Into You, Puella Magi Madoka Magica (plus, of course, Rebellion, which is essential), Bocchi: The Rock!, Girls Last Tour. You know HaruMichi and Farcille and poor sweet Tomoyo Daidouji and Quanxi’s whole deal. You’ve been queerbaited by Kyoani, or maybe you got lucky and watched Dragon Maid which was actually gay; you no longer get weirded out by incest; you wanted more Utena and got The Witch from Mercury S1 (good) or Revue Starlight (bad); maybe you’ve even gone back to Oniisama e and discovered Ryoko Ikeda’s incredible butch-for-butch technologies.

You’ve seen some good yuri and that’s been great. It’s just… there isn’t that much of it. Well, you could start reading manga, or books, or talking to actual women, but you want more yuri anime specifically.

To you, dear reader, I offer up this solution:

Bad Yuri.

Floating Catacombs 2025 Presents:

A Normal Author’s Girlfriend Production

The Normal Author’s Girlfriend’s List Of Bad Yuri Anime

Before we get started, let’s define our terms. First: Bad Yuri must not be in good taste. Second, let us consider some ‘ungood’ yuri, that we might understand what we aren’t looking for:

Case 1: Liz and the Blue Bird.

Boring and forgettable. Bad Yuri must be watchable.

Case 2: Shoujo Kageki Revue Starlight.

Yeah the butchfemme was good but I spent this entire show waiting for KuroMaya and they only got half an episode. I don’t fucking care about ‘childhood friends’. Bad Yuri must be enjoyable.

Case 3: Hibike Euphonium

It has to be gay. Come on. This is like the most basic requirement.

Case 4: MagiRevo, Undead Murder Farce

Being gay is not enough. You have to have actual characters.

In sum: Bad Yuri must be in bad taste; it must be watchable on a minute-to-minute basis; it must not leave the watcher with a bad taste in her mouth; it must actually be gay; and it must have some semblance of characterization. In practice it is basically always violent and horny. We’re talking like Kill La Kill levels, although if you ever want to watch that you should just go see Promare instead. Also, I reserve the right to break any and all of these rules whenever I feel like it. Without further ado:

Cross Ange

Content Warnings: Blood, Violence, Death, Sexual Assault, Ryona, Incest, Bad Taste, Needlessly Edgy, It’s Just Porn At This Point, Incredibly Stupid Plot Twists, Pretty Much Every Fetish

Princess Ange’s traitorous older brother exiles her to an island full of lesbians, where she must pilot a mech to fight dragons in incredibly revealing clothing.

This is Code Geass if it was about a girl and also worse (sorry Roze of the Recapture). This show starts with a baby being arrested. They put the baby in a special little baby jail cage in the back of a police car. The first episode ends with lesbian rape under the justification of a strip search. The weak girls on Pussy Fight Island pull knives on each other at the slightest provocation; the stronger girls pull guns; the strongest girls just use their hands.

It’s got all the subtlety of villainess manga. It’s got girls pissing themselves. It’s got a girl named Riza, short for Lizardia, because she is secretly a DRAGON. Forget ‘Lesbian soldier hopelessly in love with her commander’ – it’s got that too but it has I kid you not a lesbian harem where the top dies in combat so one of the four harem girlies has to turn into a top like a clownfish undergoing sequential hermaphroditism and take over. And then she dies too and the next one in line has to take over and then it happens again and then when it’s down to two one of them leaves because she can tell the current top’s heart isn’t in it and defects to Akio Ohtori’s side, because at least he’s willing to fuck her (lesbian cuckold count: 1) And everybody’s ass is out at all times.

It’s also got a surprising amount of Gundam intertextuality? The comparisons to Iron-Blooded Orphans are obvious; Kira Yamato is there, for some reason; her mecha is the Zeta Gundam but if it was the Strike Freedom with the TR-6 Woundwort’s Psyco Blade Goddess Antenna from Mobile Suit Gundam: Advance of Zeta: The Flag of Titans; the girls in Ange’s squadron each map perfectly to Shaddiq Zenelli’s Grassley girls.

But that’s not what you’re here for. You’re here for the scene where Hilda confesses that she’s in love with Ange but understands that Ange can never love her back, because Ange is already in love with Kira Yamato, and also with Salamandinay, a DRAGON princess from the True Earth who arrived through a dimensional rift to free Aura, the first DRAGON and the source of all magic, before Ange grabs her and gives her a full kiss while telling her that the world she’s fighting to create will have all kinds of relationships.

God Jill is so hot.

Shlock: Maximum

Lesbian: Yes, somehow, and bisexual as well. It is a male gaze thing but that’s going to be a constant with this microgenre. The vast majority of people who like women are men statistically and sometimes thank god they produce something like this

Watchability: High, if you have covid

Quality: Awful.

The Executioner And Her Way Of Life

Content Warnings: Death, Ryona, Incest, Bad Taste, Needlessly Edgy, Incredibly Stupid Plot Twist

Menou is a priestess in Isekai World whose job is to hunt down and kill Isekai Boys before they start causing problems with their Isekai Boy Powers. But this latest Isekai Boy Target… is a Girl With Enormous Tatas who she can’t kill because she auto-rewinds time to erase any wounds.

What really does it here for me is Menou’s relationship with her mentor, Flare, who groomed trained her from a young age to cut off all her emotions in order to make her a better executioner. I’m not immune to Empty Spaces/Combat Dolls/Signalis. What if Christianity wasn’t about raising girls as lambs to the slaughter but was instead about raising girls to use knives to kill people? A seductive premise for those with my particular flavor of religious trauma. Akari is fine, although I feel like Smith (Bravern) did Homura better.

I also like Momo, although I have a weakness for lesbian cuckolds (more on that later, possibly).

Shlock: High

Lesbian: Lesbian

Watchability: Moderate

Quality: Mid

Kakegurui

Content Warnings: Bad Taste, Needlessly Edgy, Boy Protagonist before the story thankfully gets bored of him, It’s Just Porn At This Point

Yumeko Jabami transfers into Gambling Academy, where everybody gambles and failing to pay your debts means being forced into petplay slavery. Luckily for her and unluckily for everyone else she is the world’s most perfect gambler because it turns her on.

Maybe the highest exposure show on this list? It’s got gambling, and sexual gambling, and a girl who can only orgasm if she’s actively taking place in a gamble where she could die. At one point she whacks off in a bathroom playing solo Russian Roulette. It’s got a Netflix original season 2 villain who was a girl forced to dress as a boy for years in ways that drove her sexually insane. It’s got The Tower of Doors, which is the most woman game that any woman has ever played.

My favorite bit character is probably the early villain who collects fingernails from everybody she beats because that’s her fetish, or the hopelessly-devoted Student Council Secretary who wants only to lay her face on the chair where her beloved Student Council President sits (lesbian cuckold count 3; 4 if you count Midori). She asks to gamble with her life and Yumeko says that that’s boring, and that there are things she values more – and that they’ll gamble with one life vs her relationship to the Student Council President instead.

Watch the opening for this one – it’s very clear about what it is, and if it doesn’t hook you it isn’t the show for you.

youtube

Shlock: Very High

Lesbian: Surprisingly

Watchability: Very high

Quality: Fine

Akuma No Riddle

Content Warnings: Violence, Sexual Assault, Death, Ryona, Bad Taste, Needlessly Edgy, Fanservice, Various Fetishes

Bishonen girl assassin Tokaku Azuma has received her first assignment: attend the Black Class at Killing People Murder High School and kill sweet and innocent-seeming Haru Ichinose, who she immediately falls in love with. Unfortunately the other eleven members of the Black Class are also there to kill Haru.

And they’re all lesbian or bisexual. And they’re all freaks.

They’re constantly pulling guns and knives on each other. Like every conversation a weapon will come out – possibly two. There’s a lesbian serial killer who really likes using scissors on girls. Sexually. The Student Council President is sexually devoted to the school principal. There’s a twenty-year-old spoiled rich girl with a boy’s name because she was named after her mom, who was a gay man. Her dad was also a gay man. If you dare say anything homophobic about this she will kill you. Two of these girls locked eyes right as they transferred in and immediately dropped everything to engage in a 24/7 ageplay dynamic. The other spoiled rich girl is secretly a cyborg and in love with the multiple personality girl, who wants to kill her as well.

This is by the author of infamous shotacon BL manga Loveless, so I guess all that is to be expected.

Also… Akiko Morishima got really into making doujinshi for this one? Sure.

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Shlock: High

Lesbian: Yeah

Watchability: Pretty decent

Quality: Sure

Yuri Kuma Arashi

Content Warnings: Sexual Assault, Bad Taste, It’s Basically Just Porn At This Point, Bears

Lesbian Bear Storm.

For my money, the best Ikuhara post-Utena work is Sarazanmai, but Yurikuma Arashi absolutely earns its spot on this list. The pieces of a story about how lesbian desire is used to titillate a male audience but never fulfilled, how desire is regulated and rendered hideous, and how girls enforce heteropatriarchy by manufacturing consensus completely independent of men are in there somewhere under the moaning naked girls licking honey off precisely-positioned lilies. I think? It’s well-directed, at least.

Shlock: Ikuni

Lesbian: Ikunirappa

Watchability: Ikunichauda

Quality: Ikunigomamonaka

(the first half of) Birdie Wing: Girls Golf Story

Content Warnings: Violence, Bad Taste, Incest but not really, Golf, The Threat of Having To Resort To Survival Sex Work Underlying This Stupid Golf Show

Birdie Wing is the story of a girl who hates golf and a girl who loves golf. Season two fails to make par because it loves golf too much; season one, with the baffling metaverse vr episode, the underground mafia roguelike golf-to-the-death course, the woman who golfs so hard her robotic arm explodes, and the inexplicable Bandai property references, is the way to go.

I hate golf in the way only an eldest daughter forced into golf lessons hates golf. When Birdie Wing hates golf – when Eve swaggers onto the course in her stupid outfits, refusing to adhere to any etiquette, uses only three clubs and slaps a ball directly into the flag to drop it straight down? I love that. When she lifts her driver and points it and says she’ll kill somebody with it? I love that.

Also like when Aoi says she’ll get her attention with this and pulls her extra long driver out and holds it like a strap. And then her beleaguered caddie talks about how Aoi pierces everyone through with an innocent smile. That was good.

The thing that stuck with me the most wasn’t actually any of the golf shenanigans – it was the way that Eve effectively shoots Aoi down when they discover that they shared a father and were therefore half-sisters. Well, it’s yuri – incest is just something you get used to. Except then it gets revealed that that was a fakeout, because Aoi’s dad was actually her dad’s best friend and her parents were in a throuple that the dad who raised her left behind to secretly raise Eve. Also her dad is Amuro Reiya and also Char Aznable is in this one? And the HG Turn A Gundam? Don’t forget to increment the Lesbian Cuckold clock up to five – Aoi herself and her poor caddy, who didn’t deserve a mysterious blonde swooping in like that.

Oh god I didn’t even mention Vipere, the slutty snake-themed bisexual underground mafia golfer (you know, for the underground golf mafia) who uses pheromones to control her opponents, gets outgolfed, and then shonen-rival style sticks around to help out whenever somebody needs a car (as the girls are too young to drive).

Shlock: Absolutely

Lesbian: Somehow

Watchability: High

Quality: Better than it had any right to be

Maria Holic

Content Warnings: Transphobia, Bad Taste, Fanservice

Kanako Miyamae is a hopeless hapless lesbian excited to attend Lily Yuri Girls Only Academy. She falls in love with a beautiful blonde girl, the queen of the school – and discovers her ideal gf is actually a boy crossdressing to attend the academy who wants nothing more than to torment her sexually.

Maria Holic works like this: Mariya wants something from Kanako, and wears a sexual little outfit/exposes his feet/blows her a kiss/strips his maid’s top off to control her through her sexuality or just because he feels like it and she falls over of anime nosebleed disorder before she remembers “oh right Mariya is a boy” and starts eating her own organs Pearl Steven Universe style. Occasionally a girl who calls herself god will say something uninteresting. Kanako has a little pervert fantasy about one of her classmates. The cast has a reference-heavy Studio Shaft Conversation. Kanako can’t get Mariya out of her head. God I had to retype every ‘him’ up there from a ‘her’ because there is no way that little bitch is anything but a girl – it just doesn’t stick in my head. They don’t make boys like that. Torturing a girl like that is a female trait.

If you don’t want to watch a lesbian get relentlessly edged by a brat this show may not be for you. In all honesty even with Studio Shaft direction I found this almost completely unwatchable but it does earn its slot here. If you want a good Studio Shaft yuri show? Go watch Madoka Magica or Hidasketch.

It does have an excellent opening though.

Shlock: High

Lesbian: Well it has at least one

Watchability: No

Quality: No

Re: Cutie Honey

Content Warnings: It’s Basically Just Porn At This Point. but god. Natsuko Aki

“Honey Flash!” yeah she sure does huh

Transforming android Honey Kisaragi fights against evil organization Panther Claw, with the reluctant help of her annoyed cop eventual bestie Na-chan. This is good, actually. Go watch it.

Seriously. The animation is so fun and vibrant! They do the super-cost-saving stills being moved thing in a very high-energy way that comes across as a reference to the original manga format and then every so often they’ll pull out absolutely incredible action sequences.

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Look at this!!! Her triangular stompy steps! The super low line count on her as she slowly advances with the gun flying toward her hand! Her Go Nagai snarl!!!!! It’s a real treat for the eyes even without the naked women. There’s only so much “saving your best friend by the power of being naked and kissing” you can do before it stops being bait and starts just being They Are In Love.

Shlock: Absolutely

Lesbian: NATSUKO AKI

Watchability: High

Quality: Yeah

Akiba Maid War

Content Warnings: Genre-Typical, No Spoilers Don’t Worry About it

Go watch this right now.

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Shlock: Less than you’d think

Lesbian: Yes

Watchability: Extreme

Quality: Genuine

A Very Specific Set Of Monogatari Arcs

Content Warnings: yeah that guy is sexually harassing that 11 year old and also that tiny little vampire and also both of his little sisters.

Show beloved by pretentious internet perverts.

Alright. You are going to watch Episodes 1-8 of Bakemonogatari Season 1, (skipping 3-5 depending on your tolerance for watching small girls getting sexually harassed) and then you are going to watch the five episodes of standalone arc Hanamonogatari, halfway through Season 2. If you really like Hanekawa, who is bisexual, watch 11-15, Neko Black and Neko White. If you really like animation, watch Kizu. Do not be tricked into thinking more of this show will be gay because Hanekawa and Senjougahara had sex in a shower once. If your goggles are really on tight, enjoy Nadeko Draw but you’ll have to sit through the previous Nadeko and Yotsugi arcs to get there and I can’t in good conscience recommend you do that.

Shlock: Less than you'd think

Lesbian: One

Watchability: SHAFT

Quality: Yes

#12 days of anime #yuri #guest post

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mactiir · 2 years ago

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ranking baldur's gate characters by how i think they smell

#9) Minthara. Because she’s a corpse, next question.

#8) Lae'zel. You know this woman has never bathed. Washing is for the weak, is'tik. She says this is because needs her musk to attract mates but mostly it's cuz Gith education doesn't exactly make time for personal hygiene. Once it got so bad that Tav dragged the whole party through a chest-deep stream and stood there for 20 minutes to take a "breather" while Laezel stared daggers at them the whole time.

#7) Karlach. I want Karlach to smell nice so badly, and Karlach probably wants Karlach to smell nice too, but you know this woman smells like brimstone and engine exhaust and sweat. On good days she smells like the fine char you get on burgers on a summer day. On bad days she smells like a truck stop at peak hours, and the truck stop is also on fire. She's not happy about this either.

#6) Gale. Gale tries to keep himself groomed, he really does. But he looks like he is perpetually just a tiny bit smelly. Like he hyperfocused on a book slightly too hard for slightly too long and as a result he forgot to shower for a week. He acts like he bedded Mystra because of his towering intellect but really it's cuz gods don't have human senses of smell. His nightshirt looks velvet, too, and you KNOW it can't be easy to get smells out of that shit without a washer. He is one of those poor guys who is cursed to always stink a little bit no matter how much he showers. When Tav confronts him about this he decides, on the spot, that deodorant is for anti-intellectuals, actually, which he wouldn't have expected Tav to know but it's okay, we can't all be enlightened.

#5) Minsc. He doesn't reek exactly, but you know he's 100% man musk, hamster bedding, and butt-kicking

Tied for #5) Jaheira. You know 100 years of living in forests and adventuring with Minsc has endowed her with exactly the same level of manly perfume as Minsc (except with notes of cedarwood).

#4) Wyll. He used to be the best-smelling until Mizora pulled him through every level of hell in rapid succession, and now he smells a little bit like brimstone all the time. He sometimes rubs fragrant herbs on his horns to counteract it, which doesn't get rid of the smell, really, but it gives his smell an interesting dimension. Otherwise, he has enough experience with adventuring, and is well-bred enough, that him and his things are usually well-groomed (and also because his dad was a freak about it).

#3) Shadowheart. This woman puts on tragic makeup every morning and changes her hair to reflect her religion. Appearances are EVERYTHING (especially when it comes to keeping secrets). Shadowheart smells exactly like she thinks she needs to smell to be religiously pleasing to her goddess and/or coMplEtE thE mIsSioN. She does get anxious sweats though, which are very distinctive if it's been a long day of adventuring. She never admits this, though. Ever.

#2) Astarion. Okay, so, sometimes, he smells just the teensiest, tiniest bit like dried blood. But mostly, he smells like baby powder and potpourri. It is a waste of good fashion sense and his pretty face to go about stinking like a beggar. (He does go through a brief 'Cazador can't tell ME what to do' phase where he stops bathing for a day, but he grosses himself out so much that he resumes his normal routime before anyone notices.)

#1) Halsin. You'd expect him to stink, with his whole smelly-hippy free-love vibe, but nah. The man smells heavenly. He spends all his time frolicking through fragrant herbs and lounging in scented hot springs with whomever strikes his fancy. He probably has a whole ass medicine cabinet full of stuff he uses to freshen up. His breath probably smells like mint and his hair like cedar. He probably puts coconut oil or smth in his hair. He knows how to smell good as literally any animal in the realms. Wanna know why? Dogs have a sense of smell several thousand times better than people. I bet bears do, too. You do Not Fuck As A Bear without understanding not only how to WASH your ass, but also perfume it. Halsin also knows: thou shalt not give yeast infections. And if you got bear dick, that means HYGIENE. It's a point of pride for him, actually.

BONUS: WITHERS. Withers smells like nothing. Like, freakishly, unsettlingly like nothing. Like, you expect him to smell like dust or pitch or smth. Nope. He's a black hole of smell. You come near him and if you ask, he resets your entire hygiene routine for 100 gold and leaves you smelling like roses.

#Baldurs gate 3 #Bg3 #Baldurs gate #Lae'zel #Karlach #Shadowheart #Halsin #Wyll #Gale #Astarion #bg3 spoilers #bg3 memes #bg3 minsc #jaheira

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babyrdie · 1 month ago

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Hiii, I hope you're well :))) I want to complain about something if you don't mind. It saddens me that Andromeda by Sophocles and Euripides is lost because they expanded Andromeda's character. We would have been able to learn about her personality, as well as her relationship with her parents

But still one thing that is clear is that she did NOT want to be sacrificed, she had dreams/desires and wanted to live at all costs, even if people see that as selfish she has every right to want to live

But in several retellings they make her want to sacrifice herself for the good of her kingdom which is totally out of character, because supposedly they want to give her "a voice" but they only do it to make Perseus look bad since that is not even what Andromeda wanted

I remember reading an article where the author mentioned a Greek pottery dating back to the VI BC depicting Perseus confronting Cetus with stones that Andromeda Gave Him (I don't remember if I ever saw the pottery) and the author basically said that apparently the earliest versions of the story had Andromeda participating in the defeat of Cetus or helping Perseus in some way, which I think is a much better way to do in retellings if they really want her to have more involvement in her own myth

—🪷

Hey! Thanks for the question, I'm doing fine and I hope it's the same for you. Also, sorry for taking so long! I was trying to find some article/book that commented on this vase you mentioned because I found interesting! I also found other things, so this post will probably be long because I feel they’re of interest to the seemingly eternal debate surrounding the Andromeda agency (whether in relation to sacrifice or marriage).

I don't usually read retellings or watch adaptations, so I don't know what the adaptations of the Andromeda myth are like. So, I won't focus on that and will think more about the aspect of what we can learn about Andromeda from the myths. I think that even with Euripides and Sophocles gone, we have enough hints about Andromeda's psyche. So, this post will be more me arguing in favor of the following things:

1) Andromeda wasn't a character adept at self-sacrifice;

2) Perseus saved Andromeda, if not out of love, at least out of passion;

3) At some point, the feeling was reciprocal;

4) The marriage wasn't disadvantageous to Andromeda.

Details:

I usually include the secondary source details (author, page, title) at the time I cite them, but in this case I'll try another organization. As for primary sources, I obviously didn’t include all of the Greco-Roman primary sources for Andromeda. Also, Sophocles' play is notably absent because, unlike Euripides' play, the surviving fragments do not give us enough insight into the character's psyche.

Sometimes the post will tend to other characters, but that's because I feel they will be useful examples of my opinion (in this case, sacrificial characters besides Andromeda). Note that, since the focus is STILL Andromeda, I won't go into too much depth on them and will use them in a more simplistic way. So if someone thinks "well, but the context of this character is much more complex and..." yeah, but the character isn’t the focus. It's just an example.

And as always, a typical warning in case someone who doesn't follow me reads this post... it’s a hobby post. My posts are huge, yes, but they're all purely for entertainment. This is an opinion post. Lotus Anon wanted to talk to me about the subject, I'm just "talking" so to speak.

ANDROMEDA: WILLING OR UNWILLING SACRIFICIAL MAIDEN?

When I received this ask, I at one point wondered what the oldest literary source of Andromeda had to say about her since you mentioned the article theorizing about oldest version with a visual source. When I was trying to remember, I got the impression that there was an apparent Andromeda absence in ancient literary sources — absence not in the sense of necessarily not existing at the time, but of not being mentioned — even when Perseus, her husband, is mentioned. The oldest literary source of Perseus is The Iliad, since the Homeric text presents an episode in Book 14 known as the seduction of Zeus by Hera, who intended to distract him (sexually) and put him to sleep with the help of the god Hypnos in order to give the Achaeans an advantage in the Trojan War. At one point, Zeus compares Hera to the other women who attracted him, claiming that none of them attracted him more than Hera was attracting him at that moment. Among them, he cites Danae as saying “nor when I desired Danaë of the shapely ankles, daughter of Akrisios, who bore Perseus, conspicuous among all men” (14.319–320, trans. Caroline Alexander). Also, “Sthenelos, son of Perseus” is identified when describing Hera’s intervention in the birth of Heracles (19.97–144). The Iliad, however, doesn’t give the heroic Perseus who saves his mother and future wife, but rather gives his genealogy — maternal grandfather Acrisius, mother Danae, father Zeus, son Sthenelos. Consequently, Andromeda isn’t actually mentioned, although it could perhaps be argued that she is implied since Sthenelos in later sources is explicitly the son of Andromeda. A text usually attributed to Hesiod had already demonstrated the heroic aspect of the Perseus myth by describing him dealing with the Gorgon sisters in the Shield of Heracles (216–236, trans. H.G. Evelyn-White), although Andromeda was still notably absent since her sacrifice wasn’t the theme, but rather the killing of the Gorgons. In later sources it was specified that Perseus was meant to protect his mother, although the Shield of Heracles doesn’t make this explicit, so perhaps it could be argued that Perseus as protector of his family was already implied.

Then I noticed that, although Andromeda is apparently absent in these older texts, the idea of a virgin being sacrificed isn’t completely absent. In the Homeric texts, there really isn't much to be said. Polyxena is never acknowledged as existing, and consequently her sacrifice isn’t a theme — something that Pausanias, in Description of Greece 1.22.6, seems to think was intentional on the poet's part. Iphigenia is also never directly mentioned, and her existence in the Homeric tradition is a matter of debate, with some arguing that a speech by Agamemnon (1.101-120) indicates that Calchas had previously asked him to sacrifice Iphigenia, others arguing that Iphinassa is Iphigenia and therefore Iphigenia is alive (9.144-145), and finally, there is further debate as to Clytemnestra's motivation for murdering Agamemnon in The Odyssey — Cassandra is certainly a catalyst, judging by Book 11, but in the Homeric tradition is Iphigenia supposed to be a catalyst as well? For all intents and purposes, however, Iphigenia is still not explicitly mentioned in any of these narratives, regardless of the debates. But, according to Pausanias, the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women apparently already alluded to the sacrifice of Iphigenia although he apparently went with the version in which she isn’t literally killed (frag 71) and the lost poems of the Epic Cycle apparently also already acknowledged the maidens sacrifices — Proclus' summaries of The Cypria and The Sack of Ilium (considered frag 1 of each epic) indicate that in the first epic there was the sacrifice of Iphigenia and in the second there was the sacrifice of Polyxena. Thus, even if the myth of Andromeda isn’t explicit in the sources, the trope of the sacrificed virgin already was.

Ironically, it’s as if Andromeda's essence is here, but Andromeda herself isn’t. Perseus, her husband, and Sthenelos, her son, exist, but she isn’t mentioned. The virgins are being sacrificed, but we don’t hear of Andromeda's sacrifice. Looking for any signal of her in literary sources, I felt as if I were getting hints of Andromeda in Archaic Greece, but not the real thing. Or at least, that is what I thought when I checked the Evelyn-Hugo edition of the Catalogue of Women in the Theoi... I later found the detail that fragment 135 MW is also listed as being in the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women and contains a reference to Andromeda:

... Abas; and he be[got a son,] Akrisios.... [Pe]rseus, whom... [in a che]st into the sea... [b]rought up for Zeus... gold... dear Perseus... [and from him and] Andromeda [daughter of] Kepheus [were born Alkaios] and [S]thenelos and the force [of Elektryon]... by the cattle... for [the Te]leboai... [A]mphitryon

Translation by Silvio Curtis, retired from gantzmythsources. Note that the parts “[]” are reconstructions and “...” are lacunas.

So, a literary confirmation of the existence of Andromeda in Archaic Greece! Although her myth hasn’t been preserved in this part, the mention of her marriage to Perseus seems to be a nod to her sacrifice, rescue and consequent marriage. Considering that the edition of Theoi is from 1914, I imagine that this fragment doesn’t appear in it because it was added to the fragments of the Catalogue of Women in some later year of the academic research that tries to reconstruct it. I saw that West (1985) had already commented on this fragment, although he was particularly interested in the geographical and genealogical aspects and, therefore, it isn’t useful to me because I’m trying to get clues about the psychological aspect of Andromeda. I saw that many also argued in favor of the myth of Andromeda having foreign influences, but the uncertainties of the more complex parts of these theories don’t give me many clues about what this means for the character's psychology and says more about the narrative and visual elements of the myth. In short, all this only attests to Andromeda's existence, but gives us nothing about her thoughts.

Ogden (2008, p. 67–68) has commented on the earliest visual source attesting to Andromeda. It’s the Corinthian black-figure amphora of ca. 575–50 BC, which places it as a 6th century BC source. It’s possible to identify it because the inscriptions of the characters have been preserved, indicating the names Cetus, Perseus, and Andromeda. However, Perseus' usual weapons — the head of Medusa or a sword — are notably absent, and he actually appears to be throwing stones at Cetus. I imagine this is the pottery you were talking about, nonnie! It really does exist!

Perseus rescuing Andromeda from the monster at Joppa. Late Corinthian amphora, second quarter of the sixth century BC. Berlin F1652. Drawing by author. See here.

This pottery had already been mentioned by Philips (1968, p. 1), who interpreted Andromeda's drawing as an indication of her excitement:

Perseus in his role as savior of Andromeda is known as early as the first half of the sixth century B.c. on a late Corinthian amphora now in Berlin (pl. I, fig. I). Here, with neither the Gorgon's head nor his harpe, he seems to throw stones at a long-tongued monster while Andromeda gesticulates in excitement. Each character is named.

If we follow this interpretation, it would make one of the earliest sources of Andromeda an indication of her happiness at being rescued, which could imply her uncooperativeness with the sacrifice. Looking at the figure, it’s interesting that although Andromeda is behind Perseus, she appears to be holding more rocks. This could indeed imply that Andromeda is actively helping to defeat Cetus, which again would indicate her opposition to being sacrificed and her willingness to receive help. The detail that one of the earliest sources of Andromeda depicts her as opposing her sacrifice is significant, as there is nothing to prevent other lost contemporary sources from having followed the same logic — in fact, it’s much more evident from the later surviving sources.

As for Andromeda's cooperativeness in her sacrifice, a emphasized element in her myth is the way in which Andromeda was intended to be sacrificed. Several texts, both Greek and Roman, described how she was chained, for example:

Euripides’ Andromeda — “Do you see? Not in dancing choruses nor among the girls of my age do I stand holding my voter’ funnel, but entangled in close bounds I am presented as a food for the sea monster Glaucetes, with a paean not for my wedding but for my binding. Bewail me, women, for I have suffered pitiful plight—O suffering, suffering man that I am!—and other lawless afflictions from my kin, though I am implored the man, as light a lament filled with tears for my death”, frag 122. Loeb edition.

Ovid’s Metamorphosis — “They bound her fettered arms fast to the rock”, Book 4. Translation by Brookes More.

Ovid’s Ars Amatoria — “What was less hoped for by Andromeda, in chains”, Book 3. Translation by A.S. Kline.

Lucian’s Dialogue of the Sea — “Andromeda, fettered to a jutting rock”. Translation by H.W. and F.G. Flower.

Pliny the Elder’s Natural History — “and Joppe, a city of the Phoenicians, which existed, it is said, before the deluge of the earth. It is situate on the slope of a hill, and in front of it lies a rock, upon which they point out the vestiges of the chains by which Andromeda was bound”, 5.69. Translation by Henry T. Riley.

Philostrathus, Imagines — “while Eros frees Andromeda from her bonds”, 1.29. Translation by Arthur Fairbanks.

Pseudo-Apollodorus’ Library — “But Ammon having predicted deliverance from the calamity if Cassiepea's daughter Andromeda were exposed as a prey to the monster, Cepheus was compelled by the Ethiopians to do it, and he bound his daughter to a rock”, 2.4.3. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

Antiphilus in Greek Anthology — “she who is chained to the rock is Andromeda”, 147. Translation by W.R. Paton.

Solinus’ Polyhistor — “This town displays a rock which to this day retains traces of the chains used to bind Andromeda”, 34. Translation by Arwen Apps.

Nonnus’ Dionysiaca — “One made for Cepheus's daughter, and with starry fingers twisting a ring as close as the other, enchained Andromeda, bound already, with a second bond aslant under her bands”, Book 1; “Again she awakened a new resentment, seeing the heap of Andromeda's broken chains beside the Erythraian sea, and that rock lying on the sand, Earthshaker's monstrous lump”, Book 31; “Perseus on the wing loosed the chains of Andromeda and offered the stone seamonster as a worthy bridal gift”, Book 47. Translation by W.H.D. Rouse.

And one has to wonder why Andromeda is chained in the sources in general when I can't think of this as a common sacrificial motif in Greco-Roman literature, but here I want to focus on the fact that she is still chained in the Euripidean version. Euripides certainly knows what to do when he wants to emphasize that a character who is a sacrificial victim has regained some agency, however small. If Aeschylus depicted Iphigenia crying and screaming and being bound in Agamemnon, Euripides depicted her walking freely to the altar. If visual representations of Polyxena depicted her being immobilized and carried away by the Achaeans, Euripides made it so that, by showing no resistance, such immobilization was unnecessary. This isn’t to say that Iphigenia or Polyxena wanted to die in Euripides’ version, but it does indicate something about the role resistance plays into their death. And even with Euripides having this tendency, his Andromeda remains chained rather than subverted as he did with Iphigenia and Polyxena. In the purpose of explaining what I want to explain, let’s do some comparison. These are examples that involve the need for someone to give up their life. Menoeceus and Alcestis weren’t literally sacrificed as were Iphigenia, Polyxena, Andromeda, and Maiden (Macaria), but I’m still including them.

In Alcestis, king Admetus (he was the king of Pherae) was given the opportunity to live beyond his destined life because of the favor of the god Apollo, but on the condition that someone else would have to willingly die in his place. Admetus couldn’t find anyone willing to do this for him, including his elderly parents, and so when Death came to collect his share of the bargain, his wife Alcestis volunteered to die in his place. Since the bargain required a voluntary sacrifice, Alcestis did so of her own will, even though Admetus didn’t wish her to die and lamented it greatly afterwards. Her act was praised as an act of love and is even cited as an example in Plato's Symposium (179b-208d). She was later rescued from Death by Heracles, who was a guest of Admetus.

In The Phoenician Women, the Thebans and Argives are in conflict because of the brothers Eteocles and Polynices, both of whom desire the crown and have also been cursed by their father Oedipus. At one point, the seer Tiresias informs the Theban king Creon that he must sacrifice his son Menoeceus to save Thebes from divine punishment imposed by the god Ares. Creon, however, actively resists the plan, even instructing Menoeceus to flee so that he may live. However, despite pretending to agree with his father, Menoeceus disobeys and willingly sacrifices himself, appeasing the divine wrath. This is considered a heroic act, as he willingly offered his life in exchange for the salvation of his people despite having the option of fleeing and being supported in doing so by Creon.

In Iphigenia in Aulis, Iphigenia initially shows resistance and fear at the idea of being sacrificed to the goddess Artemis, but eventually gives in and subverts her sacrifice from a tragedy to a form of immortality despite the active opposition of her mother Clytemnestra and the suggestion of her not-really-groom Achilles to save her. By showing no more resistance, Iphigenia, according to the Messenger who notifies Clytemnestra, also “dies” — she is, in fact, replaced by a deer — in the most dignified way possible considering the context. Her voluntary sacrifice seems to be equated with the sacrifice of a warrior to obtain kleos, making her in some ways an active heroine rather than a passive victim — although she is still a victim of the war. Iphigenia, despite having had a fear of death, eventually sees it as a source of pride.

In Hecuba, Polyxena, having no other choice, is conformed to be sacrificed and attempts to regain some agency by taking this as her way out of slavery despite the active opposition of her mother Hecuba. Because she doesn’t resist, regardless of how she feels, Polyxena isn’t forcibly dragged away or anything like that. Talthybius would later report to Hecuba that Polyxena supposedly died in the most dignified way possible, given the situation she was in. Polyxena is different from Iphigenia in that she isn’t seeking fame or any recognition of her sacrifice, but she is still emphasized as being dignified to the point that Talthybius makes a point of emphasizing that Polyxena managed to hide her body as she died in order to maintain modesty. Part of Polyxena's argument was precisely to be able to maintain as much dignity as possible, since this was and would be further stripped from her as a princess on the losing side and enslaved girl.

In The Heraclidae, Maiden has the chance to escape the sacrifice, but doesn’t do so, going so far as to refuse a lottery (which maybe would have given a maiden other than her and thus prevented her from being killed) and offers to be sacrificed, thinking that this will help her city win the conflict since the oracle informed them that they would only win if a maiden was sacrificed. She does so even though Iolaus shows resistance to the idea. Maiden sees this as a noble act because she considers it to demonstrate her courage and not her cowardice, again indicating how this is something she does because she wants to be heroic and save everyone.

In all cases, one or more figures demonstrate more resistance than the person who will die (Admetus/Alcestis, Creon/Menoeceus, Clytemnestra-Achilles/Iphigenia, Hecuba/Polyxena, Iolaus/Maiden), which isn’t the case with Andromeda, who in the fragments seems to be the one demonstrating the most active resistance. The characters refuse this resistance for their own reasons, but unlike Andromeda, she begs Perseus to help, actively wanting her sacrifice to be stopped (frag 128). Eventually the character allows herself to be sacrificed, even though the reasons and context are quite difficult and in all cases there is a hint of coercion in the fact that, if they don’t accept, they will either be forced or will condemn the others. With this kind of attitude, they claim it as a way of maintaining dignity, or as a noble act, or as a heroic attitude or something of the sort. Andromeda doesn’t do this, she sees it as a complete tragedy, as a miserable life, and she doesn’t seem to try to comfort herself with the idea that if she accepts being sacrificed, she will be heroic (frag 122). In any case, none of them have their movements limited, as they’re all “willing”. On the other hand, Andromeda is chained, as if, by allowing her freedom, she won’t stay there. The physical immobilization itself is a miserable attempt to immobilize her emotions, to make her conform. She is physically chained, yes, but metaphorically she is also supposed to feel chained by duty to her people… and yet Andromeda isn’t. There is no patriotism in the world that will make her be. Silva (2023, p. 122) is of the opinion that Andromeda’s lament, unlike Iphigenia’s lament, doesn’t demonstrate any longing for the past and no hope that her mother or father will do something for her. There is nothing that will make her invest emotionally to the point of giving up on living, even under coercion.

In fact, Andromeda seems to contrast some elements of the other characters! For example:

Polyxena, in Hecuba, says “By the gods, leave me free; so slay me, that death may find me free; for to be called a slave among the dead fills my royal heart with shame“ (550-552, trans. E.P Coleridge), thought apparently shared by The Trojan Women Andromache when she speaks “Her death was even as it was, and yet that death of hers was after all a happier fate than my life” (630-631, trans. E.P. Coleridge) concerning the death of Polyxena. But Andromeda, when begging Perseus says “take me with you, stranger, whether you want me as a servant, a wife, or a slave” (frag 129, Loeb edition), implying that she would even prefer to be enslaved rather than die, which is the opposite of Polyxena.

In Iphigenia in Aulis, Achilles says “But now that I have looked into your noble nature, I feel still more a fond desire to win you for my bride. Look to it; for I want to serve you and receive you in my halls; and, Thetis be my witness, how I grieve to think I shall not save your life by doing battle with the Danaids. Reflect, I say; a dreadful ill is death” (1410-1415, trans. E.P. Coleridge), reiterating the offer that Iphigenia could supposedly marry him after he saved her (she wouldn’t be obliged to marry in order for him to save her, to be clear. But since Iphigenia had initially wanted to marry, his offer was a way of guaranteeing her something), but between (unlikely) marriage and death, Iphigenia still declines Achilles' offer by saying "let me, if I can, save Hellas" (1420, trans. E.P. Coleridge). On the other hand, Andromeda accepts Perseus' offer that, as a reward for rescuing her, she marry him (frag. 129-129a).

Bocholier (2020, p. 15), when commenting on the plot of The Heraclidae, says “Who but a girl, besides, to embody this absolute fidelity to kin and blood ties, this family order older than the Greece of the cities?”, interpreting that Maiden's sacrifice has a symbolic aspect regarding familial loyalty — that is, Maiden offers herself out of loyalty to her family and her city, which theoretically should be above her own desires. On the other hand, Andromeda seems to deal with a lack of family structure more than a reaffirmation of those relationships. Cassiopeia, her mother, didn’t consider the consequences when she committed hubris (although she obviously didn't want that) and Cepheus, her father, may not have been happy with the sacrifice, but still went so far as to accept his daughter being chained. And when it is all over, Andromeda still leaves with Perseus despite Cepheus' disapproval (a reconstruction theory based on later sources that indicate that Euripides had this plot). There is no reaffirmation of filial loyalty here, although the familial relationship is still complex.

And still on the subject of chaining, while in The Phoenician Women Creon offered Menoeceus the chance to escape to another place and be helped by his father when Creon suggests “But come, my son, before the whole city learns this, fly with all haste away from this land, regardless of these prophets' reckless warnings; for he will tell all this to our rulers and generals [going to the seven gates and the captains]; now if we can forestall him, you are saved, but if you are too late, we are ruined and you will die” (970-976, trans. E.P. Coleridge), Cepheus never gave Andromeda such an opportunity. Menoeceus didn’t run away because he chose to, but Andromeda didn’t run away because she had no choice (frag 122).

In Alcestis, the request needs someone willing to die, without requiring a specific person and desiring live will. But in the myth of Andromeda, she is specifically requested and her willingness isn’t required.

In this sense, it is as if the characters were divided into the following categories:

Certainly voluntary sacrifice, since the willingness was necessary and there was no external agent that forced it: Alcestis;

Ambiguous sacrifice in voluntariness, since although the characters claim their agency by transforming the sacrifice into something that supposedly benefits them, there are still external agents that would possibly prevent them from rejecting it: Polyxena, Iphigenia, Menoeceus, Maiden.

Certainly involuntary sacrifice, since disposition doesn’t matter, there is no claim of agency and there are repeated attempts until the end of the play to escape: Andromeda.

While the other characters died clothed, this kind of dignity is sometimes not afforded to Andromeda: “I was looking at the picture of Andromeda brought down by Perseus naked from the rock” (Hellodorus’ Ethiopica trans. Thomas Underdowne), “Andromeda, fettered to a jutting rock, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders; ye Gods, what loveliness was there exposed to view!” (Dialogues of the Sea 14 trans. H.W. and F.G. Flower). Again, it makes it hard to believe that her sacrifice was considered voluntary or even ambiguous. She is, of course, not always mentioned naked and has often been visually depicted clothed, but the chains still seem a constant. Even when Andromeda is fully clothed, she has still been stripped of her agency. She still feels humiliated, still feels as if she isn’t being treated as a person. This is all still very disturbing for Andromeda, an overwhelming feeling that the end is coming and she can't do anything about it — an immense feeling of helplessness. A princess stripped of any power, quite ironic.

Comparing some lines:

“Who will escort me from here, before my hair is torn?”, Iphigenia asks in 1458. Hair-pulling is a form of violent humiliation known from Greek works, but it’s especially famous in the visual representations in which the Trojan princess Cassandra is depicted with her hair being pulled by Lesser Ajax. Other visual examples that I know of are a visual source that shows Achilles dragging prince Troilus by his hair and two visual sources that show Clytemnestra dragging Cassandra by her hair. With this line, Iphigenia shows that, as much as she saw pride in her voluntary sacrifice, she is quite aware that if she hadn’t accepted, she would have been violently coerced (something that, for example, happened in Aeschylus' version, as indicated in the play Agamemnon). Therefore, by accepting, Iphigenia also demonstrates an attempt to control the dignity with which she dies.

“Then he, half glad, half sorry in his pity for the maid, cut with the steel the channels of her breath, and streams of blood gushed forth; but she, even in death, took good heed to fall with grace, hiding from the gaze of men what must be hidden. When she had breathed her last through the fatal gash, no Argive set his hand to the same task, but some were strewing leaves over the corpse in handfuls, others bringing pine-logs and heaping up a pyre; and the one who brought nothing would hear from him who did such taunts as these, “Do you stand still, ignoble wretch, with no robe or ornament to bring for the maiden? will you give nothing to her that showed such peerless bravery and spirit?”, says Talthybius when reporting the sacrifice of Polyxena in 566-580. Polyxena isn’t shown being held down while she is killed, as happens in some visual representations in which she is immobilized by Achaeans, but rather offering her chest (heart) and throat (trachea) to be cut. By exposing herself without an external agent immobilizing her, Polyxena is given the chance, in her last moments, to be able to quickly move to cover herself, thus dying in a way that she considers dignified (i.e., not naked to the eyes of the enemy). Although her sacrifice is required by the context, her attitude of exposing herself is interpreted as a sign of bravery and, therefore, she receives ornaments, which theoretically should be a form of funerary honor. Such “honor” would hardly have been made available to Polyxena’s body if she weren’t seen as “brave”. If Polyxena had actively resisted, she would have forced herself into it and would have died in a much physically violent way, without any chance to try to gain as much comfort as possible from a miserable death.

While Menoeceus is never threatened with a possibly undignified situation (which makes me wonder if this has something to do with him being a male sacrifice required rather than a sacrificial maiden), Creon's lines “Ah me! what shall I do? Am I to mourn with tears myself or my city, which has a cloud around it [as if it went through Acheron]? My son has died for his country, bringing glory to his name, but grievous woe to me. His body I have just now taken from the dragon's rocky lair and sadly carried the self-slain victim here in my arms; and the house is filled with weeping; but now I have come for my sister Jocasta, age seeking age, that she may bathe my child's corpse and lay it out. For those who are not dead must reverence the god below by paying honor to the dead” in 1310-1321 are structured so that the declaration that Menoeceus' death was heroic precedes the demand for dignified funeral honors. Voluntary death dignified Menoeceus.

Maiden isn’t threatened because her sacrifice isn’t asked for directly, but by saying “Then fear no more the Argive enemy's spear. For I am ready, old man, of my own accord and unbidden, to appear for sacrifice and be killed. For what shall we say if this city is willing to run great risks on our behalf, and yet we, who lay toil and struggle on others, run away from death when it lies in our power to save them? It must not be so, for it deserves nothing but mockery if we sit and groan as suppliants of the gods and yet, though we are descended from that great man who is our father, show ourselves to be cowards. How can this be fitting in the eyes of men of nobility? Much finer, I suppose, if this city were to be capture（God forbid! and I were to fall into the hands of the enemy and then when I, daughter of a noble father, have suffered dishonor, go to my death all the same! But shall I then accept exile from this land and be a wanderer? Shall I not feel shame if someone thereafter asks, [Why do you come here with your suppliant branches when you yourselves lack courage? Leave this land: for we do not give help to the base]?” in 500-519 (trans. David Kovacs) she reveals that her motivation isn’t solely heroic. It isn’t only that she wishes to demonstrate courage and nobility by sacrificing herself for the good of all, but it is also because she recognizes that if the prophecy isn’t fulfilled and no maiden is sacrificed, her people will lose the war and that means dead men and enslaved women, including herself. By sacrificing herself, Maiden prevents herself from being enslaved and also prevents other women from being enslaved. She follows a logic that it’s better to have a glorious death than a miserable life, again her voluntariness linked to the dignity.

The case of Alcestis doesn’t apply in this specific comparison, as the sacrifice couldn’t be coerced.

In contrast, Andromeda feels so humiliated that she compares herself to food, and part of this feeling that her dignity has been taken away from her is motivated by the chain: “to set (me) out as food for the sea monster” (frag 115), “[...] but entangled in close bonds I am presented as food [...]” (frag 122). Devoured by the monster, Andromeda wouldn’t have a quick and clean death, and it would definitely not be a death that would make her feel dignified. She feels like food because she feels dehumanized. She has no hope of trying to find a more "humane" or "dignified" way to die because, once the death is being eaten alive by a monster, there aren't many options.

There are texts, both Greek and Roman, that emphasize Andromeda's feelings at the moment, making it clear how sad she was about being sacrificed and how happy she was to be saved:

Euripides’ Andromeda — “Why have I, Andromeda, been given a share of suffering above all others—I, who in misery here am facing death?”, frag 115; “Feel my pain with me, for the sufferer who shares his tears has some relief from his burden”, frag 119. Loeb edition.

Ovid’s Metamorphosis — “but the breeze moved in her hair, and from her streaming eyes the warm tears fel [...] as overcome with shame, she made no sound: were not she fettered she would surely hide her blushing head; but what she could perform that did she do—she filled her eyes with tears [...] Over the waves a monster fast approached, its head held high, abreast the wide expanse —The virgin shrieked”, Book 4. Translation by Brookes More.

Ovid’s Ars Amatoria — “What was less hoped for by Andromeda, in chains han that her tears could please anyone?”, Book 3. Translation by A.S. Kline.

Philostratus, Imagines — “for she seems to be incredulous, her joy is mingled with fear, and as she gazes at Perseus she begins to send a smile towards him”, 1.29. Translation by Arthur Fairbanks

Nonnus’ Dionysiaca — “Perseus saved Andromeda in her affliction”, Book 18; “old Cepheus is unhappy still, when he sees Andromeda's fear, and the Monster of Olympos coming, after what happened here on earth!”, Book 25. Translation by W.H.D. Rouse.

Andromeda’s unhappiness at being sacrificed may not necessarily indicate her lack of consent to it — after all, Iphigenia in Iphigenia in Aulis also openly expressed her unhappiness and in the end she consented —, but her determination to get help and her immense joy at actually being helped are indications of how unwilling she was. She could have refused it, just as the other characters I’ve given as examples did, but she didn’t. Andromeda wanted this help because she never wanted to be there and she never even tried to regain agency like, for example, Polyxena did — who also didn't want to be in the situation she was in and had no real agency but tried to get the impression of it. Andromeda accepted that she had no agency and showed no signs of wanting to subvert it. It’s as if, while Iphigenia made the sacrifice about her more than the war, Andromeda had no such pretensions. Andromeda not only knows it’s not about her — she also doesn’t want it to be. There is no sense of accomplishment for her, as there may have been for Menoeceus and Maiden. She is in deep despair. In this sense, Euripides' Andromeda more closely resembles the kind of description Aeschylus offered of Iphigenia's sacrifice, in which she wept and screamed and resisted so much that she was immobilized and silenced. That is, she more closely resembles an example where there isn’t a self-sacrifice, but an entirely forced sacrifice without any attempt to regain agency through the sacrifice itself, but the agency being played out in vain resistance (for however much Aeschylus Iphigenia and Euripides Andromeda resisted, it didn’t alter the minds of their people. Andromeda had an strange not affected by the context to be bothered by the situation, but Iphigenia received no such thing).

Therefore, with this, I wanted to argue in favor of the idea that Andromeda's sacrifice, in the sources in general, isn’t voluntary.

ANDROMEDA AND PERSEUS: A LOVE STORY?

Here, I’ll discuss my interpretation of the relationship based on the sources. First, it’s notable that there is an eroticism surrounding the myth of Andromeda. Although this is already evident in many sources, it becomes even more obvious when the god Eros is literally included. In the Greco-Roman literary sources, these are some examples of the emphasis on eroticism in the myth (note that I’m using eroticism as an term for both romance and sexuality):

Above all beware of reproaching girls for their faults, it’s useful to ignore so many things. Andromeda’s dark complexion was not criticised by Perseus, who was borne aloft by wings on his feet. [...]

Ars Amatoria, Book 2. Translation by A.S. Kline.

PHILODEMUS O feet, O legs, O thighs for which I justly died, O buttocks, O pubis, O flanks, O shoulders, O breasts, O slender neck, O arms, O eyes I am mad for, O accomplished movement, O admirable kisses, O exclamations that excite! If she is Italian and her name is Flora and she does not sing Sappho, yet Perseus was in love with Indian Andromeda.

Greek Anthology, 5.132. Translation by W.R. Paton.

TRITON: When he was at the Ethiopian shore here, and now flying low, he saw Andromeda lying fastened to a projecting rock—ye gods, what a beautiful sight she was!—with her hair let down, but largely uncovered from the breasts downwards. At first he pitied her fate and asked the reason for her punishment, but little by little he succumbed to love, and decided to help, since she had to be saved. So when the monster came—a fearsome sight it was too!—to gulp her down, the young man hovered above it with his scimitar unsheathed, and, striking with one hand, showed it the Gorgon with the other, and turned it into stone. At one and the same time was the monster killed, and most of it, all of it that faced Medusa, petrified. Then Perseus undid the maiden’s chains, and supported her with his hand as she tip-toed down from the slippery rock. Now he’s marrying her in Cepheus’ palace and will take her away to Argos, so that, instead of dying, she’s come by an uncommonly good marriage.

Dialogue of the Sea Gods, 14.3. Translation by Henry Watson and Fowler.

[...] Without a dower he takes Andromeda, the guerdon of his glorious victory, nor hesitates.—Now pacing in the van, both Love [Eros] and Hymen wave the flaring torch, abundant perfumes lavished in the flames. The houses are bedecked with wreathed flowers; and lyres and flageolets resound, and songs— felicit notes that happy hearts declare. The portals opened, sumptuous halls display their golden splendours, and the noble lords of Cepheus' court take places at the feast, magnificently served. After the feast, when every heart was warming to the joys of genial Bacchus , then, Lyncidian Perseus asked about the land and its ways about the customs and the character of its heroes. [...]

Metamorphoses, Book 4. Translation by Brookes More.

No, this is not the Red Sea nor are these inhabitants of India, but Ethiopians and a Greek man in Ethiopia. And of the exploit which I think the man undertook voluntarily for love, my boy, you must have heard – the exploit of Perseus who, they say, slew in Ethiopia a monster from the sea of Atlas, which was making its way against herds and the people of this land. Now the painter glorifies this tale and shows his pity for Andromeda in that she was given over to the monster. The contest is already finished and the monster lies stretched out on the strand, weltering in streams of blood – the reason the sea is red – while Eros [Love] frees Andromeda from her bonds. Eros is painted with wings as usual, but here, as it not usual, he is a young man, panting and still showing the effects of his toil; for before the deed Perseus put up a prayer to Eros that he should come and with him swoop down upon the creature, and Eros came, for he heard the Greek’s prayer. The maiden is charming in that she is fair of skin though in Ethiopia, and charming is the very beauty of her form; she would surpass a Lydian girl in daintiness, an Attic girl in stateliness, a Spartan in sturdiness. Her beauty is enhanced by the circumstances of the moment; for she seems to be incredulous, her joy is mingled with fear, and as she gazes at Perseus she begins to send a smile towards him. He, not far from the maiden, lies in the sweet fragrant grass, dripping sweat on the ground and keeping the Gorgon’s head hidden lest people see it and be turned to stone. Many cow-herds come offering him milk and wine to drink, charming Ethiopians with their strange colouring and their grim smiles; and they show that they are pleased, and most of them look alike, Perseus welcomes their gifts and, supporting himself on his left elbow, he lefts his chest, filled with breath through panting, and keeps his gaze upon the maiden, and lets the wind blow out his chlamys, which is purple and spattered with drops of blood and with the flecks which the creature breathed upon it in the struggle. Let he children of Pelops perish when it comes to a comparison with the shoulder of Perseus! for beautiful as he is and ruddy of face, his bloom has been enhanced by his toil and his veins are swollen, as is wont to happen when the breath comes quickly. Much gratitude does he win from the maiden.

Imagines, 1.29. Translation by Arthur Fairbanks.

ANTIPHILUS On a Painting of Andromeda The land is Ethiopian; he with the winged sandals is Perseus; she who is chained to the rock is Andromeda; the face is the Gorgon’s, whose glance turns men to stone; the sea-monster is the task set by Love [Eros], she who boasted of her child’s beauty is Cassiopea. Andromeda releases from the rock her feet inured to numbness and dead, and her suitor carries off the bride his prize.

Greek Anthology, 16.147. Translation by W.R. Paton.

When he saw the girl hanging from the rock, he stiffened—he whom even his enemy had not stunned. Scarcely did he hold his prize in his hand, and the conqueror of Medusa was conquered in the presence of Andromeda.

Liber Quintus. Translation by James Uden. [Detail: there is also the argument that this source is actually a way of de-emphasizing eroticism, for those interested see “A Song from the Universal Chorus: The Perseus and Andromeda Epyllion”]

Regarding visual representations, Odgen (2008, p. 81-82) comments:

Artists also exploited the erotic potential of the suspended Andromeda. Vase painters and wall painters often preferred to represent her clothing diaphanously (e.g. LIMC Andromeda I no. 23, a Sicilian calyx-crater of ca. 350–25 bc, and no. 32, a Roman wall- painting from Boscotrecase). And as with the writers, wardrobe mal- function could be deployed to enhance the effect. One notable example of this is found in the case of a fragment of a Lucanian bell-crater of the early fourth century bc, on which a voluptuous Andromeda holds her thin peplos-dress up in her teeth to preserve her modesty (LIMC Andromeda I no. 22). In ca. 340 bc the female nude entered the canon of Greek sculpture, and this seems to have had an impact on the ways in which Andromeda could be shown. A nude Hellenistic statue, preserved only in the form of a Roman copy reduced to little more than a torso, indicates what could be done. The delicate chain that rests across the top of the girl’s right thigh offers little to her modesty (LIMC Andromeda I no. 157, from Alexandria). No doubt this was the sort of thing Roman writers had in mind when they compared the suspended Andromeda to a statue. Full nudity was too much for the vase painters, and the only completely nude Andromeda to be found on a vase is a burlesque figure of ca. 340–30 bc on a Campanian hydria (LIMC Andromeda I no. 20). From the third century bc and onwards Etruscan and Roman relief-sculptors and wall-painters were less reticent about going all the way (e.g. LIMC Andromeda I nos. 53, 55, 75, 146a, 152). Roman artists favoured three tender vignettes with little or no correlate in the literary tradition, and all of these are to be found in profusion in Pompeian wall-paintings. In one Perseus is shown helping Andromeda down from her place of suspension, with a miniaturised dead ketos sometimes lying at their feet (e.g. LIMC Andromeda I nos. 67–71, 73–4, 78, 83–9, 209–11, 222). In the second, completely absent from the written record, we catch a now fully relaxed Perseus and Andromeda, their troubles behind them, sitting together and gazing at the reflection of the Gorgon-head in a rock-pool. Perseus is evidently recounting his earlier adventures to his new fiancée, perhaps still on the shore where the ketos was killed (LIMC Andromeda I nos.102–4, 109–10, 118, 120, Perseus nos. 66–73). In the third we find Perseus transporting Andromeda through the air, presumably back to Seriphos (LIMC Perseus nos. 229–30).

Furthermore, it must be considered that Eros/Love is represented, in some cases, in ceramics that address the rescue of Andromeda by Perseus, emphasizing the eroticism of the myth (for example, see here).

Gibert (1999-2000), in relation to Euripides' play Andromeda, comments on how it most likely had as its focus not the heroic conquest of Perseus, but the love between Perseus and Andromeda. There are even surviving lines in which the god Eros is invoked to help the pair of star-crossed lovers. One of the possibilities to be commented on is also the chances that Andromeda was the first play to represent a man falling in love. Note that it isn’t “a man in love”, but a “man falling in love” — that is, the moment in which the feeling arises. Furthermore, Andromeda was part of a trilogy that also contained the play Helen, which, unlike Andromeda, has survived. Although Helen has more than one theme, the emphasis on the romantic relationship between Helen and Menelaus is quite obvious, which perhaps allows for the theory that this specific trilogy proposed an approach to mythological romantic relationships. Not only that, but both Andromeda and Helen are a subject of debate in terms of genre, with scholars debating whether they are tragedy, comedy, or something else — much of this debate exists by the fact that Aristotle’s “Poetics” is often used as a reference for the rules of theatrical genres. Euripides, in this trilogy, apparently wasn’t trying to follow the known strict formulas.

The presence of such strong eroticism in the myth of Andromeda is actually something that intrigues me. It intrigues me how, in some ways, their relationship became stronger than Perseus’ heroic conquests. Yes, Perseus is still praised for facing Cetus, saving Andromeda, and then dealing with Phineus, but the focus is still on how he and Andromeda feel about each other. This, at least to my mind, still sounds more like a relationship myth than a conquest myth, although both elements are present and important. Even when we have sources that speak of Perseus' immortalization in the stars, Andromeda is usually emphasized as being immortalized in the stars as well (Nonnus' Dionysiaca, Pseudo-Hyginus' Astronomica, Aratus' Phaenomena).

Regarding Andromeda's reciprocity, Silva (2023, p. 130-131) comments that Andromeda, as a character in an Euripidean play that includes the elements of “escape” and “salvation,” resembles Euripidean characters Iphigenia (Iphigenia in Tauris) and Helen (Helen), and this would include her non-passivity in her escape. She supports this idea with what Erastatones says in Catasterismi 17, where he describes that Andromeda refused to stay her father and mother and went with Perseus of her own free will, and what is said in Pseudo-Hyginus' Astronomica, which gives a similar account that also emphasizes Andromeda's desire. For Silva, the play, therefore, addresses the idea of a girl abandoning her family and homeland in order to follow her lover to an unknown situation. She also recalls that Peterson (1904, p. 101) interpreted Andromeda's decision as a disregard for traditional duties, after all she disobeyed her parents' wishes and left her homeland to go with a stranger. It wasn't supposed to be an easy decision.

Pseudo-Apollodorus records:

[...] But Ammon having predicted deliverance from the calamity if Cassiepea's daughter Andromeda were exposed as a prey to the monster, Cepheus was compelled by the Ethiopians to do it, and he bound his daughter to a rock. When Perseus beheld her, he loved her and promised Cepheus that he would kill the monster, if he would give him the rescued damsel to wife. These terms having been sworn to, Perseus withstood and slew the monster and released Andromeda. However, Phineus, who was a brother of Cepheus, and to whom Andromeda had been first betrothed, plotted against him; but Perseus discovered the plot, and by showing the Gorgon turned him and his fellow conspirators at once into stone. [...]

Library, 2.4.3. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

Regarding this passage, Faria (2023, p. 11) interprets that “it can be inferred that Perseus takes Andromeda's salvation as proof of love and, in order to free her, he faces the monster to which she was exposed and deals with conspiracies and adversities from opponents, such as Phineus” (improvised translation, the original was in Portuguese).

Now that I have established why I think Perseus was motivated by love and that the feeling was mutual, I’ll argue why I think the marriage was beneficial to Andromeda. Again, the comparison territory! Hesione is probably the sacrificial maiden most similar to Andromeda and I wouldn’t be surprised if one was derived from the other. Laomedon, the Trojan king, didn’t pay homage to the gods Apollo and Poseidon by building the walls of Troy, forced by the king of the gods Zeus to do so as punishment for both of them being part of a plan to betray him. This led to the prophecy that a sea monster would be sent to destroy Troy and that the only way to prevent this would be to sacrifice Hesione, one of the princesses. Heracles, seeing her there and talking to her, learned of what had happened. He then told King Laomedon that he would save her and Troy by killing the monster, but that he wanted Laomedon's divine horses as a reward (which, depending on the source, are explained as gifts from Zeus as compensation for the kidnapping of the young and beautiful Ganymede). Laomedon made the promise, but, just as he didn’t fulfill his duty to the gods, he didn’t fulfill his duty to Heracles. As a result, Heracles, along with other Achaeans, sacked Troy with drastic results. Priam, one of the princes, ended up inheriting Laomedon's throne, and Hesione was taken as a prize of war, with Heracles giving her to Telamon for his usefulness in the sack (see, for example, Pseudo-Apollodorus' Library and the Byzantine scholia of The Iliad).

The similarities to Andromeda are obvious, in terms of context:

The event takes place in a foreign/non-Greek place (Aethiopia/Troy);

A hierarchical power figure of the community commits hubris against the gods (Cassiopeia/Laomedon);

Poseidon is involved in both cases (he is requested by the Nereids, who were offended/he is one of the offended gods);

It’s prophesied that a sea monster (in the case of Andromeda, his name is Cetus) will destroy the city (Aethiopia/Troy) as punishment for this hubris;

It’s also prophesied that the only way to avoid the destruction of the city (Aethiopia/Troy) is with the sacrifice of the daughter (Andromeda/Hesione) of the one who offended the gods (Cassiopeia/Laomedon). They’re both maidens and the sacrifice of both is justified as being the "best" for the community;

A Greek hero (Perseus/Heracles) appears, talks to the maiden (Andromeda/Hesione), finds out from her what is happening and negotiates a reward with her father (marriage/divine horses). Both heroes are sons of Zeusand have a mortal father figure (Dictys/Amphitryon);

The monster is defeated, the girl (Andromeda/Hesione) is taken.

There are, however, some crucial differences here, which I’ll comment on. Well, let us return to Euripides. Although the fragments of the play Andromeda aren’t in a 100% sure order, this is one of the possibilities suggested:

Perseus Maiden, if I should rescue you, will you show me gratitude? Andromeda Take me with you, stranger, whether you want me a servant, a wife or a slave. Perseus I have never abused the unfortunate in their unfortunate in adversity, for I may suffer adversity myself. Andromeda Do not bring me to tears by offering my hope; many things may happen that are unanticipated.

Fragments 129-130. Loeb edition.

If we consider that the order is this, then the dialogue would be structured in such a way as to build a scene in which, despite Perseus initially demanding a reward for saving Andromeda, when Andromeda responded with such desperation (indicated by the way she even claims that she would be his slave, as long as he saved her), Perseus apparently realized that this wasn’t the best thing to say and made sure to assure Andromeda that he wouldn’t use her current vulnerability as a way to exploit her (which is why, right after Andromeda suggested slavery as his reward, Perseus claimed that he avoids taking advantage of other people's misfortune). In this case, Perseus would apparently be recognizing Andromeda's lack of power at that moment, knowing that vulnerability would possibly make her enter into exploitative scenarios, and in response he would have tried to assure her that her safety was guaranteed.

If this is indeed the original order of the play, it would make Andromeda's situation quite different from Hesione's. Hesione had no such safety guaranteed to her by Heracles or Telamon; she was actually taken to be enslaved in Salamis. For example, in Pseudo-Apollodorus Library 2.6.4 she is said to have been given as a prize to Telamon (“he [Heracles] assigned Laomedon's daughter Hesione as a prize to Telamon”, trans. J.G. Frazer), in Sophocles’ Ajax she is directly referred to as an enslaved captive (“you, the captive slave's son”, trans. Richard Jebb), and in the Byzantine scholia the scholiast makes Hesione's extremely disadvantageous situation even more obvious by saying “When Heracles sacked Troy, he took as prisoner Hesione, the daughter of Laomedon (and sister of Priam), and gave her as a war-prize to Telamon because he had fought with him” (trans. R. Scott Smith). Hesione has no legitimate status and consequently doesn’t have the legal protection of a wife. She is an enslaved woman, not a free person. We don't have to think about what Andromeda's life would be like if Perseus was the kind of guy who saved a girl from being sacrificed just to get her as a prize, without really considering her safety or feelings, because Telamon already did that with Hesione. We already know that story. Sure, there are a lot of euphemisms for master-slave relationships in the writing of some ancient authors, Briseis and Achilles is probably the most obvious example of this with authors talking about how Briseis' beauty turned him on and oh how he would leave the battlefield from her bed and the like, but even Briseis has been acknowledged for her disadvantageous status in various texts. No one has the slightest doubt that she has no legal protection, no one has the slightest doubt that Achilles has more power over her than any healthy relationship should allow and the Byzantine scholia, just as it recognized that Hesione is a prisoner, recognized that Iliadic Achilles wasn’t really caring about Briseis. But Andromeda? She never had this type of source. There is no euphemism in the world that would make Andromeda, with the amount of sources she has, not have been identified as being in a disadvantageous situation by at least one author. I would understand if she was a obscure character, but she's not.

And to further emphasize how Hesione is a very obvious example of what happens when the hero isn’t genuinely trying to save the girl, consider this fragment from Euripides’ play that is interpreted as Andromeda’s: “I forbid the acquiring of illegitame sons. Though in no way inferior to legitimate ones, they are handicapped by convention and this is something you must beware of” (frag 141). Presumably this line is Andromeda making Perseus assure her that he won’t have any illegitimate children, that is, children other than with Andromeda, whom he is promising to make his wife. The justification is that this will be a problem for the child who, no matter how good they are, will be treated with contempt by social convention. And well, since Hesione is an enslaved concubine and not a wife, Teucer, her son, is illegitimate. And he does have a problem with that. In Book 10 of The Iliad, Agamemnon reminds him that Telamon raising him in his household despite Teucer being a bastard is something that should be rewarded by Teucer bringing glory to Salamis. In Sophocles' Ajax, Agamemnon dismisses Teucer by saying that, as the son of an enslaved Trojan woman, he is also a barbarian and a slave, and as such, Agamemnon has no reason to listen to him. In other sources (Sophocles' lost plays, Euripides' Helen, Ioannis Tzetzes' Ad Lycophronem, Pausanias' Description of Greece, etc), Ajax's death results in Teucer's banishment by Telamon. Teucer's safety in Salamis was assured by Ajax, the legitimate son, caring for him. From the moment Ajax died, Teucer, in his illegitimate condition, also lost his safety. Not only is Hesione the embodiment of what Perseus's assurance is meant to prevent, Teucer is the embodiment of what Andromeda's demand is meant to prevent.

And interestingly, none of the sources mention Perseus having mistresses or illegitimate children, so from what can be assumed from the surviving sources, he was indeed loyal and faithful to Andromeda.

THE SUBVERSION OF ANDROMEDA’S MYTH

Even in the comedy genre, which wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, these aspects of Andromeda remain. In Thesmophoriazusae, Aristophanes wrote a scene parodying Euripides’ Andromeda. Consequently, the characterization of the characters in this absurd situation (the context of this scene is insane, but I honestly don’t think it’s useful for this post) reflects Euripidean characterization and, consequently, Andromeda here is represented as someone who actively mourns and wants help. However, this becomes comical. Lourenço (1995, p. 285-291) argues that Aristophanes parodied this specific play because, similar to Euripides’ Helen (also parodied by him), it was one of the materials that provided the greatest melodramatic potential. The subversion of parody lies in transforming the tragic into the comic and the romantic into a very unromantic scenario. if the subversion of the play, forming the parody, is in making it funny and unromantic, then it reinforces the status of Euripides' original play as the story of a tragic couple in love. Ribeiro (2018, p. 126-139) comments on how well received the play was at the time, capable of arousing a lot of sympathy from the public with the sweet and tragic couple. This type of parody wouldn’t have had the impact it had if it weren’t for the positive reception and the original aspects of Euripides' play. Even today, when calling Andromeda a "controversial" play, the intention tends to be more in the realm of debate about what makes something a tragic play in terms of genre. It usually takes into account what Aristotle says in Poetics, which clearly doesn’t fit with what we know about the structure of Andromeda (just as, for example, it doesn’t seem to fit with Helen) and that’s why there is the debate. It's not about having had a troubled reception.

Gibert says (1999-2000, p. 85-86):

This brings us back to genre. Perseus' love is the only target of Aristophanes' parody that might also be called a structural element of Andromeda's, love story. All of his targets, however, would have contributed to the unusual atmosphere and tone of the Euripidean original: the daring use of Echo, the exotic predicament and exaggerated pathos of the exposed maiden, and the arrival of the gallant hero through the air. So would several other elements of the dramatic situation. When they meet, the two principals are young and unattached, and Andromeda is a parthenos, ripe for marriage. A victim of her father's cruelty, she attracts sympathy through her opening scenes, and her savior Perseus appears to have been no less sympathetic a character. He was at any rate acceptable to Andromeda, and this suggests that the audience too will have wanted the couple's marriage plans to succeed. They do succeed, as everyone surely expected all along. Against this background, Perseus' constant love deserves to be called an ethically serious development of the legend's romantic potential. We do not know whether he expounded other motives or was consistently high-minded, nor whether Andromeda felt anything other than gratitude. In treating joyful true love seriously, however, Euripides enlarged the boundaries of the tragic genre.

In the Greek Anthology, an anonymous epigram presents Andromeda rejecting Perseus and he, enraged, petrifying her:

What Perseus would say after slaying the Monster, when Andromeda refused him: The cruel fetters of the rock have turned thy heart to stone, and now let the eye of Medusa turn thy body, too, to stone.

9.479. Translation by W.R. Paton.

This kind of epigram seems to be intended to be humorous by breaking expectations. Audiences familiar with the typical romantic story would be shocked at how messy everything has become. But then again, this kind of thing is only possible because there has been a breaking of expectations, which was only possible because Perseus and Andromeda was already known as a story of love and gratitude. Andromeda's refusal is supposed to surprise, it isn’t supposed to someone see this and think "aha! The real story that had been hidden!"

Conon, in Narrations 40, offers a rationalized version of the myth that doesn’t include a attempt of sacrifice. And yet, curiously, Andromeda's dissatisfaction with the situation imposed upon her is still evident:

The 40th story tells the history of Andromeda quite differently from the myth of the Greeks. Two brothers were born, Kepheus and Phineas, and the kingdom of Kepheus is what is later renamed Phoenicia but at the time was called Ioppa, taking its name from Ioppe the seaside city. And the borders of his realm ran from our sea [the Mediterranean] up to the Arabs who live on the Red Sea. Kepheus has a very fair daughter Andromeda, and Phoinix woos her and so does Phineas the brother of Kepheus. Kepheus decides after much calculation on both sides to give her to Phoinix but, by having the suitor kidnap her, conceal that it was intentional. Andromeda was snatched from a desert islet where she was accustomed to go and sacrifice to Aphrodite. When Phoinix kidnapped her in a ship (which was called Ketos [sea monster], whether by chance or because it had a likeness to the animal), Andromeda began screaming, assuming she was being kidnapped without her father's knowledge, and called for help with groans. Perseus the son of Danae by some daimonic chance was sailing by, and at first sight of the girl, was overcome by pity and love. He destroyed the ship Sea Monster and killed those aboard, who were only surprised, not actually turned to stone. And for the Greeks this became the sea monster of the myth and the people turned to stone by the Gorgon's head. So he makes Andromeda his wife and she sails with Perseus to Greece and they live in Argos where he becomes king.

Translation by Brady Kiesling.

Conon wanted to rationalize the myth, but still keep it with certain known themes and elements (e.g. Perseus rescuing Andromeda and Cepheus still being an ambiguous figure). And it makes you wonder...couldn't Andromeda's unwillingness be one of those elements?

Therefore, I think that, even looking at the logic of the subversions, my already shared opinions remain.

SECONDARY SOURCES

WEST, M.L. The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women: Its Nature, Structure and Origins. Oxford, 1985.

PHILIPS, Kyle. American Journal of Archaeology, Vol. 72, No. 1 (Jan., 1968), pp. 1-23.

BOCHOLIER, Julien. The Ambiguities of Voluntary Self-Sacrifice: the Case of Macaria in Euripides’ Heraclidae. 2020.

LOURENÇO, Frederico. HVMANITAS — Vol. XLV. Tema(s) e Desenvolvimento Temático nos Tesmoforiantes de Aristófanes. 1995.

RIBEIRO, Wilson. Codex – Revista de Estudos Clássicos, Rio de Janeiro, vol. 6, n. 2, jul.-dez. 2018, pp. 123-15

ODGEN, Daniel. Perseus. Routledge, 2008.

SILVA, Maria de Fátima. PROMETEUS - Ano 15 - Número 43 – setembro - dezembro 2023.

GIBERT, John. Illinois Classical Studies, Vol. 24/25, Euripides and Tragic Theatre in the Late Fifth Century (1999-2000), pp. 75-91.

FARIA, Rui Tavares. Calíope: Presença Clássica | 2023.1 . Ano XL . Número 45 (separata 4). “O herói-viajante em Eurípides: missão, errância, reconhecimento e fuga”

#Ask #Anon #LotusAnon #Andromeda #Perseus #Persomeda #Birdiethings #Birdie.txt

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joons-cinnamon-bun · 5 months ago

Text

The holiday pretense -2-

Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about ‘The most wonderful time of the year’, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air. Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend. But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request. Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, idiots in love, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, they are absolute idiots. like, there is no way about it. pure idiots. anddd… I didn’t write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 2-9k Credits: this was literally one of those ‘if no one is going to write this, I will’ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what I’d do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: We’re already in December. Damn… Enjoy. Merry Christmas. part 1: here, part 2: reading, part 3: here , part 4: here

Namjoon peered down at your sleeping form, his tired eyes tracing the soft, quirky murmurs that drifted from your lips as you burrowed deeper into his chest. What started as a faint whimper blossomed into a quiet, endearing snore, drawing a gentle smile from him.

He hadn’t planned to wake this early, but sleep had eluded him for the fast few hours. These quiet pre-dawn moments usually brought him peace—a hushed pause before the day took over. Today, however, his mind was restless, skimming over scattered thoughts until it inevitably circled back to you.

You looked like a dream. The soft morning light seeped through the curtains, bathing you in a warm, golden glow even as you nestled deeper into his body. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the delicate lines of your face. His eyes lingered on the gentle curve of your lips—the same lips he’d kissed just hours before…

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize how intently he was staring, until your eyes suddenly fluttered open. Instinct kicked in, startled, you both reacted at the same time, and you jumped up just as he tried to lean back. The both of you groaning in unison as you cradle your forehead, which had slammed painfully against his chin.

“What the hell are you doing?” you cry, urgency quickly replacing the sleepiness in your voice.

“You were snoring. I’m sorry,” Namjoon defended, rubbing the spot where you collided.

“I don’t snore!” you glare up at him, eyes finally focusing enough to see the blood gushing from his nose. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You leaned over him to grab a napkin from the bedside table. But still half asleep, the hand you’d placed between his legs couldn’t support your weight, and you crashed right onto his belly, eliciting a loud “oof” as he fell back on his pillow.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, your face smushed against him as you struggle to grab a napkin. In your frantic attempt, you knocked the tissue box off the table, sending tissues whirling to the ground.

“Just- ow!” He winced when you pressed the napkin to his nose, confusion evident on his face. He clearly hadn’t expected blood or to be in such a vulnerable position so early in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” you say for the third time, slightly loosening your grip on his face.

“Stop apologizing,” he mumbled “It’s my fault too.” Namjoon took the tissue from your hands and pressed it harder against his nose trying to suppress the stinging sensation.

You lingered there for a moment, captivated by the tissue grazing his lips, until the warmth of his skin under your cheek snapped you out of it. His shirt had ridden up in the altercation, baring a sliver of his toned stomach, now conveniently pressed against your face.

As if sensing your awareness, Namjoon furrowed his brows and gave you a quizzical look, prompting you to sit upright, the blanket trailing behind you like a cape.

“Yes, it is! What’s wrong with you?” You scolded. “Do you always stare at people when you sleep next to them?”

“I wasn’t staring!” Namjoon’s head shot up; his voice defensive but laced with amusement. “You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore!” you shot back, despite having no evidence to support your claim. You struggled to untangle yourself from the blanket, nearly tripping in your haste to escape. The bathroom door closed with an accidental slam behind you, leaving you momentarily alone with your spiralling thoughts.

Leaning over the sink, you splashed cold water on your face, the chill biting at your skin and grounding you—if only for a moment. Yet your heart refused to cooperate, its erratic rhythm spiking again when you heard the faint shuffling from the bedroom, followed by a soft, frustrated “Damn it.”

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, meeting your own wide-eyed, dishevelled stare. Tangled hair perfectly framing your flushed cheeks, the hoodie you’d borrowed from Namjoon sitting askew on your shoulders and remnants of sleep clinging stubbornly to your face.

Charming. Just the image you wanted to project.

Then, your gaze drifted to the mint toothpaste sitting on the counter, and a fresh wave of emotions washed over you. It hit you all at once—His lips pressed to yours, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the look he’d given you after.

The way he looked at you…like he was searching for something. Or maybe you were imagining it. God, you hoped you were imagining it.

You gripped the edge of the sink, leaning into it as embarrassment burned its way down your spine.

But deep beneath the flurry of second-guessing and distress, you manage to find a crumb of courage while quietly going through the motions.

Taking a shaky breath, you pushed yourself upright and finished the small, familiar task of brushing your teeth. As you twisted the faucet shut, you stole one last glance at your reflection, your eyes searching for reassurance.

With resolve that felt both flimsy and monumental, you stepped back into the bedroom, bracing yourself for whatever came next.

Namjoon was still lying on the bed, a new tissue pressed against his nose. He looked up as you enter, and an unexpected flicker of self-consciousness crept in, making you hyper-aware of every step you took.

“Are you okay?” You asked, attempting a softer tone.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, lowering the napkin to inspect the bright red spot there. “Just a bit of a love tap, you know?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you shoot back, but the words only made him laugh softly, easing some of the tension in your chest.

You grab a clean tissue and lean in closer to inspect the damage. "I'm really sorry," you say, perching on the edge of the bed. You take the napkin from his hands with little resistance and replace it with your own. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay," he replies, his voice soft. "But next time, maybe warm me about the snoring.”

"I don’t snore!" you exclaimed, the defensiveness in your tone spiking and earning another heartfelt laugh from him.

“Okay, fine. You don’t,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. But just as you were about to relax, he added under his breath, “Next time, I’ll record you.”

You narrowed your eyes and considered actually pinching his nose.

“You’re impossible.”

Namjoon only grinned, dimples deepening, as you carefully pulled the tissue away to dab the remains of the nosebleed. The softness of your touch seemed to quiet him; his teasing replaced by something warmer. There was a tenderness in the way you focused on his injury, small lines of worry forming on your forehead. He wanted to laugh, seeing as you dealt with more dramatic injuries in the past, yet he didn’t want to disturb you as you carefully touched his cheek with your free hand. The warmth of your palm contrasting sharply with the chill of the morning air.

As if you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, you look up, meeting his eyes.

“You’re blushing again.”

“Shut up.” You muttered, your cheeks heating further as you refocused on his nose, cleaning the surrounding area as if he were made of porcelain. You kept your attention on the injury, desperate to ignore the proximity—and the gentle warmth of his breath against your skin and the inexplicable tightness in your chest.

“There,” you finally murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the stillness as you placed the tissue aside. “All better.” To diffuse the tension, you gave his cheek a light pinch before standing up to tidy the room.

Turning your back to him, you busied yourself with cleaning, scooping up the crumpled tissues littering the bedside table. But Namjoon’s eyes never left you. He watched the way you moved, the way your hair caught the light, and the way you scrunched your nose in irritation when you realized how much of a mess you’d made earlier.

When you bent down to retrieve a stray napkin from under the bed, you caught him staring again. This time, a soft laugh escaped him when he realized he’d been caught red-handed.

Before he could say anything, you grabbed the discarded blanket and tossed it at him.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” you asked quickly, moving toward your suitcase and fumbling with the zipper, your voice a little too casual.

“I’m taking you to a bakery,” his voice was muffled as he poked his head out from under the covers. “And my dad asked us to pick up a Christmas tree.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of a Christmas tree. Even though the holiday spirit felt far away in this moment, a surge of excitement stirred in your chest. “A Christmas tree?” You echoed, trying to mask the intrigue in your voice with an air of nonchalance.

“Yeah,” he replied, running a hand through his messy hair. “I thought we could decorate it together tonight.”

“You hate decorating the tree.”

“True,” he chuckled, “but I’d rather suffer through it with you than alone. Besides, my parents have some ornaments that I think you’ll like.”

You paused, makeup bag in hand, feeling his words settle over you. In the two years you’d lived together, Namjoon had never once shown a shred of enthusiasm when it came to decorating the apartment. He was more the type to lounge on the couch with a book or a video game while you tangled yourself in string lights and sparkling baubles, only for him to chime in at the end with a “You missed a spot”. Still, he always helped place the star on top —mostly because you couldn’t reach it, and he was taller.

“You’re volunteering for your own torture?” You glanced over your shoulder, eyebrow raised, just as he swung his legs off the bed and stretched his arms high above his head.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning back, his shirt lifting just enough to reveal the muscles flexing underneath. The morning sunlight steamed through the window, contouring his skin with an irresistible golden hue.

Quickly you turned back to your makeup bag, rummaging unnecessarily for a lipstick as warmth crept up your neck and onto your cheeks

“My mom will force us either way.” He declared, the faint defeat in his tone punctuated by a dramatic sigh ash he strolled towards the bathroom.

You let out a small laugh at his resignation, but it got caught in your throat when he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, tossing in onto the bed.

Your gaze betrayed you for half a second, flickering toward him before you could stop yourself. The lean lines of his back, the soft stretch of his shoulders, the way his skin gleamed faintly in the light—everything you weren’t supposed to notice left an imprint far too vivid in your mind.

Heart pounding, you forced your eyes back to your bag, gripping it as though it were a lifeline. But it was too late. You were certain he’d seen your reaction.

“See something you like?” His teasing voice reached you just as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Your face flamed, and you whipped around, glaring at the now-closed door. “You’re impossible!” You called out, loud enough for him to hear over the sound of the running water.

~~~~

The aroma of freshly brewed tea greeted you as you stepped out of the room, mingling with the faint hum of life coming from the kitchen. The soft click of the bathroom door shutting behind Namjoon grounded you, though your thoughts still spun wildly. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to regain composure, but the sound of running shower only stirred your imagination further—steam rising, droplets tracing the contours of his bare skin. Heat crept up your neck, and you shook your head sharply, chastising yourself. Get it together.

In a desperate attempt to regain control after the completely unfair sight of your sun-kissed, shirtless friend, you decided a little distance might actually do you some good. Grabbing the first cozy sweater and pair of jeans within reach, you tugged them on and practically bolted out of the room.

He’s your friend, you reminded yourself firmly, though the mantra did little to steady the pounding heart in your chest.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Kim and Minhi were seated at the dining table, morning sunlight streaming through the large windows. The golden light bathed the cozy space, catching on the delicate wisps of steam curling up from their teacups.

“Good morning, my dear,” Mrs. Kim greeted warmly, lifting her head to meet your gaze. “Did you sleep well?”

You smiled, pushing away any lingering thoughts from earlier, and took a seat at the table. “Yes, thank you,” you replied, carefully avoiding any mention of what had just transpired.

“Is Namjoon taking you out?” Minhi asked, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity over her teacup. You could almost swear there was a hint of a smirk forming on her lips.

You confirmed with a shy nod, but a new wave of heat crept up your spine, igniting your ears as if someone had turned up the thermostat.

Mrs Kim’s face broke into a broad grin. “Do you want me to whip you up something to eat first? Coffee or tea?” she asked, already rising from her chair.

“No, no,” you quickly interjected, waving your hands “We’re leaving in a few minutes. Namjoon’s just getting ready.”

Naked in all his glory in the shower…

You forced your mind back to the present as Mrs. Kim’s kind gaze lingered on you. Smoothing down your sweater, you took a steadying breath, doing your best to appear collected. You really had to pull yourself together.

“Is he taking you to Ajumeoni’s bakery?” Mrs. Kim asked, settling back in her chair with a huff. “At this rate, he’s paying for her grandkids to go to college.”

“C’mon Mom,” Minhi piped in. “The strawberry tarts are just-” She closed her eyes and inhaled dramatically, as if savouring the scent of sweet pastries. “They’re heavenly, I swear.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, but Mrs. Kim merely waved her off.

“Alright, alright,” she relented, her own smile softening the mock exasperation in her voice “Just be home in time for dinner.”

“Yes, of course,” you nodded dutifully, resolute in your mission to be the perfect pretend-girlfriend today —a supportive friend, and nothing more.

“Jackson’s picking them up after work, mom, don’t worry.” Minhi said, her laughter cutting through your spiralling thoughts.

“He is?” you asked, blinking in surprise but taken in by her contagious laughter.

“Did you think you’d carry the tree in the metro?” Minhi giggled, her gaze flicking to the hallway as hurried footsteps echoed from upstairs.

Moments later, Namjoon appeared, his dimpled smile lighting up the room.

“Good morning!” he called out, running a hand through his freshly styled hair, the effortless charm in his voice matching his appearance. The brown sweater he’d chosen hugged his tall frame perfectly, drawing your attention to the way it accentuated the broad lines of his chest. The golden necklace at his collarbone caught the soft morning light as he bent down to plant a sweet kiss on his mother’s cheek.

Then, his eyes found yours, playful and warm before winking your way. “Are you ready?”

You fought to suppress the blush creeping up your cheeks, admiring him for a fraction too long. The vivid memory of his shirtless body flashed in your mind, and for a moment, words seemed to escape you.

“Hey, yeah, I’m all set,” you finally managed.

Namjoon’s smile just widened, a teasing softness in his eyes as he stepped closer. The scent of his cologne, fresh and warm, mingled with the aroma of tea as he leaned down toward you.

“You look really good.” He said, his voice low and sincere.

All your mental preparations evaporated.

You glanced down at your grey sweater and jeans, disbelief flickering in your mind. Were you two looking at the same thing?

“Thanks. You don’t look bad yourself.” You replied, attempting a casual tone, despite yourself, but you’re certain your tomato red face gave you away.

Minhi and Mrs. Kim were shamelessly observing, their amusement barely concealed. Minhi raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips, while Mrs. Kim hid her laugh behind her teacup.

“Are you two going to stare at each other all day, or are you leaving?” Minhi nudged, leaning back in her chair with a knowing grin.

Namjoon chuckled, breaking the moment as he pulled back slightly. “We’re going, we’re going,” he assured, offering his hand to help you up.

As you stood, his palm rested briefly on the small of your back, sending a warmth through you that lingered. He shot his mother a cheeky smile as he led you toward the door.

“Don’t wait up,” he added with mock innocence, ushering you down the hall, and earning himself a pinch to the side form you.

~~~

The morning light was bright, yet it did little to chase away the frost in the air. All bundled up in your puffy winter coat, you walked through the bustling neighbourhood streets, the wind nipping at your cheeks as sunlight glinted off fresh snow. Beside you, Namjoon strolled at an easy pace, his tall frame hunched slightly against the cold.

The shop windows glittered with seasonal displays- strings of lights, shimmering ornaments and snowy landscapes. Every so often, Namjoon would break the silence with a light-hearted comment or snippets from his childhood- stories that warmed you despite the cold.

“Look at that,” he nodded towards a window filled with beautifully wrapped presents underneath a grand Christmas tree. “I used to think those were real. I’d stare at them for hours, hoping someone would let me take a peek inside.”

You giggle, picturing a younger Namjoon, starry-eyed and full of wonder. “Did you ever get to sneak a peek?”

He shook his head, the soft pink on his cheeks deepening in the cold. “No way! My mom had a sixth sense for that kind of stuff. She always caught me.” His warm laugh carried over the frosty air, lifting your spirits even as the chill settled in your bones. Without thinking, his hand found, fingers curling gently around yours as he led you down the street.

A little later, he stopped again, his gaze stolen by a snug bookstore with a charming display in the window. The small shop exuded warmth, its large front window showcasing a centrepiece of fake snow, big red bows and a collection of carefully arranged books. His eyes lit up as they landed on a particular title propped up prominently in the centre.

“Would you mind if we go in?” he asked, nodding towards the book, excitement brightening his face.

You followed his gaze, your heart sinking and cheeks flooding with heat the moment you recognized the book. Panic sets in as your mind scrambles for an excuse. It was a book from a Korean author who had recently burst onto the literary scene, earning praise for their intricate storytelling and philosophical metaphors. Naturally, Namjoon had fallen in love with their work, dissecting every layer of meaning in conversations that you secretly loved, but teased him mercilessly for.

You had heard so much about the author, that when you saw the newest release weeks ago, you knew it was the perfect gift for him.

“No!” you blurted out quickly, voice sharp enough to startle him.

“What?” He turned to you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because…” you hesitated, heat still rising to your cheeks as you struggled to find a good enough reason. But after a few seconds, you sighed in defeat and crossed your arms. “Because I already got it for you. You can’t buy it.”

His expression softened, a big grin spreading across his face as he stepped closer to you. “You got it for me?”

“Yes,” you muttered, averting your eyes as your blush deepened. “So, you can’t ruin the surprise. Keep walking, Kim Namjoon.”

He chuckled, his dimples making a brief but devastating appearance as he gave your arm a playful squeeze, holding you in place. “Alright, I’ll let it go. But…” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Did you see the decorations?”

You blinked at the sudden shift in the topic and followed his gaze. He was nodding toward the shop entrance, just a little further away, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and festive greenery. Your eyes drifted upward, landing on the small spring of mistletoe dangling above the doorway. Its pale berries glinting like snow in the soft light.

His hands burrowed deeper into the pockets of his coat as he tilted his head toward it, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Better be careful with that,” he teased, his voice laced with mock seriousness.

You raised an eyebrow, watching the delicate plant sway slightly in the winter breeze. “It’s bad luck not to kiss under it,” Namjoon clarified, watching you with a hint of challenge in his expression.

“Since when are you so superstitious?” you asked, a laugh escaping you as you shook your head in disbelief.

“I’m not,” he admitted with a shrug, though the sheepish grin that tugged at his lips made his intentions clear. “I just like covering all my bases.”

Before you could answer, Namjoon leaned closer, his breath a soft warmth against your skin. His lips brushed your chilled cheek in a quick, fleeting kiss—a touch so warm and unexpected it made the cold air around you feel sharper by comparison.

You stood frozen for a moment, your cheek tingling where his lips had been.

Namjoon pulled back, his grin deepening, dimples carving into his cheeks. “There,” he said lightly, straightening his coat as if nothing had happened. “No bad luck now.”

Normally, you’d brush off his antics as harmless teasing meant to get a rise out of you. But this time, it managed to frits your brain. You stare at him, a mixture of indignation and disbelief sparking in your chest. “Kim Namjoon, you-”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, already stepping back towards the bakery door he’d been guiding you all along. “Don’t blame me, blame the mistletoe,” he quipped, holding the door open for you, the bell above it chiming softly.

Your cheeks still burned as you stepped past him, shooting him a glare that lacked any real heat.

Inside the bakery, the scent of sweet cinnamon and vanilla wrapped around you like a warm embrace. The bell above the door chimed softly again as Namjoon followed, the sound blending seamlessly with the cozy hum of conversation and the occasional clink of porcelain mugs.

The interior was just as inviting as the aroma —a rustic charm, with walls lined with wooden beams and subtle golden accents. Twinkling fairy lights cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the rows of pastries displayed behind a pristine glass countertop.

Puffed-up croissants sat beside glistening hotteok, their caramelized centres looking absolutely delicious. Spiralled kkwabagi dusted with sugar and candied sweet potatoes. And then there were the cakes — delicate, crowned with fresh berries and swirls of vanilla cream, their perfect edges almost too beautiful to disturb.

Namjoon walked over to the counter, his tall frame leaning slightly as he studied the pastries with an almost childlike delight. The faint flush on his cheeks from the cold only added to his charm, softening his sharp featured and making him just the more endearing.

You couldn’t help but watch him, captivated the way his eyes shone with delight. There was something so disarming about his enthusiasm, so pure in its simplicity, that it made the flutter in your chest impossible to ignore.

“Will you let me order for you?” He asked, suddenly interrupting your thoughts.

“Yes, of course,” you smile, the slight flutter in your stomach making you laugh softly. As he turned to the counter, his brows furrowed in exaggerated concentration, you couldn’t help but admire him anew. Namjoon has always been thoughtful, but this moment felt particularly tender, as though he was putting in the extra effort to make it memorable.

The bakery was alive with the bustle of other patrons, their laughter interlaced with the clinking of kitchen utensils in the back. A barista was busy steaming milk for lattes, while the warmth of the oven diffused toward you, chasing away any lasting chill from outside.

Namjoon finally ordered a selection of absolutely mouth-watering cream filled croffles and piping hot coffee. The lovely old lady at the serving counter lit up when she recognised him, leaning over to pinch his cheeks playfully. She gushed about how tall he had grown and how handsome he was, even calling her husband from the back to see Namjoon after all these years. You giggle softly, enjoying the lively exchange as Namjoon laughed, clearly relishing in the attention while trying to dodge her affectionate teasing. In the end, he walked away with an extra serving of milk bread as a ‘parting gift’ which he gratefully accepted, beaming as he thanked her.

The table Namjoon chose was tucked in a quiet corner, its window overlooking the bustling streets outside. The festive neighbourhood, framed by twinkling lights and snowy sidewalks, looked like a scene pulled straight from a snow globe. And as you settled into your seat, snowflakes began to drift gently from the sky, only adding to the hallmark-movie charm that seemed to influence the day.

“Here you go,” Namjoon settled the croffle in front of you. It was golden brown, with a crispy exterior that cradled the rich cream filling inside, adorned carefully with gingerbread crumbs — arguably, it was a masterpiece on a plate. He didn’t sit down yet, instead turning to fetch the coffee from the café counter

“Kim Namjoon?” a voice called out, and you looked to see a beautiful girl with big doe eyes shining once she looked at him, her pouted lips curving into a charming smile “I’m Min Iseul, do you remember me?”

Namjoon seemed shocked for a moment, but quickly regained his composure, his smile widening as he replied, "Oh my god, yes, hi! How have you been?"

“You know,” she smiled “life in a small town tends to be quiet. But what about you-?”

You watched from the corner of the table, feeling a tightness in your chest as Iseul place a hand on Namjoon’s arm. A frown formed involuntarily on your face as a pit began to settle in your stomach. Their conversation continued, the sound of their voices becoming a distant murmur as you forced your gaze downward, glaring at the croffle on your plate.

It felt horrible to realize that the sudden pang was indeed jealousy —raw and undeniable, it seemed it had taken root in your heart without your consent.

What was happening to you? You had always viewed Namjoon as a friend. You had watched him flirt with countless girls without a second though, yet now, here you were, on the verge of snapping at the mere sight of a pretty girl touching his arm. And of course she was perfect for him. She looked up at him as if he single-handedly hung up the stars, with her perfect hair, perfect smile, and that perfect body that made even the bakery apron look like high fashion.

It wasn’t just about Iseul, though. It was about something deeper, something you couldn’t quite explain. It was about not wanting to be replaced and a fear that quietly whispered to you that perhaps, you already had been.

As they continued their chat, the world outside quietly transformed. The snow began to blanket the streets in a delicate layer, framing the moment like a quaint, picturesque postcard. Inside, however, it felt like a different story. You picked at the croffle, the rich cream suddenly feeling too sweet compared to the bitter twist in your mood.

Finally, Namjoon returned, coffee in hands, a bright smile still lighting his face. “Sorry about that! Iseul and I used to be in the same classes at school,” he said, then paused when he noticed your expression. His brows furrowing in concern.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice gentle as he reached out, taking your hand in his.

You forced a smile, trying to shake off the weight of the moment. “Yeah, just… it’s nothing.” You lied, tasting the bitterness on your tongue. God, you hated lying.

He studied you for a moment longer, and for a brief second, you swore you saw something shift in his eyes.

“Alright,” he said slowly, a hint of uncertainty lingering. “Well, let’s dig in! You have to try the milk bread. I promise it’s worth it!”

As you took a bite, followed by a big gulp of coffee, you resolved to push away your insecurity, even if only for today. After all, the reality of your friendship was simple: while you may never make his heart flutter like Iseul seemingly did, you could certainly raise his blood pressure.

Namjoon started a new conversation about the last book he read, and you fell into the familiar flow of dialogue as the snowy scene outside continued to unfold. But every now and then, your gaze would drift to the window, catching a glimpse of the town dressed in white. You found yourself wondering if it was possible to be both happy for him, and fearful of losing him, all while managing to still be his friend amidst the chaos of unbidden feelings.

“Do you remember Hoseok?”

You answered Namjoon’s question with a nod, seeing as he pulled you too abruptly from your thoughts. “He’s the pretty one that stayed over for spring break?”

Namjoon laughed, his eyes gleaming with the unmistakable light that made your heart skip a beat —even as you fought against it. Usually, his laughter would unravel the tight knots in your chest, but now, it seemed to tighten them further.

You remembered the visit well — Hoseok rolled up all the carpets in your living room, turning it into an impromptu dancing studio. He was kind, like all of Namjoon’s friends, but he also ate all your snacks and took great pleasure in flirting with you every time you ran into each other, much to Namjoon’s discomfort.

“Yeah, you two broke my laptop,” you started, but he cut you off.

“And I got it fixed!” he countered, defending his clumsy actions, which only made you laugh.

Namjoon chuckled, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. “He invited us over for a Christmas party tomorrow. It’s a little get together, if you want to go,”

“Definitely,” you replied, though your enthusiasm felt forced. The prospect of a party sent a thrill through you, but underlying that was a twinge of uncertainty. Would Iseul be there? Would it be just another night of watching Namjoon flirt with someone else knowing you’re just playing the part of girlfriend?

As you took another bite of the croffle, its sweetness still felt bitter, much like the turmoil in your heart. You wanted to be happy for Namjoon, wanting to fulfil the role you signed up for, but now, beneath your smile, there was a complicated mess of fear and longing. More than ever, you felt like all your walls might come crumbling down.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Namjoon’s voice cut through your thoughts again, concern lingering beneath his words “You seem distant.”

You force a smile, but the ache in your chest screamed at you to be honest, to share your doubts instead of masking it under a façade of indifference.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” another lie. How could you possibly explain the heaviness that sat at the bottom of your stomach, the envy bubbling silently inside of you, the tightness in your throat that made it hard to breath?

Namjoon leaned back, his warm gaze unwavering, clearly unconvinced. But for the rest of the meal, he didn’t press further. You both continued to eat in comfortable silence, even as the air thickened with unspoken words.

The snowfall outside intensified, painting the windows with a blur of white by the time you were done, and you feared, once again, that the outfit you had chosen was ill-fitted for the icy weather.

Namjoon picked up a box of strawberry tarts for Minhi on the way out, and as he opened the door for you, you saw Iseul waving at him—a darling wave that ignited a firestorm of nerves deep within you.

In that moment, logic fled your mind. Without thinking, you grabbed Namjoon’s coat collar and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips to his. His eyes widened, a mixture of shock and confusion flickering across his face. The warmth of his body felt so close, yet the distance between you —created by your impulsive actions — seemed insurmountable.

You can’t believe what you were doing!

Namjoon was frozen for one second, but then he melted into the kiss. His free hand gently cupping your face, as if he were afraid, you’d run if he moved too quickly.

Namjoon’s lips were soft against yours, his warmth seeping through the layers of your clothes and spreading through you like a slow burn. The world outside seemed to blur even more, the cold, the noise of the streets, the snow rushing into the bakery, it all faded into an unimportant backdrop. All that mattered was the feeling of his lips against yours —gentle, hesitant, yet impossibly comforting.

For a moment, you almost didn’t regret it.

Then, just as quickly as it started, the kiss ended. Namjoon pulled back slightly, his hand still cupping your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as if seeking reassurance. His gaze flickered between your eyes, searching for something.

You felt the rush of heat flood your face as reality hit like a ton of bricks. What did you just do? The panic set in, an overwhelming wave crashing against your chest. You tried to swallow it down, but the vulnerability felt raw, exposed.

“I-I’m,” you stammered, stepping back slightly, your hands trembling as you pushed them into your coat pockets. “Mistletoe!”

Namjoon blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. His hand remained where it was for a moment, as if unsure whether to pull away or reach for you again. The warmth of his fingers against your skin was grounding, but the panic in your chest made it difficult to breath. You could hardly believe what you’d just done, but somehow, you still managed to squeeze out the most absurd explanation you could think of.

“Mistletoe,” you repeated, almost too quickly, the word falling past your lips like the snowflakes around you, each syllable hanging in the frigid air like a whispered secret.

His hand dropped to his side, the warmth from his touch slipping away as a flicker of something—concern, confusion, or maybe disappointment—crossed his face. It was hard to pinpoint, but whatever it was, it left an uncomfortable weight settling in your stomach.

He blinked, as if trying to make sense of the situation, then glanced at the mistletoe above the door. His expression shifted again, more uncertain now, and for a brief moment, there was a palpable silence between you, the world around you swirling in a soft flurry, but it felt like everything had stopped.

“Mistletoe?” he repeated, almost tentative. His eyes didn’t meet yours immediately; instead, they lingered on the mistletoe, as if searching for an answer in the small plant.

You nodded, fighting to keep your voice steady, but your throat felt tight, like the words were getting stuck somewhere between your chest and your mouth.

“Yeah,” he concluded, “I guess we could always put the blame on the mistletoe…” he said, his voice a little quieter now, as if he was still trying to grasp what had just happened.

You were about to argue further, to say something—anything—that would ease the tension building between you both, but just then, someone called out from inside the bakery.

“Hey! Make up your mind! Are you leaving or staying? You’re letting snow inside!” The voice was half-joking, but the discomfort in it made the moment all the more awkward.

Caught off guard, you and Namjoon exchanged a glance, and you both quickly moved toward the door, apologizing profusely to the patrons and the owners as you stepped outside.

“Sorry, sorry, we didn’t mean to make a mess,” Namjoon said, his words coming out rushed as he quickly pulled the door closed behind you, sealing off the chilly gust of wind that had followed you out.

You stood for a moment on the snowy sidewalk, the light of the bakery still visible through the frosted windows. The snowflakes seemed to have grown heavier, each flake falling in delicate patterns, as if trying to make the moment less heavy. But it didn’t. The air was cold, the street quiet, and despite the wintery beauty around you, your stomach twisted further and your heart beat erratically. Now it was just you and Namjoon in the silence of the day, both lost in thoughts you wouldn’t put into words.

Namjoon shifted slightly beside you, glancing down at the ground before speaking up. His voice hesitant, but there was an underlying softness to it that made your face heat despite the cold.

“So…” he began, trailing off as if searching for the right words. “No tongue this time?”

You blinked at him, your heart skipping over a few beats. The cold seemed to freeze in your lungs as you tried to process what he had just said. For a second, you were sure you hadn’t heard him correctly. You turned your head slightly, trying to gauge whether he was joking or not, but his expression was unreadable.

“Excuse me?” you asked, your voice coming out in a small, nervous laugh. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to lighten the mood or if he was just poking fun at you.

“I mean,” he continued, scratching the back of his neck, “if we’re going to blame it all on the mistletoe…” He trailed off, his tone playful but laced with a hint of something deeper, a flicker of curiosity behind his words.

That’s when you caught it. That familiar teasing glint in his eyes, the expression he had whenever he managed to make you fluster, and you huffed out in indignation, your breath transforming into a small cloud.

You crossed your arms, trying to gather your composure as you glared at him. The cold air biting at your skin, but the warmth of your embarrassment was far more overwhelming.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” you shot back, your voice teasing but with a hint of defensiveness, as if you were trying to cover up how much his words had affected you. You couldn’t help it. The playful look in his eyes had a way of making your pulse pick up, and it didn’t help that every word he said seemed to sink deeper into the awkwardness of the situation.

Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin on his face only growing wider “No, no! I’m not saying it’s your fault,” he said quickly, trying to reassure you, though the amusement in his voice didn’t quite match his words. “Just—y’know, I thought we were sticking with the mistletoe excuse. But, uh, it’s all on you now. You started it.”

“Me? I—” You opened your mouth, searching for a retort, but your brain was still scrambling to catch up with everything. Nothing coherent came to mind, and his look wasn’t helping in the slightest. “You kissed me first!” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop yourself.

Namjoon arched an eyebrow, his smile turning smug. “Yeah, on the cheek,” he countered, giving a little shrug as if that settled the matter entirely. He tilted his head slightly, an eyebrow raised as if he was waiting for your response, but when none came, the smugness in his expression only grew. For a moment, you considered whether it was worth the effort to argue with him. But then, his look softened, just enough for you to notice the shift in his expression —something that made your heart pick up again.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The absurdity of the situation—the way it had spiralled from a jealous outburst into whatever this was—left you feeling strangely vulnerable. His presence, so close beside you in the cold, seemed to magnify everything.

“Fine.” You finally muttered, crossing your arms tighter and shifting your weight from one foot to the other, almost chasing the cold away.

Namjoon’s dimples deepened; the teasing look in his eyes returning full force. “Fine?” he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “Is that you admitting defeat, or are you too cold to keep arguing?”

He collected your hand in his free one, leading you down the street towards the Christmas market.

You gave him a fleeting glare, narrowing your eyes. “Neither,” you shot back, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed the confidence you were trying to project. “I just don’t see the point in arguing with someone who twists everything to suit their narrative.”

Namjoon’s heartfelt laughter made any of the lingering tension dissipate, his expression taking on a look of sheer mock offence. “Twisting everything? Me?” He shook his head, his expression turning playfully solemn. “I’m just stating facts here. You’re the one who escalated things. I was perfectly content with a friendly mistletoe kiss. No drama. No tongue.”

Your eyes widened, and your jaw dropped at his audacity. “I did not escalate—oh my god, would you stop saying that?” you hissed, your voice low but filled with exasperation.

“Hey, you won’t see me complaining,” he replied smoothly, his voice softening just enough to send your thoughts spiralling. “But I never pegged you for the jealous type.”

“Gah! You’re insufferable!”

Namjoon’s grin grew as he watched you fume, his fingers tightening around your hand, as he led you down the snowy streets with easy confidence. The twinkling lights of the stalls cast a soft glow over the scene, the cold air whipped around you, but somehow, the heat between you kept the chill at bay, even if your cheeks were flushed from both the cold and the heated banter.

“Jealous? Who’s jealous?” you scoffed, trying to sound unaffected, but the way your beet-red face betrayed you. “I’m not jealous. I’m just…” you trailed off, realising you had absolutely no excuse lined up. The last part came out quieter than you meant, your voice showing more vulnerability than you were comfortable with, and you quickly buried your face in your scarf.

Namjoon tilted his head slightly, his smile not quite fading, but the glimmer of something more thoughtful flickering in his eyes. He slowed his pace, just enough to match yours, the quiet hum of the market and the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet filling the space between you.

"You’re just... what?" he prompted gently, his voice laced with curiosity and that familiar edge.

“Just acting like a good fake girlfriend would.” You concluded, trying to keep your tone casual, but you felt your stomach churn slightly as you lied, like you were trying to brush off something that had begun to feel a lot more real than you expected.

Namjoon’s expression shifted — just a little. His face softened as he thought it over, then he gave you a playful nudge with his shoulder, his voice light as he responded, “Ah, I see. Well, I’ll admit, you’re pretty good at it.”

His tone made your heart settle a bit, but you couldn't shake the underlying tension that had suddenly crept in. You hadn’t meant to sound so serious, and yet there was something in his eyes now that made you second-guess everything. He gave a small chuckle, the kind that felt like distance—just enough to make you realize he wasn’t leaning in any closer, but not pulling away either.

He let go of your hand for a moment, running it through his hair, then casually reached for it again, as if nothing had changed.

“Well, as long as I’m the good fake boyfriend, we’re golden.”

You nodded, still completely flustered, but grateful for the shift back to something a little more familiar. He wasn’t pressing anymore. He wasn’t trying to read your true intentions. He was just… being Namjoon, your friend, your roommate, the guy who could make you laugh and leave you absolutely wrecked emotionally.

The rest of the walk was quieter, but not in an uncomfortable type of way. He kept walking besides you, hands stuffed in his pockets, occasionally throwing out a random comment or nudging you along with him as you made your way through the busy market and to the small Christmas tree lodge.

You two picked a tree without much debate. The scent of pine and oranges filled the air as you threaded through the festive area, the twinkling lights surrounding you. Namjoon’s presence besides you was oddly comforting—like an anchor in the whirlwind of noise and flashing lights. As you both made your way to the tree lot, he casually pointed out the skinniest, most scrawny-looking trees, joking about how much he’d like to buy one just to see his mother’s reaction.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his commentary, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. The awkwardness in the air had faded, at least for the moment, and you were thankful for it, seeing as you didn’t need more things to overthink tonight.

After a bit of back-and-forth, you both finally settled on a tree—a little taller than you both had anticipated, but perfectly symmetrical, with just the right amount of fullness.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. You two stopped to grab lunch at a modest-looking food stall, the inviting scent of fishcakes winning Namjoon over. You both enjoyed the warmth of the food as the wind continued to bite at your cheeks, the steam rising from your cups offering the briefest respite from the cold.

You tried mulled wine for the first time—warmed, spiced, with a tangy sweetness, but most importantly, warm—and to your surprise, you liked it.

The two of you wandered a bit more, chatting idly and laughing at each other’s jokes, not caring much for the crowds around you.

And before you knew it, Jackson had pulled up in his car to take you both home. The drive was quick and quiet, with the warm glow from the streetlights casting soft shadows across the interior of the car. Namjoon leaned back against his seat, looking content, while you sat in the front, trying not to overthink everything that had happened in the last few hours.

Namjoon teasing you about ogling his naked chest felt like it happened an eternity ago.

And now, here you were, getting ready for bed again.

The tree got decorated under Minhi’s careful supervision, looking more like a Pinterest masterpiece than a simple holiday decoration when she was done with it, and Namjoon, to his credit, managed to break only one bauble during the whole process.

The evening wound down quietly after the tree was finished. Minhi insisted on taking a dozen photos of her work, including some with the whole group in front of the tree. Jackson wrapped an arm around her shoulder, grinning like he’d won the lottery, while Minhi tried (and failed) to strike a serious pose before dissolving into laughter in his arms.

You stood off to the side, trying to figure out what to do with your hands, but Namjoon made the decision for you. He tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The flash went off, capturing the moment forever, but you couldn’t seem to focus on anything beyond the warmth of his body and the quiet weight of his laughter in your ear. It felt so unguarded, so easy, that for a fleeting moment, you could almost forget it was just pretend.

Later, Minhi pulled a mistletoe plant from her bag with an exaggerated flourish, announcing it was tradition. She delighted in the awkward reaction it drew from both you and Namjoon, who immediately avoided eye contact with each other, mumbling something about “respecting personal space.” But Minhi didn’t press too hard, instead planting a sweet kiss on Jackson’s cheek that had him grinning like a fool in love.

After that, their parents got home, dinner was served, and you finally got your turn taking care of the dishes.

You quietly tiptoed your way to the bed, shivering slightly once you felt the coldness of the room, but careful not to make a sound. Your nighttime routine had taken longer than usual, and you were doing your best to avoid waking Namjoon, who fell asleep while waiting for you. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the little reading lamp he left on for you, casting a soft shadow across the space.

Slipping under the covers, you turned off the light and shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. But before you could settle, Namjoon stirred, and with almost no time to react, he turned around and wrapped an arm around you.

Your breath caught as he pulled you close, his chest warm against your back, his movements unhurried and natural, as if this was something he did all the time. You felt him bury his head into your hair, his voice low and groggy as he murmured, “It’s cold. Don’t stay so far away.”

The weight of his arm was grounding, but your heart was anything but steady. You lay there stiffly for a moment, your mind racing again. But his breathing slowed, steady and even, and the warmth of his presence started to seep into your bones, melting the tension little by little.

You didn’t move or speak, afraid to break whatever spell had been cast over the moment. Instead, you let yourself slowly relax into his chest, his arm tightening slightly as if he could sense your shift.

The cold, the overthinking, the lingering awkwardness—it all faded, replaced by the quiet sound of his breath and the calm rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.

You were absolutely hopeless.

#namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts smut #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon smut #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #the holiday pretense

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dreamwatch · 5 months ago

Text

Part 1 Part 2 AO3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Word Count: Pt3 - 4954 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

Part 3

For the first time in years they get lucky; Wayne gets Christmas off. He says it’s because he worked Thanksgiving, but Eddie overheard phone calls that maybe he shouldn’t have been listening to, and he has a suspicion it’s more to do with the fact that for a while there Wayne was facing all his future Christmas’s alone and this one’s kind of special.

They’re watching the TV, eating too much, and sipping on beers. It’s normal. Just regular Christmas Eve in the Munson home, but the weight of it, the what ifs, hang in the air. It’s not oppressive, or sad, it’s just … there. It should be a sign, probably, that he and Wayne need to have a good talk, maybe work through a few things. But Wayne isn’t a talker, doesn’t understand why anyone would go to a shrink, he buries his shit deep. When Eddie thinks of his father, he was much the same. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, then, that Eddie likes to keep things locked away, hidden from public view.

He sips on his beer and he eats his cookies, and he smiles at Wayne and Wayne smiles back. They know what they have. It’s enough.

They don’t get visitors often and he can’t think of a single Christmas where they’ve had one that wasn’t a cop, so when they hear the knock at the door they both look at each other like deer in the headlights. The bad knocks, the ones that end up with shit on the doorstep, or notes on the door telling him to move away if he knows what’s good for him, they don’t come as often as they used to. The last one was around Halloween, which in some regards he kind of expected; every town has a boogeyman and sadly he’s it for Hawkins. They keep a baseball bat behind the door where most people store their umbrellas.

Wayne answers the door, fist twitching, but then Steve is wandering into his home, flakes of snow on his eyelashes and in his hair.

“Hey sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, I just wanted to give you these.”

He hands over two badly wrapped gifts, something bottle shaped for Wayne who seems a little shellshocked at getting anything, and a small navy blue package for Eddie, with way too much tape holding it together. And he knows gifts aren’t a quid pro quo kind of situation, but he’s honestly been back to back with appointments and just life in general, and he doesn’t get out as much as he would like, seeing as he still can’t drive, so his heart sinks a little at it.

“Shit, I didn’t— sorry, I was just so caught up—”

“It’s nothing. Honestly, it’s just something I saw that reminded me of you.”

His voice peters out as he says it, and Eddie feels that little kick, the little squeeze in his core, but he just can’t help it. Reminded me of you. Like he’s important enough for Steve to think about. And isn’t that something?

Reminded me of you.

It’s a little fan, breathing life onto a flame that he just can’t afford to have lit any further. Tamping it down is getting harder and harder.

They talk for a few minutes, but it doesn’t matter how many cookies or beers or sodas Wayne offers him, he declines them all with a sorry, got to get back. He gets up to leave and Eddie walks him to the door.

“What are you doing on Friday?” Steve asks.

“Hmm, I’ll have to check with my secretary, my diary gets booked up so far in advance these days.”

“He ain’t doin’ nothin’!” Wayne shouts. “And close the goddamn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Jesus Christ, old man, keep it down. No fucking privacy here. Well, as you heard, I ain’t doin’ nothin’ apparently.”

It’s a pretty accurate impression, which he knows Wayne heard and he’ll be paying for that for a while. But he made Steve laugh, so it’s entirely worth it.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at four, be dressed and ready to go.” Steve hops down the porch steps back to the car.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out on Friday. Get inside before you freeze to death, Munson. Merry Christmas!”

“I’m going, I’m going, why is everyone such a nag? Merry Christmas, Steve!”

He should wait until tomorrow, but the little blue package in his hand feels like it’s burning him. He sits on his bed and tries his best to peel each piece of tape carefully, but the fucking thing is covered in it so he ends up ripping the paper off anyway.

The guitar strap is neatly folded, blue embroidery singing against the black leather. Guitar picks slip onto the floor at his feet.

His breath falters, trapped in his throat, and it’s several long seconds before he takes a deep breath again.

His guitars were some of the only things saved from the old trailer. Wayne told him how lucky he was to be at the back, how most of his precious possessions survived. He even hung the Warlock on the wall of his new bedroom. It felt like he was being watched, like an eye following him around the room. It felt like a living thing in a way that scared him.

And it wasn’t just the thing of it, the object that got carried into battle - even if that one was a version from another world - it was the way it sounded in his hands now. He tried to play it just once, and once was enough to know it would never happen again. The shake in his hand was frightening, the lack of control, the dissonant noises that rang from it. He chalked it up to some weird phobia, a reaction to what the guitar meant now. But then he picked up his old Fender knock off and it wasn’t any better, and it hit him that it was gone, everything he had practiced, everything he worked for, it was gone just like that. Now he had a shaky left hand and no grip strength and moving his fingers along the fretboard was an effort not an instinct.

It was over. And he never wanted to see that fucking guitar again.

But now he’s sitting here with a beautiful guitar strap in his lap and guitar picks all over the floor, things that Steve chose for him, because they reminded me of you, and it’s painful in a different way, in a way that he can’t examine right now because he just doesn’t have the strength for it in the middle of a Christmas he was never meant to see. He wraps them both back up in the crumpled blue paper and puts them in the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling a pair of sweats over the top.

Christmas is… emotional. But like in that quiet ‘we’re not gonna talk about it’ way that he and Wayne have perfected over the years. There are pats on the head, hair ruffles, side ways glances when Wayne thinks he’s not looking. Weighty, but not unpleasant. It’s a lot to know you’re loved so deeply, a lot to know how difficult this would have been for Wayne if Eddie hadn’t been here.

(There’s things about that day, about the decisions he made, that he tries to keep hidden from everyone, himself included when he can manage it. They haunt him at night when he’s alone in the house by himself and has time to dwell on them, but when Wayne rests a calloused hand on his head, it’s almost like forgiveness. He hopes Wayne doesn’t know. He hopes none of them know.)

When Friday swings around he feels entirely too much like a kid in a candy store, and if Wayne notices his slightly hyper demeanour when Steve pulls up outside, he at least has the grace not to mention it.

Steve doesn’t open the car door for him. Anyone looking on, watching Eddie potter down his steps unevenly, crutch in hand, would read that as rude. Eddie reads it as trust, as being listened to, and most importantly being heard. Other people struggled with that, so many of his friends, fuck, even Wayne, wanting to step in whenever they thought he needed a hand, but never really hearing him when he said he was fine. And look, he’s a stubborn fuck, he knows this, and he hasn’t made this easy on people, he could have - should have - asked for help at times, but having one person in his corner that listened to him made him feel less powerless. That it was Steve made his heart sing.

Steve still won’t tell him where he’s going, so they do what they usually do, argue over the radio while Eddie tosses tapes around in the glove compartment. Eddie doesn’t get out often, mostly of his own choosing, so these moments mean a lot to him. Painfully normal.

Painfully normal with Steve by his side.

He starts to nod off to the sound of Cyndi Lauper coming through the speakers, but he catches sight of the sign to Indy and it wakes him up with a start. He glances at Steve who definitely knows he’s being stared at because the little smirk on his face grows. Something in Eddie grows with it.

Twenty minutes later they’re pulling up outside Sandy’s.

“Holy shit,” he says, almost under his breath. “I haven’t been here since… fuck, last year I think? How did you find this place?”

Steve unbuckles his seat belt, that smirk firmly still in place. “Friend of a friend.”

And then, because Eddie’s world hasn’t spun out from beneath him enough this year —

Steve Harrington winks at him.

And it’s not a wink like, sports and jocks and rough-housing with the kids wink, it’s a wink. It’s loaded. It takes up space in the car. It passes between them, a little bird Steve set off into the air for Eddie to catch with careful hands.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but it feels like it will collapse around him if he asks, his little tower of cards that just got to the second level will flutter to the ground. So he laughs it off, calls him a dork and then gets out of the car.

They take a booth at the back, sliding in, face to face.

“Have you eaten here before?” Eddie asks.

“Just the once.” And there’s that smile again, and that little thing in him that keeps so deeply hidden continues to unfurl.

The waitress approaches to take their order, and Steve gets in before Eddie can.

“Two chilli dogs with extra onions, two sides of cheese fries, and two peanut butter malts, please.”

He didn’t even look at the menu.

The moment she walks away, Eddie leans forward.

“How do you know my order?” He’s a little rude with it, though he doesn’t mean to be, and for the first time Steve looks unsure.

“I told you, a friend of a friend.”

“Gareth. You can say Gareth, Steve. I’m not stupid.”

Steve picks up the salt shaker, rolling it idly between his hands. “I just wanted to do something nice, for Christmas, you know? Is that so bad?”

“You did something nice for Thanksgiving.”

“Uh, no, I tried to do something nice. Consider this a do-over.”

Eddie does his best, tries not to read too much into the fact that Steve knew his order, or that he asked Gareth for help, or that he ordered the same thing, or that he spends the entire time practically moaning as he slots the hotdog into his mouth in a way that honestly looks filthy as fuck, but he can’t possibly know what he’s doing, or what he’s doing to Eddie specifically.

He does his best. But a boy can dream.

Steve pays, which just makes it all so much worse. Is this how they feel? All those girls from Hawkins High? Is this what it means to be wooed by the Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?

They get back to the car, and Steve starts her up, the cool air from the vents turning warmer as they sit there.

“That was… that was really cool, actually.”

“Yeah, those hot dogs were awesome. Seriously we need a place like that in Hawkins.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No I mean… you bringing me here. It’s my favourite place to eat. It was a really nice thing to do. Thank you.”

Steve looks delighted. “Good, I’m glad you liked it. And hey, it wasn’t burnt this time, right?”

Steve laughs and Eddie tries to but he can’t, is the thing. It’s all kind of caught up in him, like a tangle. He’s confused, and warm, and happy and a little sad, actually. He surrounds himself with things he wants and can’t have. Sometimes he can live with that, but sometimes it hurts.

“Thank you. Like, honestly,” and he let’s a puff of air out of him, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. Blowing the sting from them. “I haven’t been there since my birthday last year. It was kind of a tradition, you know? I didn’t get to go this year, so… yeah, thanks.” And he means it. Truly and honestly means it.

Steve taps the steering room, out of rhythm to the song on the radio, a nervous little tick Eddie’s noticed before.

“So, there’s one more thing. Uh, one more place I want to take you. If that’s okay?”

He looks so earnestly at Eddie, like he’s honestly scared Eddie will say no to him when right now Eddie doesn’t think he would deny him a fucking thing.

“Yeah, of course. Lead the way, sire.”

They don’t drive far, but they move into the suburbs on the other side of town and into a little neighbourhood Eddie recognises, before pulling up somewhere Eddie knows very well indeed.

Wayne was the first one to bring him to Rudy’s Music Shop back on his twelfth birthday, when he got that old Fender knock-off from Gary at the plant. It needed strings, and it buzzed like crazy and Rudy’s was cheaper than the big store in the middle of the city, so they visited and Rudy fixed it up for him, almost as good as new. And when he was finally ready for his first serious guitar, something metal that he would take the world by storm with, it was Rudy’s that he went to. He couldn’t afford a lot, but the Warlock was a trade in, barely used but with a couple of big chips in the paintwork. Rudy cut him a deal, and Eddie spent three bucks on red nail polish and you could never tell they were there unless you knew where to look.

“Steve… ?”

“I um… Wayne told me about this place. I thought it would be nice to visit. It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers.

Steve taps him across the chest. “Come on.”

This time he does let Steve help him out of the car, the long journey and the cold starting to wear him down. They walk over to the window, the red neon sign glowing bright into the dark street, the guitars stand like soldiers under it, and he feels the pang of want. It feels like the twist of a knife.

“You wanna go in?”

Eddie’s not sure where it comes from. But something in him stirs, something that feels like bravery, and he finds himself wanting just that. But…

“It’s closed,” he says, trying his best to keep the disappointment from his voice. “But thanks for bringing me here, it was a really lovely thought, you know.”

Steve walks right past him to the door and knocks three times, and in a moment Rudy is there, unlocking the door and ushering them in.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” says Rudy.

“Uh— shit.” He starts laughing, it bubbles up from nowhere and he feels a little delirious with it. “It’s good to see you too. Sorry, it’s just a lot, being here.” He gestures around the store at the walls of instruments.

Rudy laughs softly, “Yeah, I bet.” Then he looks at Steve and says “You got half an hour then I got to lock up. You want the, uh—” he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Uh, give us ten minutes?”

Rudy nods before heading out back, pulling the office door closed behind him. Then it’s just them, and Eddie’s head is spinning like a fucking top.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Promise not to get mad?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Why would I get mad?”

“I thought maybe it was time to get that new guitar.”

Eddie tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling painted with famous musicians. He stares B.B. King straight in the eye. B.B. Stares right back at him.

“Steve, I just… I can’t.” He blows out a huge puff of air, and it feels like he’s emptying his heart as much as he’s emptying his lungs.

“I know you sold the Warlock. And I get why.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Okay, so explain it to me.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“You can’t run from everything, man.”

It’s like a slap and Eddie turns on him. “Oh fuck you!”

All of it’s falling to shit, all the good, summer, the trips to the drive through, the summer spent in the Harrington’s pool. Cold nights tucked up against each other watching horror movies. A burnt Thanksgiving dinner.

A guitar strap.

Steve reaches out to him, squeezing his wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just. You’re so fucking talented, Eddie, and I hate that you lost the thing you loved the most. You deserve better than that.”

Eddie scoffs. “How do you know I was talented? You’ve never heard me play.”

Steve smiles softly and digs into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a cassette before waving it gently in the air.

“Borrowed it from Wayne. Blues, huh?” And there’s that smirk again, like he’s won something, and fuck it. He has.

“Fucker.”

“Me or Wayne?”

“Both of you.”

There’s a pause, Steve opening and closing his mouth like he's working out what to say next.

“Why did you lie? Why did you sell it?”

It’s not an accusation, just an honest question. If it were anyone else Eddie would fob them off. But it’s Steve, and he deserves so much more than that.

“Because it wasn’t the same, Steve. I couldn’t look at that fucking guitar, I didn’t want it anywhere near me, man. It just didn’t sound the same anymore. I didn’t sound the same. And it just reminded me of everything, every time I looked at it, Chrissy, and Patrick, and the bats--” He heaves in a breath. “Do you know what it’s like when your dreams are stolen? For them to just disappear overnight?”

Steve’s eyes drop to the floor, but he replies with a nod.

“I had a basketball scholarship lined up. Until Billy smashed a plate into my head, anyway. It’s not the same, I know, but I do get it.”

Billy was a bastard, and Eddie never liked him, and it’s awful but all he can think right at this moment is that he’s glad he’s dead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” he says softly.

Steve shrugs. “Shit happens. It’s what you do after that matters. Come on,” Steve takes him by the hand, locking their fingers together, and Eddie’s breath slams to a stop as Steve leads him to a stool and amp. “Rudy said you can play whatever you want. Just point and I’ll grab them. But there is one, I kind of put aside for you. If you want to try it?”

Alternate dimensions haven’t got a thing on what ever the fuck is going on here today. He barely nods before Steve runs off like an excited puppy. He returns a moment later, carefully holding a guitar.

“So, I know this isn't like, metal, or whatever. But Rudy said it’s got a really nice tone? And it’s a lot lighter than your Warlock, so I thought… “ He coughs, suddenly sounds embarrassed, “I just thought it would be easier for you.”

He recognises it immediately; a Gibson ES-335. But not sunburst or cherry red, like everyone knows it for, but in a washed out sky blue. It’s scratched, the paintwork chipped in places, but it’s clean and otherwise clearly well looked after.

“It’s beautiful.”

Steve’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Tentatively, Eddie reaches out for it and Steve hands it over almost reverently. It is lighter than the Warlock, though it’s bigger. But the rounded cut outs make it fit him better, it rests comfortably on his thigh. He runs his fingers up the neck, feels the comforting grab of the frets under his finger. The loss of it all hits him so suddenly he feels himself fall back, like a gust of wind carrying his grief slammed into him.

“Yeah,” he manages to say, but his throat is closed tight and theres no way Steve doesn’t hear it.

Steve kneels in front of him, places his hands on Eddie’s knees and a spark fires through him.

“Play me something.”

“What?”

Steve beams at him. “Anything you want.”

He feels a tear slip over his lashes, and he watches as Steve traces it down his cheek, wiping it away before it falls from his chin.

“No tears on the guitar,” Steve whispers. “Not good for the paint.”

“Fucker,” Eddie laughs wetly. “Plug me in.”

Steve sets him up, with a little direction, then sits on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, like a toddler at story time, his attention undivided.

It’s rough, the first chords are chunky and stilted, he doesn’t have the strength or the dexterity that he once had, certainly not the speed. But as his hands warm up, as he falls into it, the rhythm, the vibration of the strings under his fingers, the callouses softened from all these months without steel underneath them. His eyes slip closed and he plays by feel again, and without thinking he starts striking chords, the D, into the F sharp, G into the A. He smiles to himself, before opening his eyes, and he and Steve lock eyes, sitting in the dark in Rudy’s, just the neon red lighting them up.

You’re the one I’ve waited for

He sings it openly, part challenge, part declaration.

I need your love more and more

His breath is knocked from him as Steve rushes forward, hands on Eddie’s cheeks pulling him in, his lips pressed deeply into Eddie’s. Eddie grips the guitar in one hand, covering Steve’s hand with the other, holding it there. When the shock passes, he kisses back just as fiercely, lips finding one another in the red glow.

Steve breaks apart first, breathless with giggles before leaning in for another quick peck. And then another. And then he takes the guitar from Eddie, gently places it on a stand before standing in between his legs, his hands on Eddie’s face, tipping him back, before leaning down to kiss him again, slower this time, more softly.

“I’ve thought about this for so fucking long.”

A sound escapes Eddie, air rushing out after a punch to the solar plexus, to a place deep within him.

“You have no idea, man,” is all Eddie can manage in response.

There’s a cough from behind them and they split apart as fast as they came together.

“So, uh, we taking that guitar, boys?”

“Yes,” answers Steve, at the same time Eddie says “I don’t know.”

“Do you like the guitar?” Steve asks.

“I love it.”

“Good. Then we’re taking it.”

Rudy carefully places it into a case and hands it over before letting them out onto the street, and wishing Eddie well.

“But I haven’t paid—”

“He’s all paid for kid. All yours.”

Eddie is dazed when he makes it back to the car. He looks at the little store front in the dark, the neon fighting the orange glow of the street lamps for the honour of lighting the sidewalk. It was a minute ago but it seems like a dream already, like a spell was broken the moment they walked back onto the street, and he’s not sure it happened. It’s too ridiculous to imagine that it happened.

Steve climbs in beside him, looking every bit the King of Hawkins High, smug bastard.

“What just happened?” Eddie says to no one.

He catches movement beside him, Steve pushing his fingers through his hair, checking himself out in the rearview mirror before repositioning it.

“Well, I took you to dinner, then I brought you to your favourite guitar store, bought you a beautiful guitar and basically took you out on the best date you’ve ever had.”

Eddie nods absently. “Oh, is that what happened?”

Steve looks like he’s actually thinking about. “Yeah, pretty much,” and he winks again, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to Eddie now.

They drive back to Hawkins, Steve stretching his hand out to hold Eddie’s every time they come to a stop light, Eddie squeezing it tightly like it might disappear, like it might be the last time he gets the chance.

They pull up outside Eddie’s little house, just as snow starts to flutter to the ground again. Steve leaves the car running, the heat blowing out onto their faces. Eddie feels a little flushed. He’s not entirely sure its the heater though.

“So…” he starts.

Steve throws his arm across the back of Eddie’s seat. “So.”

“Did that really happen? Because, I was dead for about five minutes back in March and they said there could be lasting consequences from the oxygen deprivation and—”

Steve shuts him up with a kiss and not for the first time Eddie’s pleased they moved to a private little house where they can’t be seen from the street.

“Firstly,” Steve says when he let’s go, “Don’t ever joke about that.” Steve’s cradles his jaw, thumb stroking at the raised pink of the scar that sits there. “But yes, it happened. All of it. Maybe I was a little slow off the blocks. Let’s just give thanks for me getting there sooner rather than later, huh?”

Eddie can’t help the bubble of laughter. “Oh, I am giving thanks, trust me, big boy.”

Steve’s eyes narrow as he leans in for another kiss.

“Oh we are totally circling back to that,” Eddie says gleefully.

“Shut up.”

They lean in again, and this time he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close, his lips parting ready to kiss, until a loud knock knock knock on the window has them flying apart.

Wayne peers in at the two of them as Eddie rolls the window down.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of us.”

“This strikes me as something you might want to do inside.”

Steve combs his hands through his hair, nodding. “Yep, absolutely. We will definitely do that.”

“Not tonight though,” Wayne adds, and honestly, Eddie loves this guy, he does, but fuck does he pick his moments to get parental. “Goodnight Steve.” And then, because Eddie’s suffering is his greatest pleasure, he smirks and says. “Hope it all went well.”

“Would you just leave, please, now. Thank you.”

They both watch Wayne walk back up the porch steps, a sly smile on his face.

“Fucker.” Eddie sighs into one more kiss, Steve meeting him across the console. “I should go.”

Steve hops out to grab the guitar - his guitar, and that’s going to take a while to get his head around - and carries it up to the porch for him.

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Please,” Eddie says, feeling for all the world like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush. So, this is what it’s like?

Steve gives him that stupid little wave and smiles at him, but as he’s about to get in the car he calls back.

“Hey, what was that song you were singing?”

Eddie laughs.

“Oh, uh, Love Hungry Man. AC/DC.”

“Holy shit,” Steve laughs. “Don’t hold back, Munson.”

He shrugs, delighted. “What can I say? Speak your truth, right?”

Eddie stands in the cold as he watches Steve drive off into the night. Flakes of snow begin to fall again, shimmering in the amber street lighting. He sticks his tongue out to catch them. He feels giddy, kind of light headed and for a second he thinks he’s over done it today, he should get in, get his pills and sleep.

It takes a moment for it all to filter through, for his brain and his body to catch up with one another, but eventually it hits him; he’s happy. He’s never let himself want before, not big things, not things he can’t buy. He’s spent years hiding big parts of who he is, even from his closest friends, with only the dream of moving to a city to give him real hope for a connection with someone. For love.

And then Steve Harrington, brave, smart, wonderful Steve Harrington, knocks the wind right out of him, turns his world upside down, the good kind this time, and now not only does Eddie get to want, he gets to have.

He sticks his tongue out again to catch a last, fat flake of snow, and then carries his guitar inside.

He has a lot of practicing to do.

****

Holy shit. Full disclosure, I wrote most of this today and I'm sleep deprived and I can't bear to think how many typos and errors there are in this, but I'm trying to hit a deadline. Feel free to let me know what I fucked up. 😂

#corrodedcoffinfest: black friday #corrodedcoffinfest #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson #cw sui ideation

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