#Minus will Not touch anyone unless they touch him first

[ourformers]

Probably won't finish this so here it is

The captain and the medic

Minus Maximinus and Stargate

If you have any questions about them send an ask! (this is a threat)

[meespresso14]

Unexpected

Rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MATURE CONTENT.

Warnings: mentions of nausea, vomiting, and pregnancy.

“Hey babe, I’ve got to go.”, Luca’s voice, your fiancé who belonged to SWAT’s voice rang out. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

He came in the bedroom, looking at you in bed. You knew you looked terrible—pale as a ghost, sweaty, and wiping the tears from your eyes. 

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Go to work. And don’t worry about me.”, you sniffled.

Luca’s face wore concern as he touched the door way. “I’ll always worry about you.”

“Not during a mission. Nope. You know the rules.”

“That was when we first started dating and I wasn’t sure things were going to get serious.” 

You rolled your eyes easily, sitting up in bed but instantly feeling so sick that you had to immediately lay back down. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”, you groaned.

Luca came over to the bed, siting on the edge. He sat on his empty side of the bed. You weren’t going to lie—it wasn’t so bad when he left for work some days and you could have the entire bed to yourself and sleep in. But today wasn’t shaping up to be a great day. You had already called your boss, letting them know you wouldn’t be in today. This had been going on for a few mornings but you were sure there was something going around.

He brushed through your hair easily. “I just hate leaving you when you’re feeling bad.”

“I know. But I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

Luca rolled his eyes, scoffing playfully. “Fine. Mrs. Independent. But if you need anyone—Annie’s number’s on the fridge.”

“Also have it in my phone.”, you smirked at him, shaking it lightly. 

Luca smirked back. “I love you. I’ll see you tonight. Unless it’s an all night job.”

“Okay, honey. Be careful. I love you too.”

He kissed your head, brushing through your hair again. “Get some rest.”

“I’ll try.”

__________________________________________________________________________

Back at SWAT headquarters, Luca was in the locker room. The assignment was already given by Hondo. Most of the team had already finished getting ready minus Deacon.

“Hey Luca. How’s Y/N?”

Luca looked up at him. “Not so great. She had a really rough morning. Woke up—said she felt dizzy, nausea, vomiting. This is like the third day in a row. She couldn’t hardly keep water down, man.”

Deacon’s eyes widened before he stifled a small laugh. “Dude.”

“What?”

“Ever think she could be having morning sickness?”

“Morning sickness?”, Luca repeated.

“Yeah—as in she’s pregnant.”

Luca scoffed playfully before resolving in laughter. “No way man.”

Deacon shrugged his shoulders lightly before smirking at Luca whilst leaning against his locker. “Just saying—Annie and I have been through this four times already.”

Luca rolled his eyes. “Well, we aren’t trying.”

“Don’t have to be.”

“She wants to get married first. I respect that, Deac.”

Deacon smirked easily before patting Luca on the shoulder. “Alright, Luca. Let’s get ready to head out.”

Luca nodded, his smile fading softly. What if Deacon was right? He swallowed hard, thinking about the possibility. He wanted nothing more than to have his own family. But he knew that there were steps you wanted to take first. There had been many women in and out of his life but none of them understood that SWAT came first. You did—and it blew his mind. You understood when he was late coming home—sometimes never coming home until the next morning just as you were getting up and getting ready for work.

You’d never admit to Luca that on the nights he didn’t come home, you barely slept. You worried about him. But you knew this would be part of your life as long as you were with him—and you wanted that to be forever. Luca shook his head, trying to get the thought away. At least just during the mission.

Back at home, you finally trudged your way into the living room. You barely made it to the couch, that queasy feeling never quite leaving. You laid down, a sigh of relief finally escaping you as you turned on the television and began watching one of your favorite reality shows. 90 Day Fiancé. It was almost comical how in love these people seemed to be, giving themselves ninety days to get married in. It was something you could never do. 

After being emerged in your show, you heard a knock on the door. You debated not answering it. Whatever it was, it could wait. But you all didn’t live in the best part of LA. But it was up and coming. Another couple of knocks came to the door and you sighed, lifting yourself off the couch painfully slow.

“Coming.”, you barely got out. 

Standing up only made you feel worse, that queasy feeling intensifying. It was miserable. Quickly, you opened the door to reveal none other than Annie Kay.

“Annie.”, you smiled even through the sickness. 

“Y/N. How are you feeling?”

She took you in a hug and you prayed she wouldn’t squeeze too tight. That might be the thing that sent you over the edge. 

“Uh okay—just really nauseous.”

“Oh my gosh—come on, let’s get you to the couch. You look a little green around the gills.”

“I am.”, you sighed as she ushered you over to the couch. “Did Luca send you?”

“Well, not exactly. Deacon had said you weren’t feeling well and I thought I’d run by and check in on you.”

She sat you down before laying her purse in the chair across the couch. “Lay back.”

You didn’t argue with her suggestion considering you felt like you could throw up at any given second. 

“How long has this been going on?”

“A couple of days.”

“Have you eaten anything and kept it down?” 

“Not exactly.”

Annie’s lips curved in disapproval. “I’ll get a cool washcloth.”

You heard her move through the house, working her way to the bathroom and eventually finding the towel closet. You closed your eyes, praying that you wouldn’t throw up anymore. You were so sore from dry heaving. As you heard Annie approach, you opened your eyes softly. 

“Have you thought about going to the hospital?”

“No. Why waste valuable resources on someone who doesn’t need them? I’m sure it’s a virus or a stomach bug or something.”

Annie looked at you disapprovingly as she laid the washcloth on your forehead. “Because it could be something else going on.”

“Annie, you don’t have to do this. Aren’t your kids at home? They need you more than I do.”

“We’re family. We SWAT girlfriends, fiancees, wives have to stick together.”, she smirked. “We’ll always be here for you. Besides my mom is there with the kids right now. It’s fine.”

You smiled softly. Ever since Luca introduced you to Annie, you all had became quick friends. It was a no brainer considering your partners worked together. But it was nice to have someone around who understood how you felt—your worries, your fears, how much you loved the man that made you feel all of these things. Annie understood that a hundred percent and validated your feelings, letting you know they were normal. She recounted memories from when Deacon was a police officer before transitioning to SWAT.

SWAT only intensified her worry but she knew it was his passion—it was something he loved. And Luca was no different—considering he grew up around his father and grandfather. There was no talking him out of trying out for SWAT. 

“Thanks. It means a lot—oh crap. Annie, can you grab that small trash can? I think I’m going to be sick.”

Annie jumped off the couch, quickly grabbing the trash can and immediately handing it to you before she pulled your hair back. It was no time before you were back to your same morning routine—dry heaving. You began coughing lightly as Annie looked on sympathetically. She stroked your hair lightly as if she was trying to reassure you. Your eyes were full of tears and you could barely see as you rubbed them, hoping the torture was over. 

Sighing, Annie sat the trash can down on the floor. “You didn’t have anything to really throw up.”

“I know.”, you sighed. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t worry, I have four kids. I’m used to a little vomit.”, she smirked playfully before her voice deadpanned, turning slightly more serious. “I really think you need to get checked out.”

“I’m fine.”

“Y/N.”

“Really, Annie—I am. I even feel better now. I’m gonna go try and shower.”

Annie watched from the sidelines as you threw your blanket back and swung your legs over the side of the couch, planting them firmly on the hardwood floor. You felt dizzy and light headed but decided to continue on your stubborn way and you were damn determined to get to the bathroom and take a quick shower regardless. 

“Are you sure you feel okay?”

“I’m fine.”, you repeated, being insistent. “Really.”

She backed off easily, realizing quickly that she wasn’t going to win this argument. She knew you were determined, driven in your own way, and slightly stubborn. It made sense why you and Luca were so good for another. You all balanced each other out in some ways. It took so much effort to put one foot in front of the other and you prayed Annie wasn’t noticing your struggle. You could feel her eyes on you but tried to ignore it.

The bedroom began to grow blurry as you cleared the door frame, barely closing the door. You had to steady yourself for a moment before continuing. At least you were alone now and Annie couldn’t see you struggling. Breathing a slight sigh of relief, you continued to the bathroom. Things seemed to go from bad to worse, vision blurring further to the point you could barely make out the shapes of the shower, sink, and toilet. Your body began to sway, eyes closing and everything faded to black.

The mission was getting hot and heavy, the SWAT team coming upon the house with hostages inside. That’s when Cortez radioed Hondo.

“This is Captain Cortez to 20 David.”

“This is 20 David.”

“Is there any way Luca can be pulled out safely without compromising the team or mission?”

“Negative, Captain. Not right now. Is something wrong?”

Cortez sighed before responding. “Annie is on her way to the hospital with Y/N. She passed out at home. Just get him out as soon as you can.”

“I will.”, Hondo promised.

Hondo sighed as he ended the radio conversation, refocusing his attention to the matter at hand. Watching Luca spring into action while having no clue what was going on behind the scenes was gut wrenching. He could only imagine how Luca’s reaction would be when he told him but right now he didn’t have time to think about that. There are things that needed to happen before he could do that. As long as things went smoothly, this would end soon and he could tell Luca about what was going on with you. 

The team worked like a well oiled machine, staying in the zone. It wasn’t the first time they had been in a similar situation. Everyone knew their role and the knew it well. Hondo gave gentle orders, they followed. It was that simple. The moment of truth came, the moment they had been waiting for. Chris had a clear shot and was able to subdue the target. So far, things were successful. Hondo hoped they stayed that way. He knew he needed to pull Luca as soon as he could.

Besides his parents, you were the only other person he was so close to. Hondo could tell how much he loved you—how much he cared about you. No other woman had made it this far with Luca so he knew you were special. There was something about you. He could remember when Luca had a little more pep in his step. Hondo knew in that moment there was another woman. After the team teased and prodded at him to gain some information, they didn’t think it would last.

Luca didn’t have a good track record with women or relationships. So when things went the opposite way and Luca brought you to meet the team, they knew things were different. He seemed serious about you. That was even before the proposal. It seemed like yesterday when Luca was acting weird—getting prompted by the team about what was going on. They all feared trouble in paradise. But they were so far off from what was really going on. 

He sighed, finally telling them that he planned on proposing to you—that night. He asked them if they thought it was too soon or if you’d say yes. He got a few teasing answers but in all seriousness, everyone agreed that you’d be over the moon. That was one of the best days of your life. After watching the news all day and worrying about Luca, you were finally glad to see him that night. It was supposed to be dinner at a restaurant on the beach and then a walk on the beach. 

He might have been late but he had a good excuse. He expected you to be angry but you understood why he was late. In that moment, you proved even further why he should marry you. You were the only woman who understood SWAT came first. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make if that meant being with Luca for the rest of your life. 

You could hear all the sounds around you—people talking and moving around you. A familiar voice was one you picked up on—Annie. Slowly, you opened your eyes, everything coming into view. It was a white room, a sterile smell up in your nose. Were you at the hospital?

“Y/N?”, Annie touched your arm gently. 

Turning to look at her, she finally came into view after you blinked a couple of times. 

“What happened?”

“You passed out in the bathroom. I brought you here immediately. Your blood pressure was low, they did some blood work. The doctor should be in shortly.”

“I’ll get him.”, the nurse spoke up.

“Did you call for Luca?”

“I did. Jessica said she would get Luca out as soon as she could.”

You smirked. “SWAT comes first.”

Annie smirked back. “It’s part of this life, isn’t it?”

“It is. Thank you, Annie.”

“You’re welcome.”

Interrupting the heartfelt conversation, the sound of the curtain sliding back and the doctor entering the room got your all’s attention.

“Miss L/N?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Doctor Owens. I’m treating you today and I’d like to go over a few things with you since you’re awake now.”

You nodded.

He continued. “Is your husband on his way?”

“Fiancé and as soon as he can. He’s a police officer—well, he’s on SWAT.”

“One of LA’s finest.” 

You smiled, instantly thinking about him and nodded lightly. Annie smiled at you sympathetically and you felt like she already had an idea of what was going on. You fiddled with the hem of your blanket lightly. 

“Your blood pressure was low when you arrived. We did some blood work and determined that your iron levels were also low. Also, you had an abnormal result in your blood work.”, he smiled.

Why was he smiling?

“What’s going on?”, you asked easily.

Annie squeezed your arm reassuringly. 

“You’re pregnant. Congratulations.”, the doctor smiled. “Your HCG levels are perfect. Your iron and blood pressure were low from early pregnancy. We just need your consent to give you some iron infusions before you leave. We might keep you overnight, just observe you.”

“Pregnant?”, you repeated, feeling like the wind had been taken out of your sails.

The doctor nodded. “Around four weeks. Still early but everything looks great. I’ll be happy to go over the results once your fiancé arrives.”

You nodded softly, swallowing hard. The doctor disappeared behind the curtain and you instantly began to feel overwhelmed. 

“I can’t believe this.”, Annie smiled. “Luca is going to be over the moon—oh, he’ll be so thrilled.”, she smiled.

“Are you sure?”, you laughed nervously and she could tell you were worried.

“I’m sure—he’s always wanted his own family.”

You began to feel a little numb, like you were disassociating slightly. It felt like a dream—but you weren’t sure if it was going to have a happy ending. You could only hope Luca would take the news well. You’d find out soon enough. 

TO BE CONTINUED....

If anyone has any requests, send them my way.

[kitcatttt]

List of most aggressive Void Touched survivors to least! (Minus Viend, Commando, and Seeker) I’m so obsessed with this au man 😭

N/A - REX, MUL-T, and Chef. I hc that inorganic matter can’t be corrupted in the same way as organic matter, in the sense that it can’t be controlled. It just shuts the robots down. And REX’s plant can’t move without the robot so-

9 - Engineer. He’s actually helpful and non-hostile. He built Commando a prosthetic to use after Bandit bit his arm off, although it does have some corruption in it so it has to be used sparingly. He also doesn’t move outside his workshop, as he’s tethered to his turrets now and carrying them out is really inconvenient. He would’ve stayed in his workshop anyways though, because building/tinkering with shit keeps him calm. He’s also one of the only ones that you can have a conversation with without them trying to scare or threaten you.

8 - Artificer. With how long she used to spend with Viend, she’s somewhat used to how the corruption feels, aura and pressure wise. Basically, when she got corrupted it wasn’t a hugely different feeling than what she was used to, and thus she wasn’t made that aggressive. She’ll talk to Commando and Seeker sometimes but gets agitated if she isn’t with Viend for a while. She also gets agitated if Commando or Seeker are near it. Mostly because they used to not like it and didn’t treat it the best, so she doesn’t trust them to have changed. They have though dw.

7 - Railgunner. Like Artificer she’s used to how the corruption feels, but she also enjoys the Void. So once she got corrupted, she started hanging out there 24/7. Constantly on edge but doesn’t blindly attack. She will attack if you even speak of trying to get her out the Void though. Mostly attacks Seeker, but she has and will attack Commando.

6 - Bandit. First to get corrupted 💔 Irritable but has self control, and is (mostly) calm around Captain and Commando. Just- ignore that he bit his arm off. He’s still loving towards Commando, he just really enjoys fucking with him. To Bandit, he was just “playing around” when he bit Commando. Will intervene if anyone other than him or Captain tries to/does hurt Commando.

5 - Captain. Like Bandit, just grumpier. Hisses when upset, so 80% of the time he’ll be hissing. Hates everyone on the ship that isn't Bandit or Commando, though from how he acts towards them you'd think he hates them too- He’s loving in private though. Really REALLY hateful towards Viend though, which causes a lot of issues with him and Artificer fighting.

4 - Loader. Do. Not. Go. Near. Her. She will grab you. Depending on her mood, she’ll either crush you to death, or talk your ears off. She’s also a fucking tank, so Commando and Seeker have a specific tranquilizer for her. Has killed Engineer before while annoyed because she knew he wouldn’t fight back. She also purposefully moves important stuff to make Commando and Seeker’s lives harder.

3 - Huntress. Perpetually annoyed, Commando and Seeker tend to stay out of her way unless they need her to do something. She’ll come to them if she needs something, and she normally gets pissed when bothered. THE BEEF WITH MERCENARY RAGES ON!!!!!!!!!!!! They fight CONSTANTLY, but there’s rarely a clear cut winner. Commando and Seeker say she won when she asks though. For their safety.

2 - Mercenary. Don’t make eye contact. Ever. It is a death sentence. He has several eyes too so that makes it much harder. Looking at him is also pretty bad, but it isn’t guaranteed death. He sees himself as better than everyone on the ship, so he believes no one has the right to look at him like equals. If Commando or Seeker ever need to talk to him, they HAVE to kneel. They fucking hate it, but he won’t listen otherwise, and he’ll most likely stab them.

1 - Acrid. They keep it locked up for a reason. Don’t engage.

[onestepbackwards]

Cw: suggestive, size differences

This is probably my first time discussing anything nsfw related on tumblr, sorry for any errors! *melts away*

Basically my friends and I were chatting how the demonmas would show their affection and ask you out for fun times

Emmet gives you a simple gold jewelry with runes as a present, like a gold ring as a sign sign of affection and tell all the other demons: “Mine! Do not touch!” If anyone did try to grab you, they’ll get repelled by the accessory and teleport straight to Emmet, who will not be happy at all!

But if he shows a gold jewelry with magical gemstones, he ask if you wanna have a bit of fun

If you say yes, he puts it on you and it makes you more sensitive to touch and act as an aphrodisiac, especially if there’s multiple of the gems! Tho thankfully, it also gives nearly an unlimited stamina and endurance.

If you says no, he won’t push it and not give you the jewelry, tho he’ll be sad for the rest of the day

The magical gems can affect demons as well, but you need to make a bet and win against Emmet for him to wear it and you watch him melt from your touch and affection instead. If you lose the bet however, he’s gonna put a necklace with a lot of the gems on you, making you extremely sensitive to touch and tease instead!

Ingo’s sign of affection is being in very close proximity and petting or holding you. All other demons (minus Emmet) are extremely terrified by his sheer presence alone and do not wanna test his patience!

He is however a bit shy to ask for fun times and would rather want you to ask him instead due to fear of you turn him down and walk away. He will melt if you tease him! You can also give him an accessory with magical gems, but he might turn to putty during that time!

Both will take care of you during the fun times, with the massive height difference with them being a 12 foot tall demon, they’ll try to not break you, unless you ask for their disguised form, which makes them sit around 7’3 (they’ll still worry about breaking you)!

-Bird Anon

AYO 👀👀

Size differences and caring monsters/demons my beloved 😩😩😩 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

This is great 👀 I have reread this a few times now. I love aus like this.

[fostopia]

I'm sorry to ask but could you explain both the tethered au and the broken ties au to someone who is for the most part clueless? I've been scrolling trying to figure things out but I keep getting the two mixed up (despite one being a subsection) my brain is just struggling for whatever reason lol. but I'm super interested because the universe you created seems really cool and I'm not usually into tmc aus! ty

Nah don’t worry about asking anon! I don’t mind answering the questions. I get how they can be mixed up a good bit considering they’re relatively similar minus a few details. The introductory post for Tethered itself is here

I’m also gonna toss in the subsection au where the group ends up with alt!Cesar since I think it’s funny

Also— Alt!Cesar he/it user

TETHERED TOGETHER

The main AU and the one the alternate scenarios/subsections come from; Tethered Together (usually referred to as just Tethered) is an au in which those who die relating to alternates come back as spirits; their visible form varies (as seen with Mark, who has wings when no other one does) but it always shows how they have died. The general idea for Mark and Cesar is that Mark has a gunshot wound to the side of his head while Cesar’s throat is slit. Mark is infinitely bleeding from his would, and the blood flow gets worse the more upset he is. Sorry Mark fans, he has a bad time here ^^’

The two spirits ended up tied together and then to Cesar’s old house, but when Adam and Jonah came along for their ghost cat the spirits ended up stopping them from respectively leaving the house and going into the basement. The two alive teens end up stuck with the ghosts because the two accidentally ‘tethered’ to them, hence the au name.

Alt!Cesar is a prominent figure here! Long story short, he tries to kill Jonah. In this, Jonah survives.

A note about alt!Cesar— alternates shouldn’t be able to physically harm or touch anyone; however when he killed Cesar it took over their body and now he can physically touch people. Sucks for his victims

I feel it’s also important to note, in the overall au + it’s subsections Adam is not an alternate‼️ He’s just an apathetic guy lookin’ for his mom.

BROKEN TIES

The first of the subsections, this follows the same timeline and all of the rules to the first one, but when Alt!Cesar attacks Jonah, he dies. Upsetting, unfortunate, it be like that sometimes. That’s basically the difference, he’s just a ghost now.

He can’t speak like the others and his bones glow through his skin. He doesn’t bleed like mark unless he’s reeeeally upset. I feel like the reason for the name doesn’t need to be explained

TANGLED BINDS

(name may be changed)

This is just the au where Jonah somehow befriends alt!Cesar and the entire group is stuck with him because whenever alt!Cesar tries to leave (trust me it’s ass does not wanna be with them) he blacks out and wakes up by one of the group again.

It’s basically just:

Jonah, stoned: you ever just,, wonder if you can say nuh uh to the guy telling you what to do

Alt!Cesar: ..CAN I?

They’re buddies. Jonah’s got a friendly/neutral dynamic with him since yknow. He tried to kill him and already did kill two of his friends; but Alt!Cesar’s basically like a really feral guard dog with Jonah. Mark tries to sick him onto Adam one day but Jonah stops that.

It’s called tangled ties cause somehow they managed to get a fucking alternate in the family dynamic

-

This looks coherent to me but if there’s anything you want clarified just ask!! I might leave out a few details since I do plan on doing the ask-the-characters stuff but yeah :]

[rootbeerrex]

Tim Drake for the charecter ask game?

oh god not the consequences of my own actions I don't know why I didn't think anyone was gonna do it but oKAY HERE WE GO

1. three facts about them from my PERSONAL headcanons

a. the first time he picked a movie for young justice movie night, he picked his favorite movie, home alone. the team (minus bart) spent the entire time side-eyeing him because he has to know that he just is Kevin McCallister, right?

b. that was a long one so here's a short one of me shamelessly projecting: this man would listen to bears in trees 24/7. you can't convince me otherwise. the vibes are just perfect for him.

c. unpopular opinion time but this man doesn't even know what MCR is. Kon tries to make fun of him for being emo by playing the opening notes of welcome to the black parade whenever he walks into a room, and he's just like "we've been over this. I don't have perfect pitch, I have no idea what note that is." everyone loses their shit.

2. a reason they suck

This haircut. look at it. what is even going on here. get help

3. a reason they're great

this image. I love him. I love him so much. he's such a fucking freak (affectionate)

4. a reason I relate to them

"I have literally no use unless I'm helping other people. it's better to kill yourself helping someone than be useless. no one could ever possibly love me unless I'm perfect. at the same time I'm also the greatest and smartest person alive though and no one should ever question me." -Both me and Tim.

5. what I consider their otp / ot3

I don't actually have any opinions on his canon pairings, I haven't read enough of him interacting with his peers yet to make that call but I really enjoy reading fanon timkon so I'll go with that.

6. five things that never happened to the character that I think should happen

oh god no I'm too tired to do this whole one so you get one answer. therapy.

7. five people the character never fell in love with and why

same answer as five with not enough info, but I'm not even gonna give a default answer because I am not touching DC shipping discourse with a ten foot pole <3

[hopeslastchxnce]

i think i'd miss you even if we never met.

PROMPTS FOR THE MOST ROMANTIC THINGS TO SAY

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆ || @bonesrot

For the time being, he wasn't fighting Logan anymore about some of these softer moments. He was still trying his hardest to put a wall between them, but no matter how hard he tried, he would see something in Logan that shattered the wall; that made him want to believe Logan's faith wasn't misplaced in him.

And it was hard. It was so terribly hard most days to see the man that made Logan look upon him with such softness. It was often jarring the way Logan gazed at him sometimes. It put the looks he used to get from Erik to shame.

Then again, sometimes simply being in Logan's presence and feeling his faith had Charles wondering if what he had with Erik was ever truly real in the first place. Sometimes he wondered if Erik was simply playing the long game the entire time they were together. Was everything all an act to get Charles to aid him in Cuba? Because by then, Erik knew he had the telepath wrapped around his finger. No matter how much Charles disliked the idea of killing Shaw, he cared too much about his friend to let Shaw hurt him.

He clinched his eyes shut as memories of the coin tearing through his own skull made his head hurt. He tried not to think about these things while lying next to Logan, mostly out of fear of Logan seeing these images when they touched. What happened down in Cuba was not something Charles ever discussed with anyone. Unless they were actually there that day, Charles was certain his older self likely hadn't the heart to spill about the beach divorce with Erik. That day in timee was one of several reasons why Charles was so taken aback when Logan confessed that future 'Cherik' had sent him here. The idea was absurd given the bitterness between them and yet…

'Just because someone stumbles and loses their way, doesn't mean they are lost forever…'

It was a line Logan whispered to him once in the midst of a wine binge. It completely wrecked Charles on the spot. It triggered something in him that he couldn't be sure was an actual vision from the future or something else altogether. Either way, Logan's words were the core of what Charles USED to believe in his heart; what he still LONGED to believe despite his pain about…things.

Charles' silence had Logan rolling over on the bed, propping himself on his side. Charles could feel that knowing gaze studying him closely. After a few moments, Charles finally turned his head, pinning Logan with those big blue eyes of his. They were looking a lot less dead these days as pointed out by Hank. And it had little to do with Charles' lack of drinking, but everything to do with the man willingly chained to his side, seeing him through this rough patch in his life.

"I would tell you to stop saying these things, but I know what say often falls upon deaf ears. You are just as stubborn, if not even more so than myself."

He could see the corners of Logan's mouth twitch, a hint of a smug smile teasing him. Charles rolled his eyes, but found himself gathered closer for the spooning session that took place more often than either cared to admit to Hank. His worried side eyes were enough although to be fair, Hank had every right to worry. It was absolutely going to suck when the universe decided Logan was needed elsewhere. It would be like Cuba all over again only this time, minus steel to the spine.

"I would rather not think about how much you might be missed." Might, to keep from admitting how much he would absolutely miss Logan and right now, it was reaching the point of 'devastating'. It would be painful beyond words, but…

I know he'll come back for me someday and that… that will be enough…

He finally rolled over facing Logan. Before he could lose the nerve, he leaned closer with lips meeting Logan's forehead and then... He brushed a kiss across his cheek then inched down further to dare brush another across lips. It wasn't quite the type of kiss they've shared before but it was no less telling. He CARED about Logan a LOT more than he would ever verbally admit despite the words lingering on the tip of his tongue now...

...and lips would simply linger more while his forehead rested against Logan's own. Moments like these were meant to be cherished. One just could never know when it would be the last...

[crownofconvergencerp]

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐖𝐄𝐈 𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘

fangshi wei ying is a 257 year old cursed human that appears to be in his early 50s.  though he came from humble origins he is now an adoptive member of the Shogun's family as well as the emissary from the emperor's court after a very long lifetime soaked in the blood and viscera of war.  where this leaves him in the futuĺllre is anyone's guess due to the as of yet unknown influence of what he calls his passenger aka his death spirit. 

Wei Ying was a bubbly child with a very ironic name. Hoping to ensure their child had all the luck in the world, his parents named him Ying, meaning clever child. Unfortunately, while Ying was a happy child, he was not very clever, more curious than was ultimately safe for him.

His parents fostered that curiosity, ultimately taking him along with them as they explored various ruins. As a branch family of a branch family from one of the great clans, the Wei family earned their keep as archeologists by exploring ancient ruins looking for magic items and forgotten treasure. It was on one such trip that Ying's life took a dramatic turn.

When Ying was 8, he accompanied his parents on one of their trips. His parents had always told him not to touch things unless they were there with him, but like every curious, precocious child; Ying was always finding ways to escape the watchful eyes of their assistants and get into places he wasn't supposed to be. One day, while exploring the ruins on his own, he could have sworn he heard something or someone whispering his name. Crossing deeper into the ruins, Ying found his attention being drawn to an old crumbling wooden chest. Lifting the lid revealed a deep purple cushion with silver trim laying under what looked to be a pile of jagged metal links with what looked like a kunai and hand sickle laying on top. As soon as his hand touched the chain he was awash with pain as it felt like lightning started to crawl up his arms before he passed out in a cloud of purple tinted smoke.

When Ying came to, his parents were looking down on him with terrified expressions. No one knew what to make of the tattoos that decorated his arms and he seemed to be fine other than having passed out. It wasn't until weeks later that the whispers started again. They started off soft at first, much in the same way they did in the ruins. This continued until the whispers drove him into the woods and to the shore of a lake where he finally saw what was actually whispering to him for the first time. The spirit first appeared as a humanoid shaped cloud of smoke. She explained that they were bound together now that he had touched her anchor and so long as they remained bound she would gift him her abilities and he would work on her behalf. What that truly meant wouldn't become clear for many years, but in the meantime he carried out small tasks while learning to master her abilities.

Though he tried to keep his growing abilities a secret, the whispers started up anyway. You could only look past so many dead animals and the boy who never seemed to age right. Roughly a decade after first being cursed, an unlikely coincidence occurred. Tax collectors from the great clans were common, but having the same tax collector come year after year wasn't. This was how his abilities were brought to the attention of the clan the Wei family owed its vassalage to. The novelty of a regular human with magic was interesting enough but with a rare ability like necromancy, his adoption into the great clan was a given.

Wei Ying adapted to life in the great clan, slowly but surely, minus one thing. He wasn't what one would call a smart child. Sure, he could do the martial arts training, that came easy for him, especially with his passenger. With her connection is his physical body, she could help mold both his body and his magic. What she couldn't do was make him apply more than the bare minimum to the more formal education.

Life continued in this way for decades until the start of the Forty Seasons War. Where before his passenger was mostly subdued, a war woke her up to a much different and more direct fashion. With the land soaked in so much death, his grasp on his necromantic magic and abilities skyrocketed which brought him to the attention of the Shogun. Just like when he first caught the eye of his great clan and was adopted into the clan, the Shogun demanded Wei Ying take up a position in their household as Court Necromancer, or Fangshi.

Ying finished the war as a member of the Shogun's forces, pushing over 50 years of age but not looking anywhere close to it. Even after the war ended, Ying continued to serve the Shogun as Fangshi and continued to hold that position for over 100 years, well past what was a normal human lifespan. Even after the new Shogun took over, Ying continued to serve until he was dispatched to the Emperor's court to serve as representative of the Shogun. Soaking up magical and martial arts training, Ying was eventually appointed as Emissary to Destarin, though whether it's on behalf of the Shogun or the Emperor only two people know for certain, Fangshi Wei Ying and his ever present passenger.

WHAT ARE YOU...?

species: cursed human. weaknesses: regular healing spells and life magic will actually hurt ying, can suffer from wounds, disease and poison, if pushed to “death” he will lay in an unconscious state until his passenger is able to feed on enough life force to revive him. strengths: ying is practically invulnerable to necromancy and death magics, can heal by using his cursed object to channel stolen life energy into himself, cannot die as long as his death spirit keeps him bound to his cursed object, all necromancy/death aspected abilities and magic channeled through his object are stronger than otherwise. physical description: the cursed object resides in ying's skin as a tattoo that begins at the base of one wrist and wraps around his arms, across his back and down his other arm and terminates at the opposite wrist. additional info: wei ying's eyes turned the kind of bright green that is associated with poisonous tree frogs and they grow brighter the stronger the spell he casts.  the only difference comes from when he channels his abilities through his cursed object which is instead accompanied by a dark purple laced with silver light/smoke..

fangshi wei ying is played by div and their fc is keanu reeves.

[scolpimpisdiary]

Bucci Gang Cooking HeadCannons!!

Bruno Bucciarati🤐

I can definitely imagine him being able to prepare a lot of traditional Italian dishes. Bruno may be busy but he’s a detail oriented man, and you could see it in the way he prepares his food

Like I mean, VERY well made

I can literally imagine his Italian ancestors guiding him while he’s cooking

(William Zeppeli? Jkjk)

*snaps fingers*“Hey Baby! You forgot to add the salt”

OKAY IM DONE

If he’s close enough to Y/N he’d probably make their favorite dishes and bring it to them whenever they’re down. I don’t see him bragging about his cooking tho or bringing it up often

plus I feel like he’d be better at making savory foods rather then sweets for some reason idk

“I know I can be a bit busy, but I hope you enjoy this, Y/N. I made it just for you”

Guido Mista💥

Let’s be honest this man has probably never touched a cooking pan in his life

I think Mista would probably try to avoid anything involving making food, he feels like its time consuming and probably either orders takeout or just eats at the Bucci gang restaurant

(I forgot the name of the restaurant bye)

I could see Mista only ever cooking if he has a crush on Y/N and wants to help them cook in order to get closer to them

(He’d probably mess up halfway though)

“Mista, the cake recipe called for four eggs!”

“Four is bad luck, don’t you know that Y/N? That’s why I only put two!”

Leone Abbacchio 🫖

Strangely enough I feel like he’d be really good at making desserts

Like REALLY good

I could imagine him with a cute lil skull apron on making different types of cakes and sweets in his spare time, macarons, cookies, pies, cupcakes etc

He’d probably be too shy to actually share this with anyone tho, unless Y/N basically begs or forces him to do it

I also don’t see him making a lot of fried food idk 😭

“But you cook so good!! Can you please help me make *insert favorite dessert item here*? It’s my favorite!”

“Alright fine Y/N, but you owe me one..”

“I can’t believe I got dragged into this shit..”

Narancia Ghirga🎶

Most likely sees cooking as a way to experiment and have fun rather than actually sustain himself.

Prefers to make his own “recipes” but also enjoys following different ones

One of the first volunteers to help Y/N with a recipe, not only because he likes them but also because he genuinely enjoys the process of it

Minus the dishes, which would unfortunately be left up to Y/N to clean

He probably makes a lot of weird food combinations as well

I could imagine him proudly showing off his bizarre recipes to Y/N

Maybe even making them try it? Idk

“C’mon Y/N! It took me ages to come up with this, doesn’t it look yummy?”

“Uh..yes, it does! Just let me..uh..go to the bathroom..real quick”

Pannacotta Fugo😡

Oh Fugo..

Poor lil Fugo..

He’d probably have the hardest time making recipes. I could see him ragequitting giving up in the middle of a recipe and just scraping it

He would follow the recipe halfway but

I feel like he’d overanalyze everything, which makes him fail

“Oh, the recipe says to add only 1 tsp of baking powder, but what happens if I just..”

Either that or he’ll get frustrated which causes him to mess up even more

It’d probably take a lot of convincing from Y/N to have him help them with a recipe

Otherwise Fugo would try to avoid bringing up cooking at all costs

“Fine, I’ll help! But don’t come crying when it tastes like shit!”

Giorno Giovanna🐞

My favorite Jojo ngl

I feel like GioGio would be able to cook, but not that well

Like, I could imagine him being able to scrap things together or make edible meals, but I don’t see him being an amazing cook

He’s similar to Mista in the fact that he probably feels that it’s a waste of time at first, but as he got more experienced he started enjoying it more

Before becoming a Don, he’d either do the former or just eat out at a restaurant

After becoming a Don, Giorno probably has people make food for him tbh

GioGio would still be open to helping Y/N with meals though, mainly if they were S/Os

I could also see Don/older Giorno at least trying to learn how to be a better cook if he had the time

“Tesora/Tesoro, am I doing it right? I tried following the steps like you did, but it still looks quite strange”

“It’s okay! It looks fine so far, just keep whisking”

“You know, I’m actually starting to enjoy this.. I never thought I would before. We need to do this more often”

“Really?”

“Of course, mi amore”

[levis-little-nuggie]

hi! i just saw the post about requests and could you write some fluffy sex headcanons with the brothers? we don't really see stuff like that so i thought i'd ask

Bless you nonny for the request 💜💜 this uh, turned out a lot longer than I had anticipated, probably because I haven't written anything in a good while ���

Asmo and Belphie will have their own posts 💜

Nsft, obviously, so everything is under the Read More. I made the reader as gender neutral and inclusive as I could. Please let me know if at any point, I was exclusive.

Fluffy Sex Headcanons of the Demon Brothers

(minus Asmo and Belphie)

Lucifer

This man will top or bottom solely dependent upon what you want. Sex with him is moreso about pleasing his partner than just getting off. His preferences are fine tuned to your desires and your body’s limits. Lucifer’s sin feeds off of the immense pride a lover feels when they know you and your body better than you do

He may act cold and aloof in public and in front of others, coming off as stoic and arrogant, but it’s a completely different story behind closed doors.

However you want him, he’ll comply. You’ve done the impossible and captured his heart.  Don’t let this old man and his brown shoes fool you, he’ll drown you in passion.

He’ll gladly play the Dom role, but he’ll also gladly be your sub as well.

If you’re into BDSM and prefer him to Dom, you can expect an intensive aftercare routine that would rival Asmo’s. It’s not that he doesn’t like hurting you or pushing you to your limits, he just wants to reward you for being so good for him and wants to remind you how much he loves you.

If you’re into BDSM and prefer to Dom yourself, go crazy! While you would be capable of marking and bruising his skin, you can’t physically hurt or break him beyond light scratches. He can break out of whatever restraints you put him, even if they are demon-grade. You would need actual spells to diminish his strength to put him on par with a lower-class demon if you wanted him to actually feel any real pain, but if it’s what you want, he’ll do it. Expect a conversation beforehand about what you want and how he can do that for you. He wants there to be clear communication so he knows how best to serve you in the moments to come.

Sure the sex is fantastic, but he’ll show you how much he loves you in the tender moments after. The afterglow is his favorite part, both of you basking in the remnants of pleasure coursing through you, the physical numbness, and the swell of feel-good chemicals swirling through your bodies. This is when he’ll hold you closest, pepper your skin with kisses unable to stop himself, he’ll play with your hair if you have it, his eyes will be bright, his smile will be unrestrained. He may even start humming a long-forgotten lullaby or your favorite song as he rests his head against your chest, hearing your heartbeat in blissful content until one of you decides it’s time to get cleaned up.

No matter how long the day has been, the amount of hours he’s put into all that damn paperwork, he’ll always make time to pamper you after sex. If you prefer to shower alone, he’ll let you go first and have the bed ready with new, clean sheets and clean towels set out for you when you’re done. Prefer to sleep with pajamas? He has a drawer dedicated to your favorite things along with some new ones he bought for you.

Mammon

Ah yes, the tsundere. The dumbass in the streets, dumbass in the sheets. The one who has more hair-brained ideas than he does fingers and toes in one week. One of the greatest banes of Lucifer’s existence.

His push and pull personality might have you questioning the validity of his feelings, but I believe that Mammon wouldn’t be partaking in fluffy sex at all unless he was absolutely smitten.

With how his brothers treat him, he’s reluctant to open his heart to you and fully accept that at some point, you won’t start insulting him either. However, equipped with the sin of greed, Mammon’s completely helpless when you compliment and reassure him. 

His standoffish attitude is a front, a feeble attempt to keep up his reputation as “The Great Mammon,” but he’s got himself wrapped around your finger before he even realizes it and that facade would melt away instantly at your smallest of smiles, a kiss on his cheek or back of his hand, a surprise compliment, anything that makes his heart skip a beat. 

Of the brothers, he has one of the weakest composers around you mainly because he’s also one of the horniest. 

Sex with Mammon can be rushed;  a quickie between classes, a broken composure that has him feeling dehydrated for you, a clash of tongues and teech and a burning desire that encompasses both of you until you find release.

However, the sweetest and fluffiest sex with Mammon would be when either of you are feeling emotionally vulnerable. 

He’ll treat you like you’re the greatest treasure to have ever existed in all three realms, with a delicacy as if you’re fragile because he knows he can be careless and reckless. He’ll be in his head a lot making sure he’s taking care of you, that you feel good, doing his damndest to keep you satisfied so there’s no room in your heart to doubt him. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep that sparkle in your eye when you look at him, to never lose you and never have to experience the day you realize his brothers have been right all along. 

And I mean he’ll do whatever and however. Any wish is his command, but you’ll have more work cut out for you if you suggest the both of you participating in a threesome or more. He wants you all to himself, it’s his greed, but it’s your reassurance and validation that will have him like putty in your hand. 

He’s more than okay with both of you falling asleep in your mess, but more often than not, he’ll wait until you’ve dozed off to clean up. In these moments, he takes the time to worship every inch of your skin, like polishing a priceless jewel. His intentions are pure, most of the time, he just likes to wait till you’re asleep so there’s no chance for you to tease him about it. It also allows his greed to soak up your peaceful expression, the way your body reaches out to him after he’s finished cleaning and comes back to curl up next to you. 

There’s a secret photo album hidden on his phone filled with pictures of the both of you like this, your lashes against your cheeks, your freckles or sun spots, any blemishes or scars that he’s covered in kisses countless of times, your hand in his and vice versa, memories of how sweet and tender your love is, filled with emotions he struggles to put into words. 

Leviathan

It all depends how you play your cards with this one. Teasing him is easy and it’ll get him all flustered, but pair that with his raging horniness and you’ll be walking a fine line between a Dom or sub Levi.

However, if it’s fluffy and sweet sex you want, treat him gently and he’ll return the favor. It’ll take a bit of time and effort to get here, on both your parts, but if you’re willing to put in the work, he’ll make it worth it. Like Mammon, this means sex will be its fluffiest when either both of you or one of you is emotionally vulnerable.

We’ve recently been blessed by the devs on a cannon description of his tail, confirming that it is snake-like with scales. This also means, however, that his tail is sensitive to touch and he has full control of its movements. During a more sweet intimacy, he likes to wrap his tail around a limb, your arm or your leg. It’s only when he’s in Dom or sub mode that he likes to use his tail in a more active manner.

It’s important for him, whether he realizes it or not, that during these moments, that he’s the one touching you, not his tail. If you ask him to use his tail too much during sex, he’ll start to think that you’re only with him because of his tail.

He’ll want to see you even though his room is dimly lit. He also knows his tub bed might not be the most comfortable so he’ll invest in a mattress to put on the floor by the tank, and a few fluffy blankets, from the Ruri-chan line of course, to keep you warm and comfortable so you’ll never want to leave his room, just like him.

He prefers any position that has the two of you lying together, with your face in clear view because he can’t get enough of the faces you make because of the pleasure he’s responsible for making you feel. He’ll be more focused on your voice, your body language, your reactions to reassure him he’s doing something right.

To see your naked skin kissed with the reflection of the water from the tank is his favorite part. He actually got a nosebleed the first time he saw you like that. 

Sex with the otaku is a learning experience that requires patience and repetitive reassurance. He’s certain that no one could ever love him, and it’s going to cost a lot of mental energy, and it can be disheartening at times where it seems he’s not made any progress in loving himself at all, but you’ll both also have an opportunity to create something truly beautiful between the two of you. Falling in love with your best friend, and having your feelings returned with all their heart is one of the most beautiful things to ever experience.

Satan

I like to imagine that Satan is akin to that tiger DILF in Zootopia looking at his tablet while on the train, you know, the one who looks like he’ll take good care of you? Listen, during one of his Devilgram stories, the man pitches a tent (like an actual tent, not a boner you guys) and makes both of you cups of hot chocolate. You can pry this hc out of my cold, dead hands.

Sex with Satan is actually more often fluffy and sweet than anyone would assume because he’s the Avatar of Wrath. Just like all the other brothers, Satan is more than his sin. That being said, Satan is still CEO of Angry Sex™ but he’s also more intune to his own feelings than the rest of his brothers. 

It’s after his more violent fits of rage that he’s seeking your comfort. It’s difficult for him to come down from his wrath; the worse the fit is, the more broken and twisted he feels. He didn’t like coming to you at first because he knows how mentally draining it can be for a human to deal with someone like that, but you’ve insisted in your endearing and stubborn way that he can and needs to rely on you more. You threatened to find all the sources proving your point for the success of any relationship and he eventually gave in, accepting your kindness and your love.

In turn, he provides you with an arsenal of reading material and spells you can arm yourself with for a plethora of reasons; mainly self-defense against demons, a history of successful and failed attempts to prank Lucifer, as well as guides for subjects in class to help you study.

Unlike his previous brothers, sex with Satan is more about the pleasure you both feel. Of course he’ll still be mindful of your pleasure, but he can also get lost in his own desire. No matter how far gone he is, you know that the moment you utter the safeword, he’ll stop immediately and assess the situation. The safeword is actually a simple spell that he’d found when you two started getting more intimate.

On days he’s feeling extra playful, he’ll dress up for you; a collar with a bell, cat ears, a butt plug with a tail attached. He loves to be your little kitty cat, and will practically foam at the mouth if you ever dressed up like a slutty cat for him, but this doesn’t lead to fluffy smut times.

While he has no issues with PDA, Satan reserves his more soft and fluffy side for when you two are totally alone. He’s proactive in looking up cute date ideas and is the type to go all out turning his bed or his floor into a nest of pillows and blankets, cups of tea, hot chocolate, coffee, whatever you prefer, a variety of little snacks, and turn his wall into a projection screen to watch old-fashioned black and white romance movies. 

For Satan, it’s the moments leading up to the sweet intimacy filled with love and adoration that are his favorites. Being the reason your face brightens, tears of happiness well in the corner of your eyes, the way your smile makes his heart stutters, Satan loves showing you how much you mean to him mainly because he knows he’s not the best with words. He could recite any poem of strings of song lyrics, but he believes actions speak louder than words.

He actually prefers for you to have control in these moments; there’s less of a chance he could hurt you and it’s another way to prove his love. He’ll only ever bottom for you. He was reluctant at first, but it’s like you opened his eyes to a whole new world he didn’t know about. He still likes to act like he's a cat and you're his mouse, but he also likes it when you take over and make him bow to your whim. You've gained his trust as well as his heart and he believes that the power dynamic in a relationship should be balanced.

During the most intimate moments, either right after sex or waking up together in the morning after sleeping in, you'll both enter this Cat Speak mode. One of you will start, just a cute little "mrow?" and you'll go back and forth entertaining a semblance of a conversation but without saying anything. There's no actual conversation happening, it's just the two of you making cat noises at each other, giggling and riding the high of this special intimacy specially reserved for these moments of bliss.

Beel

Let’s be honest, 9 times out of 10 your sex with the sixth-born will be fluffy and sweet. He’s like the personified version of a golden retriever. He loves you and has the instinct to want to take care of you. You’re such a small, delicate human, and his brothers love you too so when you’re in Beel’s care, he makes sure you’re satisfied more than just sexually. 

Anything you’re willing to give him, he’ll accept wholeheartedly expressing his love and gratitude in the form of huge grins, hugs, a hearty chuckle, and peppering kisses across your face. 

Even though he’s not as sexually active as some of his brothers, once you get this big guy started, be prepared to cancel any plans you have for the rest of the day… and also the day after just to be safe. He has the most energy and will keep going until he’s had you against every solid surface in his room, minus Belphie’s furniture of course. Regardless of your size or how you look, he’ll make you feel weightless as he carries you around the room effortlessly

He loves the way you taste, gliding his tongue over your skin like you’re an ice-cream cone that never melts, he’s actually growled a number of times when you tried pulling yourself away from him. His eyes had turned shades darker than normal before you snapped him out of it. He would apologize profusely and kill the mood so as to make sure he’s in the right headspace and you’re okay. 

This has only happened a few times, but he still loves to taste every inch of you whenever he has you all to himself. He leaves you covered in hickeys and love bites and even though he’ll apologize, you know he feels absolutely no shame in his brother’s reactions to seeing you covered the next day. 

His favorite part is helping you ride out your orgasm with his mouth. He knows he’s more skilled with his mouth anyway and just, the man cannot get enough of you or your taste. Depending on where he’s at when you orgasm, if he’s close, he’ll paint your skin in his release, and then clean up the mess and drag you in for snuggles. If he’s not quite there yet, he’ll assess your energy levels and wait until you’re ready to go again or keep going, depending on who topped or bottomed. He’s all about consent and wants to join you when you’re fully blissed out regardless if he’s finished or not (meaning he’ll deny his own release in order to lie with you).

Aftercare comes almost second nature to him. He’s already carrying you to the bathroom and soaking you off in the shower before you realize it. The warm water and his large hands invade your senses and he urges you to let go, to let him take care of you and it’s like a dream. His calloused hands offer a sort of comforting roughness that keeps you grounded. If you want shower sex, you’ll have to initiate it.

Actually, that’s pretty accurate for Beel. You want sex? You’re either going to have to initiate it or tell him straight out. Poor guy does not take hints well as he is very oblivious.

[darling-i-read-it]

The Raven

Takeshi Kovacs x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: murder, insinutations to smut, injuries, drinking

Author’s Note: he !!!!!!!! HE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway enjoy

I was gonna wait to post this but I feel like you guys deserve it so here you go lmao

Summary: You and Takeshi both stay at the Raven and get to know each other.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You ran your hand through your hair as you stepped into the Raven. You held your side, feeling the blood seep through your fingers. Poe materialized behind the counter, his eyebrow raised.

“What happened to you?” he asked curiously. You shrugged, a weak smile on your face.

“Nothing that won’t be fixed with a hot shower and a glass of bourbon,” you said through gritted teeth. Poe nodded and walked around the desk and over to the bar. You leaned against the counter, trying not to bleed all over it as you waited.

“Should I provide medical assistance?” he asked. You shook your head.

“I can handle myself.” Poe walked back over to you and handed you the glass. You took it and downed it in one drink. The liquid stung your throat as it always did but it was a welcome feeling after everything you had been through. “I’ll be taking that shower now,” you said as you put the glass down. You were about to turn when you noticed Poe’s face. He looked like he was trying to muster the courage to tell you something. “Are you kicking me out?”

“No!” he said much too quickly. That meant one thing. There was something that might make you want to leave. You raised an eyebrow.

“Spit it out Poe.” He let out a sigh.

“I have another guest.” You scoffed.

“Are you serious?”

“Don’t be so surprised. I run a very nice establishment.” You nodded. You had been the only customer at the Raven for months. It started as just wanting to go under the radar then you ended up liking it there. No one ever came. Poe was good company. You paid a monthly fee instead of a nightly one, he liked you so much.

“Anyone I should know?” you asked, wondering if it was one of your old enemies out to get you here. You hoped it wasn’t. You had no desire to leave. You would have to find a whole new space and you had grown comfortable here.

“No unless you keep friends with Envoys.” Your eyes opened wide and you forgot about the pain in your abdomen.

“An Envoy here? Well Poe, I can’t say you’re boring,” you said and then the pain was back. “As much as I would love to learn more, I really have to stitch this. What room are they in?”

“I can’t disclose that information,” he said. You scoffed, pushing yourself off the desk you were leaning on.

“Come on Poe.”

“I can’t. It’s in my mainframe.” You rolled your eyes.

“Are they on my floor?” He thought about it for a moment and then nodded gently, giving in.

“He is.” You smiled to yourself.

“He. Good to know.” You started to walk toward the elevator. “See you tomorrow Poe!” He waved to you, a fond smile on his face. He wondered if you would like Takeshi. He laughed quietly in the empty room. Takeshi would like you. He didn’t like many people but he imagined Takeshi would quite like you.

====

You brushed through your wet hair gingerly, still in pain from the stitches you had given yourself. Thankfully it wasn’t anything bad. You imagined it wouldn’t bother you at all in a couple months. You looked out the large window in your room and put your hair brush down. You deserved a few hours of shut eye. Maybe you could even sleep in tomorrow if no one came in to try and kill you.

Your mind lingered on the Envoy you were sharing a building with. You didn’t think any existed anymore.

You were about to shut the blinds down so the night sky couldn’t be seen anymore when you noticed something. Smoke. You took your hand off the blinds button and walked to the far side of the window, squinting.

Cigarette smoke coming from the building. So close it probably came from the room next to you. You scoffed. Poe put the Envoy in the room next to you. You imagined him, trying to picture what he may look like. A deadly killer.

You smiled gently to yourself and closed the blinds.

=====

Takeshi shrugged on his pants. The girl Poe had sent up had left ages ago but he had just now gotten around to putting his clothes back on. Tak ran his hand through his hair, taking a cigarette out of the pack and lighting it. He stared out into the city around him, watching the lights turn on in the buildings. The sun had just risen.

The room was so silent he heard the door open next door and shut closed. He perked up. He figured he was the only person staying in the Raven. What kind of person would stay here? Other than him.

He blew out some smoke and walked to the door, opening it without a second thought. You were walking down the hall away from him. He caught only the back of you as you turned the corner.

“Yeah, yeah I’m on my way. Let me at least eat breakfast,” you said into the phone you were holding up. Breakfast. That sounded good. He was pretty sure Poe would make him a complimentary breakfast if he asked.

He tossed on a shirt and jacket as he put out his cigarette before going to the elevator. He found you were still waiting, the door opening only as he approached. He had figured he would get a better look at you downstairs but in the elevator was fine too. You hung up the phone and stepped in. He soon followed, making you jump.

You looked over at him, meeting his eyes. The Envoy. He looked uninterested. But handsome. You had to imagine that wasn’t actually his actual sleeve but the one picked out for him had been a good one.

You hit the button for the first level. The doors closed.

“I didn’t think anyone else was staying here,” he said. Even his voice was enticing. You shrugged.

“I was here first.” He smiled a bit.

“Why are you staying at an AI-run hotel?”

“Why are you?” He nodded. He wasn’t getting an answer. That was fine. “Y/N,” you said, not offering a last name. You had to force yourself not to look at him. He thought about giving you only his last name, as he tended to do with people he didn’t trust.

“Takeshi.”

The elevator doors opened, revealing Poe on the other side waiting for you both. His eyes went wide.

“Friends already?” he asked. You scoffed.

“How many rooms does this place have Poe? You could have put us on separate floors at least,” you said, walking forward. Takeshi stepped out as well.

“I like to keep you close in case help is needed.”

“Why would help be needed?” Takeshi asked. Poe eyed him. You eyed both of them. Whatever Takeshi was here for, you imagined it was dangerous.

“Well you’re both high class people. I’m being precautious,” Poe said.

“Breakfast?” you asked Takeshi. He had things to do. He had things to do. He had to leave this place and go find answers, manipulate people, understand the world around him. He didn’t need breakfast.

“I like my eggs over easy.” Poe nodded, smiling.

He knew Takeshi would like you.

====

You had been trying to just go about your day of crime, not think about some man. That wasn’t your style. You didn’t dwell on anything. You couldn’t afford to. You had jobs to do, people to get rid of.

But Takeshi and you had a nice breakfast. Neither of you gave much up about yourselves but it was nice. Talks of the weather, joking about Poe. Simple things.

You walked back into the Raven that night late, like you usually did. You didn’t have any injuries this time around, thankfully. You holstered your gun when you walked in and smiled at Poe.

“You look much better today,” he commented.

“I am. No need for stitches.”

“Your companion doesn’t look as good,” Poe commented offhandedly. You squinted.

“My com-” You scoffed. “Takeshi is not my companion. We just stay at the same hotel,” you explained.

“And share eggs.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Came back today looking awful. Though I’m not allowed to let anyone up in his room myself.”

“I never asked you to let me into his room.” You met Poe’s eyes. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

You rode the elevator up to your floor. You walked down the hallway and paused at your door. You put your hand on the handle and kept it there for a moment. Takeshi didn’t need you to help clean up his messes. Breakfast had been fine but it had been brief.

You looked over at his door.

“Damn Poe,” you whispered to yourself, sure he could hear you somehow. You walked to Takeshi's door and knocked. There was some light shuffling and then the door opened. He was standing shirtless before you, a stitching needle in his arm as it bled.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“According to Poe, it’s you I can help,” you said. You gestured to the half stitched injury. “I’m pretty good at that if you want company that isn’t an AI desperate to tear your pants off.” He thought about it for a second. You figured he would turn you down. He didn’t need your help, you knew that. He was perfectly capable. But you had to ask.

He opened the door further and you nodded once, stepping inside. You hadn’t seen any other rooms but yours. It looked like the exact same, minus some touches. He had out bandages and things on the table. He sat down at the chair and you sat down in the one beside him.

“I’ve never been good at stitching,” he admitted.

“We all have our faults,” you said quietly. You scooted the chair closer to him so you could get a better look. Your knee was between his leg and his knee was between yours. You tried not to focus on it. You ran your finger over his bicep and took the needle from him. “What happened?” He gave you a look. “Alright. I understand.” You started to work and remained silent.

Takeshi watched your focused gaze.

“You are good at that,” he said after a couple quiet minutes. You smiled, not looking at him because you were too tuned in.

“I’ve had to learn.” You finished up and leaned back, lifting your shirt enough to show him your stitched abdomen. He leaned back and nodded.

“You’re better company than the AI’s.”

“Don’t say that too loud. Poe has ears everywhere,” you whispered, laughing a bit.

“I don’t think I can hurt his feelings. He’s an AI.” You rolled your eyes.

“They have feelings,” you argued. You stood up. “I hope that heals nicely,” you said gently.

“It will,” he said.

“Goodnight Takeshi.” You started towards the door.

“Breakfast tomorrow?” You turned back to him and nodded.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

====

You didn’t know much about Takeshi but he did open up over the next couple days. You had spent mornings and nights together but you always retreated to your separate rooms before sleeping. You had told him a little about yourself and he shared more about himself.

You liked him.

He liked you.

You sat on his bed, looking out the window.

“I think that building is a sleeve manufacturer,” you said, pointing to one of the tall buildings. He raised an eyebrow.

“I thought that was a cosmetics place.” “Same thing Tak.” He laughed, rolling his eyes. He was laying on the bed, his hands behind his head.

“The one next to it is run by an asshole.” He poured himself a drink off the bottle on his bedside table. You took it from him before he could get a sip, taking a swig and then handing it back to him.

“They’re all run by assholes,” you muttered.

“Is that why you run around killing them?”

“Hey, I wasn’t able to fight in a war against them. It’s the best I can do,” you said honestly. He pursed his lips and shrugged.

“I’d say you’re doing a halfway decent job,” he admitted.

“I try.”

You looked over at him, meeting his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to mention the new cut over your eye but it’s bleeding and now I feel I have to mention it.” He brought a finger up to his eyebrow, looking at the blood. “This sleeve,” he muttered.

“At least it’s pretty,” you said as you got up, grabbing a bandage and coming back to him. You sat down beside him and leaned forward, wiping the blood away and put the bandage on him.

“I can do that,” he said.

“You say that every time I do something and yet you let me keep going,” you muttered. You made sure it was alright and looked him in the eye. You quickly looked away, not letting yourself linger in his eyes. He was too dangerous and he slept with the AI in the building and he killed-

He kissed you before you could finish the thought and it all went out the window because he was a really good kisser. He cupped your cheek, grabbing you around the waist. He moved you closer to him so you were practically in his lap. He sat up and his hands moved down your back.

You pulled away but he kept kissing down your neck as you leaned over the bedside table, hitting the button and closing the blinds.

====

Poe had made the eggs at the same time he did every day. He had always made them for you and just decided to add Takeshi’s when he made yours. It was simple and you were always punctual.

Except today.

He waited patiently and twenty minutes after you usually came down, you and Takeshi entered the ground floor. You yawned, rubbing your neck.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m not complaining Kovacs,” you said. Poe smiled.

“How was your night? The eggs are cold, you’re both late.” Takeshi sat down, taking a drink of the cup Poe left out.

“It was a good night,” he said.

“A decent night,” you teased.

“You sleep well?” Poe asked politely. You nodded stiffly, hiding a smile.

“Very well.”

“You both know I know everything that happens in my hotel right?” Poe asked. Takeshi shrugged.

“Then you should have known when we would come down,” Takeshi said.

“And you should have known it was Takeshi’s fault,” you said.

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” he muttered. Poe smiled.

“I know you two would like each other.”

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

[danses-with-dogmeat]

romanced hancock reacting to pregnant sole? (obviously not his baby, but a donor's haha)

Hancock x Pregnant! F!Sole Headcannons:

Oh look! I've been enabled yet again! No, but this is great though, I love thinking about happy companions starting a family with Sole ❤

Also, if y'all want any headcannons or anything for companions as parents please hmu, cuz my brain just naturally seems to consider that after doing these pregnancy prompts anyway 😅

Anyway, thanks for the ask, I hope you enjoy!

The ghoul always wondered whether or not his tear ducts would still work after his whole ordeal, and the news that the love of his life was ready and willing to start a family with him would certainly seek to find out. As soon as she gave the word that the donorship had worked, Hancock would be grinning wide and tearfully, with upturned brows and a trembling lip. Unable to speak at first, he would pull an equally tearful Sole into the tightest hug he could muster, their bodies flush, his arms enveloping his love as his roughened cheek pressed insistently against her smooth one. “You just made me the happiest ghoul in the whole damn world, you know that, sunshine?” He’d say just before touching his lips to her cheek in a long, drawn out, tender kiss. (The action may or may not escalate into a long trail of kisses spanning across Sole's entire face as mirthful giggles escape her lips.)

Who would've thought that this was in the cards for him? Certainly not Hancock. He thought he was lucky enough just to be in the presence of someone like Sole, but for her to return the feelings he had for her? To enthusiastically agree to being in a relationship with him? To want to start a family together? Hancock was sure he was dead, or riding the wildest high of his life, for how could this be reality for someone like him? A junkie, a bachelor, a coward, a ghoul, a flimsy torn page with "bad news" written all over it. Nah, he didn't deserve this, but damn was he overjoyed at the fact that Sole thought he did, and who was he to question her judgement?

Hancock had never thought this would be possible, the whole "baby" thing… even though he knew about donors and such, he always thought it would be too painful for Sole to consider having a family again. And with him? Of all the folks in the Commonwealth and beyond, she wanted the infamous ghoulified mayor of Goodneighbor to be a father? To her kid? He was fucking ecstatic. He didn’t quite understand why she wanted to raise a baby with him, why she thought he’d be any good at it, if she thought that. He knew he wouldn’t be the perfect fit for this kinda lifestyle; that he knew for certain, but the fact that she wanted him to try… that shit made his whole body tingle with warm gratitude from the inside out.

He would try to be calm, collected, and altogether nonchalant about the whole process in order to keep Sole relaxed. From finding the donor, to the fertilization, to the pregnancy, and all the way through to Sole going into labor, he would try to be as calm and cool as a November night. And on the outside, he'd do a damn good job, but inside? Nah, inside, this ghoul's worried sick. If anything went wrong with his sunshine, he wouldn't know what to do, he's not sure he could take a blow like that.

So, he’d try not to think too much about what could go wrong, since he knew that would only make it harder for him to be there for Sole in the way that she needed, but occasionally he’d just have those kinda days. A bad trip, a fitful night fraught with horrific dreams, a bout of horrifying overthinking as Sole uttered a pained sound from one little thing or another, or a stint of morning sickness that seemed to last just a bit too long for his liking. All of these would have the poor mayor on edge. Normally, when he was stressed, Hancock would try to chill out with some jet, or calmex, but he really was trying to give up the junkie life to the best of his irradiated abilities. It was a vicious cycle of anxiety every once in a while, but Sole was always there to help him through it. To remind him that this wasn’t her first experience with having a baby, to tell him that he was doing a wonderful job, despite his anxieties, and to remind him that they were the Sole Survivor and the Mayor of fucking Goodneighbor, and that they could face damn near anything when they were together.

Those were only the bad days though. On the good days, oh, hon... Hancock was simply blissful. Sole really is in for a treat, as she is absolutely 100% pampered and loved on, coddled and looked after for 9 months straight, and then some (minus the couple of bad days, where she has to be the one doing the coddling, but really, how could she mind?). As soon as the pair finds out that Sole really is going to have this baby, Hancock is already offering her anything she may need in order to stay safe and comfortable for the next 9 months.

Hancock’s chill personality really shines when it comes to any mood swings Sole may have, and a lifetime of chem and alcohol use has rendered the ghoul particularly skilled at cooking foods that are comforting and easy to make/eat that come in handy after bouts of morning sickness. Who knew that all of his hangover experience would come in handy like this?

While Hancock loves nothing more than going on adventures in the Commonwealth alongside his beloved, he wouldn’t say it in so many words, but would be more reluctant than usual to leave Goodneighbor or Sole’s house. When, before, he would have leapt up at the prospect of hunting down some goons and making the world a better place through some good ole fashioned violence, Hancock couldn’t think of anything worse than having Sole get injured, or potentially losing the one he loves more than anything in the world, and the possibility of a future family with her if some shit went wrong. So, while he absolutely knows she is capable and an complete beast in combat, and he recognizes that Sole can’t stay cooped up indoors for the whole 9 months, (and let’s face it, he certainly doesn’t want to either, but he’s not about to leave his love behind so he can get outta the house once in a while) he definitely steers the pair away from the areas he knows to be more sketchy than others.

Hancock just loves showing Sole off. He did this before the pregnancy as well, but man, now if anyone comes up to the pair when she starts showing, you know Hancock is already beaming as he tells the inquiring stranger just how far along she is, whether it’s a boy or a girl (if they know), or even what they think the baby’s gender is if they don’t want to know/can’t find out, how often the baby has been kicking, and he may even ask for opinions on baby names from certain kind folks who come up to chat with the parents-to-be. It’s also quite likely that he uses these passer-byes as an indirect way to further compliment Sole, saying things to them like, “Doesn’t she look gorgeous?,” “Just look at how she glows,” or “It’s just incredible how you/these ladies do this, isn’t it? Damn it if she's not the strongest person I know,” just to showcase his admiration for her. Does it sometimes result in strange looks from the strangers? Of course. Does Hancock care, or even seem to notice? Not remotely. He's too busy gawking at the love of his life and her blushing, embarrassed glory.

The mayor tends not to be rude about it unless the person ignores him, but if he notices someone smoking nearby, he will ask them to put out whatever it is, or to simply move if he and Sole were there first. In addition to that, he will make quite the lifestyle change for himself, voluntarily giving up chems to the best of his abilities so long as withdrawals don't prevent him from caring for Sole, and when he does partake, Hancock won’t do it around her, he’ll move outside or to another room. He would also offer to give up alcohol, since he knows that she won’t be able to drink with him anyway, and leave it up to her if she wants him to go cold turkey like her. Even if she doesn’t mind, he still won’t drink in excess around her during her pregnancy. It's kind of a respect thing for him, and there ain't no one he respects more than the future mother of his child.

(little bit of NSFW content here) When it comes to sex, Hancock is even more generous than usual in the bedroom (if you can believe it's possible). His every movement acts as a tribute to his appreciation for the woman he loves more than life itself. He’d be sure to be gentle, but in all honesty, Hancock wouldn’t change anything too much (no need to fix what ain't broken, ya know?). He has always paid particular attention to Sole beneath the sheets, since he’s quite experimental, and comfortable with most kinks and things himself, so he tends to let her choose positions, location, duration, and pacing, and would definitely keep it this way during the pregnancy. You think this man used to really get into body worship before, this is just a whole nuther level. As Sole puts on weight later into her pregnancy, he takes full advantage of her swelling plushness, running his hands over her body, taking the time to squeeze and palm every bit of her growing softness, constantly complimenting every bit of her as his starving eyes eat up every inch of her beauty. Especially if Sole is self-conscious about any of the changes in her body, Hancock will be sure to constantly remind her that she’s the most captivating and gorgeous person he’s ever met. No stretch mark appears on her body without being lovingly kissed, no soreness will develop without the offer of a nice, long massage (this perhaps is just another excuse to get his hands on her), no tenderness will go unnoticed and will be accounted for when his hands are roaming her body. In general, he’s as loving and doting as ever, but he's also on high alert for any signs of pain or discomfort coming from his other half.

He’d be SO excited every time the baby kicked. For some reason, the babe seems to wait until he’s around to do it, and he’s thrilled. Sole is a little weirded out by it, but she honestly takes it as a good sign. But oh man, Hancock's hands will be all up in that shit, not wanting to miss a thing as Sole smiles at him like this isn't the fourth time this has happened in one evening (does he use this as yet another excuse to touch Sole? Hmm, who knows [the answer is yes]). Sometimes he forgets to be sympathetic when Sole can't sleep due to the fluttering in her belly, but his roughened hands smoothing rhythmically over her stomach throughout the night might just help her catch a few Zzs after all.

He’s admittedly quite nervous as she approaches labor, becoming ever more protective as her belly swells to its largest point, ensuring she avoids any kinda gun fight, crazy high heights or unneeded stress, and he would be adamant about Sole sitting out any outings, missions, or other activities in the dangers of the Commonwealth. But man, would he make an environment she didn’t want to leave. Pillows, snacks, dim lighting, good conversation, music, soft touches, compliments galore, and a man who is at her constant beck and call, willing and happy to do anything and everything she might need or want? Yeah, here’s to say, Sole didn’t really want to leave anyway.

By the end of the pregnancy, Hancock has a strange mix of apprehension and denial going on. He’s used to Sole being pregnant now, he knows how to deal with everything, how to take care of her, what makes her uncomfortable and how to fix it. But a kid? An infant? He doesn’t know how babies work, doesn’t know how to tell what they want from him. He’s excited beyond belief at the thought of being a father, but he just doesn’t know how to do it. He tries to think back to his own dad, and the way that he was brought up as a kid, (though, he's not sure that's a great frame of reference given the way he turned out) and definitely goes off of Sole’s judgement, but he can’t shake the feeling that he was never meant for this. To settle down and have a family. He isn’t his dad, he’s Hancock. He’s not a “family man,” not a picturesque pre-war looking man with a normal job and a cookie-cutter backstory; he’s a self-made ghoul, a junkie, a deadbeat whose earned his position of power by bathing in the blood of tyrants who died by his own hand, and shooting his veins up with every kinda poison the wastes have to offer. How do you explain that to a kid? That he made himself the way he is, cuz he couldn’t stand the man he’d grown up to be? What the hell kinda example is that? He wouldn't doubt for a second that his baby would be the center of his world from the moment he sees it, but if anything, that only ups the anxiety that he'll do something to mess the kid up. Hancock would be nervous as shit, but if Sole had confidence in him, well… he trusts her judgement more than he does his own, so if she thinks he’s "daddy" material, he ain’t gonna argue with that. All he can do is hope she’s right, follow her lead, take it one day at a time, and hope that him trying his absolute hardest will be enough.

[lvyu]

stress-baking

. . ♡ ･ﾟgeorgenotfound x reader

⎯ ୧ prompt: “only you would be up at this time”

⎯ ୧ warning(s): reader has an emotional meltdown (or something similar)

⎯ ୧ wc. 0.7k

notes: for yams’ 1k event :) congrats! let’s pretend this didn’t take a month hah — @/yamturds (for edits)

read the warnings, please, and happy reading!

sleeping was never really an issue for you. if anything, staying awake was the real problem, but sleep seemed to come naturally and whether you wanted it or not.

the two of you often slept together, to be fair you did live together, minus the times one or both of you had work to finish up. it wasn’t any different tonight, and because you were out of school for the holidays and he didn’t have any work, you got to sleep at a relatively well time. you hadn’t been sleeping very well lately, he’d often find you out in the living room or kitchen at random times of the night.

he hadn’t brought up the topic yet, knowing it’d be better if you came to him first, unless it worsened.

weirdly enough, meeting you out in the living room or whatever room you’d chosen to move to in the night had become almost like a ritual. it’d go the same way, of course.

george would wake up and go off to find you, if he didn’t immediately resume sleeping that is, and he’d find you sitting, preoccupied with something else. he’d ask what was wrong, perhaps even make a teasing remark like: “of course it’s you, who else? only you would be up at this time,” and without sparing so much as a glance or acknowledging the tease, you’d reply “nothing” and he’d accept the obvious lie, staying with you until he couldn’t stay awake any longer.

it wasn’t surprising for him wake up during the night, though he’d always go back to sleep in a matter or minutes, but waking up to the sounds of, what he assumed, pots and utensils crashing from another room was.

without thinking, he jumped out of bed once feeling the empty space beside him. in the few seconds it took for him to reach the kitchen, endless possibilities of what could have happened flooded his mind, none good.

he panted, stopping at the doorway and yelling for you. “hey– hey, you...” he cut himself off, seeing you on the floor frantically trying to pick up fallen bowls, barely acknowledging his presence.

nothing had broken, but there was a mess left behind.

“sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” you sounded breathless. “was just trying to make some stuff, but it... it um, fell.” you gestured towards the floor for a moment, then rushing away to retrieve towels.

oh, he noticed the set up you had— bowls, whisks and spoons, and a lot of ingredients on the counter, not to mention the spilt batter he now recognized. he remembered his words from a few weeks ago and sighed, rubbing his eyes. it was worse.

you returned and went to clean up the batter almost immediately, mumbling to yourself.

“okay,” george knelt down in front of you, placing his hands over your own in an attempt to stop you. “stop, please? can you calm down a bit f’me?”

and for a moment, just a moment, you paused and hesitated to continue the incessant scrubbing, apologizing more times than anyone could count, though for what you weren’t even fully aware.

despite his effort, you seemed to worsen— cries clearer now as the earlier determination to clean the mess seemingly disappeared, only managing to get the mess on your clothes and hands rather than the dishcloth. he removed his hands, unconsciously backing up and sitting quickly, almost like he‘d fallen, slight panic setting in as he realized he didn’t know what to do— how to help you.

“hey– shit, uh– sweetheart, you can hear me, yeah?” you nodded, saying yes, albeit it sounded more like gibberish. “okay...” he gently took the dishcloth away from you and slid it to the side. “am i okay to touch?” another nod.

you were stiff, but he managed to pull you across to him, narrowly missing getting the mess on you. george scooted back slightly and kept you at his side allowing you to take the opportunity to rest and lower your head against his chest, as if trying to hide. out of shame, embarrassment or fear, he didn’t think about it too much, instead stroking your hair with one hand and the other rubbing your arm in an attempt to soothe you.

a few minutes and your breathing returned to normal, though you were still tense, unwilling to move from the position, clinging onto him if you so much as felt him breathe too heavily.

but he understood, and he tried to calm himself for both of your sakes, kissing the top of your head to let you know he was there– you were okay, you were safe.

[chemicalpink]

If it’s alright with you could you do an astrology post about how bts would flirt with a person they were attracted to?

So.. god I really hate disclaimers because I like to believe that we are all reasoning people, plus there’s a general disclaimer on my page BUT I know for a fact that people don’t read that (those same people won’t read this one anyway).

Disclaimer: This analysis/reading is based on my experience and knowledge of astrology, it is not meant to be the absolute truth, as BTS are real people, and astrology can only capture so much about multidimensional humans that have had past experiences and cultural approaches amongst other things, it does not have to resonate with you since this is in no way related to anyone reading it (unless you are a member of BTS in which case, get out of here lol ) This is just for entertainment purposes.

OKAY NOW THAT THAT’S OVER by default, Venus and Mars could give us an insight into their love styles, but I’ve already got reading about those here, here, and here 

We are going to use those BUT I’ll focus on their EROS (if you want me to do actual research and post a full love life analysis for each member, let me know in my ask)

SO BASICALLY THIS IS BTS’  FLIRTING STYLE ACCORDING TO THEIR VENUS, MARS, AND EROS. 

Kim Seokjin ʕっ˘ڡ˘ςʔ

I feel like a dad joke to tune into the other person’s humor is his way to go.

His Eros in Scorpio points to someone blunt in his approach, so something along the lines of overly flirting pick-up lines.

His Cancer Mars points to his overall romantic self so if Kim Seokjin is flirting with you prepare to live a drama scene where you feel like the only person in the world.

His Capricorn Venus reinforces the fact that this man is straightforward when flirting, and is very VERY selective as to who they approach.

So all in all, these three placements tell me that Kim Seokjin is a man that loves the fact that people are so multidimensional and he is here for it! he wants to know everything about the person he decided to approach because this man’s standards are over the top and he knows it. 

There's a lot of talking involved while getting to know each other, although he drops facts about himself here and there along with some funny storytimes, he will make it all about you.

A gentleman at his finest, drop you by your house, make sure you’re not cold, that you’re enjoying your food, that you’re comfortable.

This man’s way into your heart is ultimately his actions + his humor.

Min Yoongi  /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\

He’s... silent. Kinda shy, okay very shy, unless you gave off a great vibe, you’re not getting past awkward introductions and anxious small talk.

If you make it past introductions(because let’s be real, this man’s standards? impossible to fulfill), you’re in for a ride.

His Eros in Capricorn makes him crave to connect in a physical sense, even if it’s just hand-holding during dates, funny enough, this placement is the hardest one to make him open up so.. he’s not talking much about himself.

EVEN FUNNIER his Aries Venus points to someone bold and confident, which I can totally see him doing, the first move if he sees someone that plays into his idea of perfection.

Idk why it just strikes me as he knows what he wants from people, he’s not afraid of a challenge and chase, and his boldness as well as need for physical touch, makes him a great candidate for a fun short term, especially since his Eros signals that he pretty much values work more than love life.

Yoongi is... very much handled by his ego self, so he might be aloof at times, it has to do with his terrible high standards, a somewhat fear of intimacy and love for his work that keeps him from any type of social life (because he values work too much), but this man is also very romantic, and a great listener, as it is told by his Cancer Mars.

It’s all a matter of getting through his hard skin to get to the mushy Yoongi he doesn’t let many people experience.

Jung Hoseok ʕ♡˙ᴥ˙♡ʔ

This man loves a challenge, the thrill of the chase, not very healthy if you ask me but hey, you do you.

Playing hard to get will most certainly interest him. As well as letting him help you so he can “save the day”. This is all according to his Aries Eros. 

True to his Eros, his Aquarius Mars makes him be the biggest fan of flirting, and he obviously succeeds, thanks to his huge charisma and wittiness. 

LISTEN- THIS MAN as oblivious to affection as he is, can flirt with a whole group of people at once.

Free-spirited and quick-witted people are his cup of tea since it makes it easier for him to keep the flirting flow going.

I know I’ve said it many times before in this post, ISN’T IT FUNNY his Pisces Venus points to him being shy and awkward but cute, which I think pretty much describes Hobi, minus the shy.

So all in all, Hoseok flirting magnet, he is all smiles and will fill your heart with cute stuff and funny things, also, KING of not giving off mixed signals, he doesn’t even have to say a word, he flirts with his whole body.

KIM NAMJOON “φʕ•ᴥ•oʔ

THIS MAN BEING AN EROS IN LIBRA MAKES SO MUCH SENSE. He has a more traditional sophisticated way of flirting, kinda like courting.

It also makes him very giving, up until the relationship is off-balanced, then things end, so yeah, he likes to give, but he also likes to receive just as much. 

Also, very much into intelligent refined people. 

Just like Yoongi and Jin, he has a Cancer Mars, which only heightens his leaning towards traditional love and courting.

He will be devoted even when flirting, wanting to know everything about the other person, even on the first date, just- very very soft Joonie.

Lowkey, as poised as he is, his Scorpio Venus will give everyone a run for their money on terms of flirting. This man knows whats he's doing and how much he affects the person he is flirting with.

He’s just- so used to flirting and connecting with people that he doesn’t have an outcome in mind, just finds flirting fun and exciting.

Basically, Namjoon is a man that knows what he wants and how to get it, but flirting stages are just so common to him, he does it out of boredness, not that he doesn’t want to connect with people, quite the contrary, he finds people so amazing, it’s just- flirting doesn’t have an endgame for him.

Might I dare to go as far as to say, Kim Namjoon might end up in a relationship by accident just because he didn’t know when to end his constant flirting. 

PARK JIMIN  •᷄ɞ•᷅ 

His Eros in Pisces makes him one of the more emotionally passionate of the bunch, to an unhealthy state, in which he may manipulate himself in order to satisfy the other person. 

There’s a lot of thought going into dates, small gifts “because they reminded me of you” and a lot of cute stuff. Very Very passionate.

He has a Scorpio Mars, so as much as he is passion-driven and very much into cute stuff, and believing that he should 100% merge with the other person, he knows what he’s doing when he flirts.

Different from Namjoon, Jimin doesn’t just flirt for funsies, he entertains the idea of love when flirting, future plans, meeting the parents, he can just see it all.

AND he also has a Scorpio Venus so he is definitely aware of all his flirting and how he affects the other person, especially since there’s a lot of sex appeal going into it.

Not so much a mystery himself, but he tries to be the perfect fit for all. Which might ultimately hide behind this perfect partner facade. 

This man doesn’t just end up in a relationship by accident, this man falls in love on accident.

KIM TAEHYUNG ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

We’ve got another one in love with the thrill of the chase.

Tae also has Eros in Aries, so there’s a lot of playfulness involved in flirting, from banter to playfully shoving the other person aside.

Might also be into dates where he can compete with you, like arcade, or something that he disguises as competition but he knows beforehand he’ll win.

Someone tell him it’s not healthy to crave impossible relationships, anyway, he’d love to be the shinning armor in his love story.

He has Capricorn Mars, which makes him have an honest, practical, and straightforward style of flirting.

The vibe check is real, so unless you pass it with flying colors, do not expect to be flirted with.

Although, his whole aura screams social and flirty due to his Aquarius Venus, which involves a lot of charisma and a great sense of humor. 

Just like Hobi, Tae can flirt with a bunch of people at once without even trying.

JEON JUNGKOOK  ₍ᐢ ̥ ̞ ̥ᐢ₎ ♥

Flirting for Jungkook is more of a mental game than an emotional one, according to his Eros in Gemini. 

Now listen, the nerdier, the better. But you would have to approach him first, as much as he enjoys the idea of talking to people, he doesn’t really do it that well.

Just like Jimin, he has Scorpio Mars, so in line with flirting being a mental game, he knows his game plan, his moves, he knows how people will react to them, he knows what he wants, and more importantly, how to get it.

He very obviously knows about his sex appeal and uses it as an advantage, even though at first he’s kinda awkward about it.

Much like Namjoon, he enjoys flirting so much that he doesn’t even need to have an endgame in mind. He likes to hear people talking about their passions and loves it even more if he learns a thing or to about it in the way, but his awkwardness comes through when he doesn’t really measure that most of the time when you flirt its because you’re interested in pursuing a romantic relationship.

His Libra Venus also plays the part, since it signals him being flirty and witty without even trying, just a man, his beauty, his charm, and his charisma. 

He’ll do anything possible to make you feel like you matter, even going as far as daring to hold your hand just because (which is a great pointer t know if he is really interested or just flirting bc he can)

Ultimately, his flirtation serves as a means to cheer themselves and other people up.

[breanime]

Intentions

Okay, here’s my shot at a Tommy Shelby fic... Let me know what you think, please!

Prompt:  “You think I would do this for just anybody?”

You weren’t entirely sure what possessed Tommy Shelby—the Tommy Shelby—to assist you, but you decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and just appreciate it. Ever since he’d overheard you telling Ada about the men who harassed you on the streets, Tommy had taken it upon himself to make sure you always had an escort home.

And for the last five days, that escort had been him.

“Really, Mr. Shelby—” you began, holding your purse in front of you as Tommy locked up the office.

“—Tommy,” he corrected you, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Tommy,” you repeated, “you don’t have to keep doing this, really. I can just walk.”

“You live 45 minutes from the office,” he said back, “and that’s not counting having to stop for fucking protests or some pieces of shite trying to pick you up. Then it’s around 56 minutes if it’s raining or snowing,” he went on, “More if it’s doing both at once,” he led you to his car, opening the door for you, “You work hard; you ought to have your boss make sure you get home safe.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep your growing smile in check. Tommy had no way of knowing that—the time it took for you to get home—unless he walked the walk himself. “Well,” you said, climbing into the car, “I really do appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well just appreciate it quietly, eh? Don’t need the other girls thinkin’ they can get a free ride out of me,” he glanced at you, giving you a small smile that made your heart flip in your chest. You watched as he started the car, and he turned to you, “Why do you stay in that neighborhood, anyway?” He asked you. “It’s so far from town, the buildings are old, the landlords are pricks…”

“It’s the only neighborhood that houses Blacks,” you answered, “Or at least it’s the only one that houses us at an affordable price.”

“Hm,” he nodded, looking ahead as he drove, the smoke from his cigarette billowing from his lips, “Am I paying you that poorly?”

You laughed, and you didn’t miss the way his lips twitched upwards as you did. “You pay me well above the usual rate. I’m just saving it up, is all. I can’t have you driving me around forever, Mr. Shelby—”

“—Tommy,” he corrected you.

You rolled your eyes, making him chuckle, “Tommy,” you amended yourself.

“I don’t mind it, you know,” he said, turning the wheel, “driving you. These last few days, it’s been… nice,” he paused, “I don’t get a lot of time for good company or conversation on me own.”

“Oh, so I’m good company, am I?” You said with a grin.

Tommy turned to you, those diamond blue eyes staring right into your soul, “You’re a smart girl,” he replied, “Loyal, Trustworthy. Hard working. And you’re bloody gorgeous so. Yes. You make for good company.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and your eyes darted down to your lap. You’d heard that Tommy Shelby was a charmer, and that he’d had pretty much every woman who’s worked for him—minus his aunt and his sister-in-law, of course—but you’d never seen him so… forward.

You liked it.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?” He asked casually, as if he was asking about the weather.

“No,” you answered, looking over at him, “You make for good company too.”

He gave a wry smile then. “Fishin’ for a raise, eh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Either I’m loyal and trustworthy, or I’m bootlicker. Which is it, Tommy?”

He laughed, and the sound made you warm all over. Tommy didn’t laugh nearly as often as he should. “Fair enough,” he nodded, “You’re not a bootlicker, that’s for sure,” he glanced over at you again, “I haven’t figured out what it is you are yet…”

“I’m a girl who isn’t gonna let you fuck her just cause you’ve given me a few rides,” you said back, speaking before you could stop yourself.

He raised his eyebrows, nodding. “Is that what you think is going on here?” He asked. “My driving you home from work? You think I’m doing this for sex?”

You licked your lips, nervous now. “Well, I mean no offense, Mr.—Tommy—but I’ve worked for you for three months now, and I think I know you well enough to know that you never do anything for nothing.”

Tommy smirked. “That’s true,” he stopped the car, letting a mother and her kids pass in front, and looked at you, his eyes staring into yours brazenly, “So, let’s have it. Give me your theories,” he started the car again, glancing back at you as he spoke, “Why, then, do you think that I do this?”

You paused. Maybe you were being presumptuous. Maybe he didn’t want to sleep with you. Just because he called you gorgeous, didn’t mean he wanted to fuck you, after all. Maybe he didn’t mean what he said—although Tommy always meant what he said. Maybe, though, he really was just concerned about your wellbeing. A woman walking home alone at night could be vulnerable to all kinds of dangers, and given the amount of enemies the Shelbys had… You looked over at Tommy. “You do this for everyone,” you surmised.

Tommy turned to you, an eyebrow raised. “You think I would do this for just anybody?”

Again, you paused. “Yes?”

“Well, I don’t,” he said back, “I’ve never driven any of the girls home—except for Lizzie, but that’s only because I fucked her,” he went on, blunt as ever, “This takes up a portion of my time, and I’m not a man who has a lot of time to waste,” he looked over at you, “I like being around you,” he confessed, “I like the way you talk. I like the way you think, and when I think of you alone at night… I can’t sleep. I can never sleep, but still…” He took his cigarette and tossed it, giving a humorless chuckle. “You make me ramble,” he went on, shrugging one shoulder, “I don’t ramble, least not since France...” He paused for a moment. “When I’m busy, and one of the lads takes you home instead, it ruins me night. It irritates me that I missed out on that time with you, and that another man got it instead,” he glanced at you again, “Is that alright to say?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I prefer it when you drive me,” you admitted, “Not that the others aren’t nice and all—they are—but… I do like this time with you, being alone with you…”

Tommy looked at you, his sky-blue eyes staring into yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Wordlessly, he pulled the car over, turning to face you fully. “Tomorrow is Friday,” he said, and you blinked, confused as to why he was telling you something you already knew, “Pay day. I’d like to take you out to dinner. Maybe see a picture after. Would that be alright?”

You felt your lips spread out in a smile, and Tommy smiled back, chuckling a bit at the excitement in your eyes. “Yes,” you answered, “yes, that’d be alright.”

“But I want to be honest with you,” he went on, “I respect you as an employee, and you’ve been a good friend to me these past months, and regardless of what happens tomorrow night, I will still make sure you have a safe way home after work,” he leaned forward a bit, his voice low and deep, “but I want it known that I very much do want to fuck you.”

His words sent a flush of heat through you, and you had to remind yourself that you were a lady, not a whore…no matter how much Tommy Shelby’s glimmering eyes and sharp jawline made you want to be… Biting your lip, you smiled at him, “I’m not going to open my legs for you on the first date, Tommy.”

He laughed, taking out another cigarette and lighting it, the flame reflecting in his ocean-colored eyes. “Mm, we’ll see,” he murmured, “So it’s a date then?”

“It’s a date.”

The rest of the drive passed quickly—too quickly for your taste. The two of you discussed work and your families and what movie you’d like to see, and before you knew it, he was parked outside of your building.

He opened the door for you and walked you to the front door like a gentleman. And you thanked him—

—with a kiss.

If the kiss took him by surprise, Tommy didn’t show it. As soon as your lips touched his, his arm was wrapped around you, keeping you close. The kiss was soft, but firm, and Tommy’s slender body felt magnificent against yours. You wondered, at the back of your mind, what your neighbors would think, seeing you necking with Tommy fucking Shelby of the Peaky fucking Blinders, but you couldn’t be bothered to care about what the gossips may say.

You were too busy trying to keep yourself from floating off in a haze of bliss.

You pulled back first, and Tommy let you. You couldn’t keep the smile off of your face. “I’m not letting you up, Tommy.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Like hell you didn’t,” you smirked, making him laugh.

“I’m a patient man,” he said back, taking a step back, “I can wait until tomorrow.”

You laughed at that, but the truth was, you were quite certain that tomorrow night, when Tommy pulled up in front of your apartment, he wouldn’t be driving off until the sun rose.

In fact, you were counting on it.

You watched him drive off from your window, a sigh escaping from deep in your chest, the taste of him—mint and smoke and a hint of whiskey—fresh on your lips. Tommy fucking Shelby…

…what had you gotten yourself into?

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Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! You guys know how I get when I write a new character; I always think it’s shit. So if it is, tell me! And if it’s not, tell me why, please! Should I write for him again, or nah? Cause I kind of have an idea for a Part 2, but IDK if anyone would be interested. 

 And if you really enjoyed it and you can send in a tip here, I would greatly appreciate it!

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