#sex-repulsion (being disgusted by the idea of having sex yourself)

[theinsomniacindian]

Sometimes I wish that people would learn the difference between sex-repulsion and sex-negativity

[vixstarria]

Intimacy

Hello friends, have some soft Act 2 Astarion.  

Astarion’s struggle with sex and intimacy. Connected with my other fics but is a standalone, per usual. 

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, soft Astarion 

Hurt/comfort, some fluff if you squint, love, angst, mutual pining, Act 2 spoilers, some fairly softcore smut 

Approximately 1,600 words. 

AO3

“I have no idea what we’re doing,” he told you. You’d replayed that conversation over and over countless times in your mind, since.  

You had no idea what you were doing either. Oh, navigating an ordinary relationship was simple enough, and you’d had your fair share of those – even if they’d all ended in disappointment at best, so far. Being with someone who’d just escaped 200 years of abuse, however... That was something new.  

“I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex.” 

Well that was a fuck-up. He was walking sex. ...Most likely due to sheer force of habit, so necessary for survival over all those years, but still.  

“I love you.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...  

You were in over your head too. Completely. Hopelessly. In love with this catastrophe of a man.  

What were you to do with him now?  

Wait for him to take the lead in every physical interaction? It wasn’t in your nature to be so passive. He knew this. And you were sure he would love to be treated like spurned glass all of a sudden.  

Continue as you were? Even though now all you could think about was whether a touch might bring up a repulsive memory? Assume that you could singlehandedly overwrite centuries of disgust and loathing, overnight? How presumptuous and overbearing that would have been. 

Communicate? Ask? Listen? Sure. Absolutely. You did. Or tried, anyway. You were about as good at talking about these things as he was. And you didn’t really trust him to be completely honest at this point. Whether with you or his own self.  

And so you explored. Slowly, cautiously and attentively.

 

The most innocent touches seemed to bring him an inordinate amount of joy. You weren’t surprised.  

Passing him a vial of poison for his weapons and letting your fingers brush and caress one another’s, briefly. Wordlessly running a stray hand along his waist and planting a quick kiss under his ear while you walked past him as he stood talking with someone. Lingering with your foreheads or noses touching lightly after a kiss.

 

He leaped at any opportunity to massage your sore muscles or help you apply a salve, and you let him. It seemed he wanted to take care of you, and was working out all the ways how.  

He still pleasured you in different ways, at times.  

“You don’t have to...” 

“I want to,” he said. 

He just chose to keep his own pants on, now. You weren’t sure about his motivations. Could it be guilt? Or a misguided sense of self-worth? Did he still think this is all he was good for? Or, maybe you were completely overthinking it, and he was still just desperately horny, even if taking a step back. He was more present than before though, you could tell that much. 

You considered his reactions to other forms of touch, careful not to make your observation obvious. 

He hated being scratched. The entire area of his back covered in scars was off-limits for anything but embraces. He enjoyed playful bites, both giving and receiving. And more than anything, he loved holding you close, feeling as much of your body at once as possible, basking in its warmth.  

In turn, you were more than happy to wrap yourself around him when you could. 

“Why do you even like this?” he asked, apprehensive about it at first. “You don’t need to pretend for my sake. I can’t give you any warmth.” 

“I can give you mine,” you said, simply. “Besides, you obviously don’t remember what it’s like to lie in a puddle of sweat with someone who runs hot. This is a nice change.” you added after a moment of contemplation.  

You meant what you said, but you were dying to drag him into a hot bath, just to know what it would feel like for him to be warmed through. Maybe you’d get the chance once you got to Baldur’s Gate.

 

There happened to be a private room available at Last Light Inn that night. The group unanimously agreed that you and Astarion would take it, while the rest of your companions bunked in the common. 

“For Shar’s sake, piss off, none of us want to see or hear you two,” were the exact words of their blessing, delivered by Shadowheart. Karlach sanctified it by throwing a (deftly dodged) half-eaten apple at Astarion’s head.  

“Especially not hear!”

 

“I know this may come as a shock, but I’m actually not too fond of beds,” he said. 

“New memories, Astarion,” you shook your head. “Beds are non-negotiable. I wasn’t too fond of rutting in the dirt either.” 

“I’ll never grow tired of how poetic you are,” he smiled, unceremoniously throwing his gear on the floor. “New memories, you say?” 

A while later, you were straddling Astarion’s hips as he sat shirtless on the edge of the bed. 

“You know, you never did tell me what you like,” you sighed, your fingers in his hair as he kissed your neck.   

“Oh, what does anyone like? It’s all the same in the end,” he said, running his hands along your thighs. 

“That’s not true,” you murmured in his ear. “I can show you some things that are pretty unique to you right now,” you said and ran the tip of your tongue along the lower inner edge of his ear, making him shudder and let out a small moan.  

“You little devil, when did you figure that out?” he breathed.  

“When I happened to brush your ear a while back, like this,” you giggled, repeating the hand movement on his other ear, making him catch his breath slightly again, “and you just about started purring.” 

He just chuckled in response. 

“So what other secrets are you hiding?” you purred, kissing around his ear. “I might just need to kiss and caress every inch of your body to find out.” 

"Sounds like a terrible chore,” he said, falling back onto the bed and pulling you with him. “You don’t want to do that.” 

“Shut up and let me cherish you.” 

You kissed down along one side his neck, slowly, taking your time, pausing to lightly lick or nibble on any spot that made him hitch his breath. He was putty in your hands by the time you reached his collarbone. 

“Just don’t go any lower,” he said breathlessly. 

You hummed your agreement. You couldn’t handle going any lower yourself – you were completely intoxicated with the scent of his skin and the sound of his sighs of pleasure, if you went any lower, you would keep going, and you didn’t think it was a day for that yet.  

You continued up the other side of his neck instead.  

You hesitated for a moment before your lips reached the bite marks left by Cazador, but Astarion made no indication that he didn’t want you to keep going, and so you continued. He let out a soft whimper as your lips brushed the scars. 

“No?” you pulled back slightly, your hot breath still on his skin. He was lying with his eyes shut, head thrown back, neck completely exposed to you. 

“Yes...” he whispered, hoarsely. “Very yes... Softly...” 

You continued, lingering with your lips on the scars, as his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, snapping them against his own and grinding you against an unmistakable erection. 

“I want you to make those marks your own... Yours and no one else’s...” he rasped. 

This is probably a mistake, you thought, but you could barely help yourself as you moaned into his neck and ran your tongue over the scars, making him growl and grind you into himself harder. The friction, the knowledge that he wanted it too was driving you mad.  

“I’m going to come if you don’t stop that,” you begged. 

“Go ahead,” he groaned. 

“Not without you.” 

Something in the energy changed then, and you lifted yourself off him, sitting up. Astarion stayed on his back a moment longer, before exhaling and also raising himself into a sitting position. You were still on his lap, facing him.  

“Listen,” he took your face in both hands, looking into your eyes intensely. “I want you so fucking bad, it hurts. I want to tear your clothes off and ravage you until you’re speaking in tongues. I do.” His voice was hoarse. He paused, before continuing. “But even more than that, I want to remember this, remember you, and not have any of the dirt from my past mixed into it. It’s difficult enough to keep it at bay as it is.” His eyes teared up at that. “And right now, for now, this is the only way I know how to do that.”  

“I’m sorry.” Tears sprang from your eyes. 

“No, you sweet idiot, you haven’t done anything wrong. I love you.” He gathered you in his arms, kissing away your tears as his own started to roll down. He sighed. “Great, now no one is coming, and everyone is crying.” 

You both burst out laughing as soon as those words were out of his mouth.  

You held each other a while longer, him stroking your back, before you broke the silence. 

“So the bite scars are pretty erogenous then?” 

“Extremely. Use that knowledge at your own risk and peril, darling.” 

He lifted your chin for a kiss. 

“Shall we go piss everyone off for a while, maybe steal Lae’zel’s boots, then come back here for more ‘memories’?” he asked.  

“Sounds childish and dangerous. I’m in.” 

You needed to clear your head too.  

Maybe tomorrow would be the day one of you would get closer to knowing what it was you were doing, and tell the other. Until then, at least you were in it together. 

~~~~~ 

The “I love you” is not canon for Act 2, but it is my headcanon, damnit.  

Like what you just read? Huzzah, there’s more! - Series master list

Next in series - Communication

AO3

[mrskreideprinz]

| Verbatim | 

Pairing: Dottore x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Smut, Reader has a penis, Dottore goes by He/Him pronouns, Reader goes by No Pronouns, Dubcon, Anal Sex, Enemies -> to Lovers, This all takes place in his lab, Reader is one of his assistants, Handjob, Reader says ‘Stop’ at one point, 1.9k words.

A/n: This is probably the most personal thing I’ve written. I want to preface this by saying I wrote this to experience some sort of gender euphoria/ease some dysphoria I am having. So, please keep in mind that while the reader goes by no pronouns, and isn’t explicitly said to be trans, that reader is very much written through the lens of a trans person. With that being said I do not mind whoever reads this, all I ask that you please be respectful about it. Thank you <3

Summary: As Dottore’s assistant you’ve had your eyes on him for quite some time. You’ve done well to keep it a secret for a long time, but suddenly you find yourself acting recklessly due to your impatience. 

Tagging: @auphelia @themovingcastlez

“Dottore?” You asked, hand clenching the beaker and trying your damnedest to not break it by accident.

“Hmm?” He hummed, not even bothering to look up at you.

You sighed, growing increasingly more hot with each passing second. “Stop what you’re doing right now.” You demand.

He stopped looking into the microscope in front of him, but not because you told him to, rather because he was so appalled you’d act as you did.. 

He scowled at you. “Excuse me?” 

You shrink for a moment before gathering the courage to respond. “Dottore, I want.. I want-,” you struggle to get the words out as brave as you try to be. 

“Spit it out.” He started to get impatient.

“I want you!” You blurted out the words without realizing, shame flooded your body as soon as you had realized what you’d just done. 

He stared back in disbelief, his face growing red with embarrassment. Not only was he embarrassed but he was angry.

“I want to fuck you.” You said with lust filled eyes. 

He was taken back, he didn’t know what to say. He placed a hand on the counter behind him and leaned back, almost as if he was trying to back away from you. 

“That’s not going to happen. We both have work to do.” He explained, but you weren’t letting up. 

You walked a few steps towards Dottore and leaned in close to his face, your lips merely an inch from his as you started to rub his groin. “Please? I need you, Dottie..”

He swallowed hard as he felt himself get hard as you slipped your hand down his pants and had begun to touch his cock. You made sure to touch all his most sensitive parts, stroking him nice and slow before rubbing your thumb against the tip. He gasped at the sudden sensation, his body felt as if magma was running through his bloodstream. Dottore hated how you knew just where to touch him. Fuck, how he despised you with ever fiber of his being. He loathed you, was repulsed by you, and even with all that being said he couldn’t help but buck his hips into your hand. 

“Come on, I know you want it, you’re already so hard for me. Just give in already.” You purred against his lips. 

“Fuck you.” He spat, nearly moaning on his own words. 

That only spurred you on further, though. You started to grind your cock against his leg as you continued rubbing him gently. You started to go faster as you continued to thrust your hips against him, letting out soft whines as Dottore looked down at you in disgust. He hated how he couldn’t move, wouldn’t even fight back. Although even he couldn’t deny the heat growing in his stomach, every touch sent him further and further over the edge. Had it been anyone else and any other situation he would’ve done something, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of the pleasure ceasing to exist even for a second. 

He moved his hand to push you away, only a little, but you were quick to grab him by the wrist and force it back. 

“N-No, let me.. Let me fuck you.” You moaned. 

Dottore pulled away for just a moment before he was swiftly flipped around and pushed down against the counter.

“Careful, my patience is running very thin.” He warned.

You wasted no time in pulling down his pants enough to push yourself inside his hole, steadying yourself with a hand on his lower back. 

“Ohh, fuck that feels so good.” You moaned. 

The sudden intrusion caused Dottore to grip onto the counter, hissing as you slowly started to thrust in and out of him. You were already getting ahead of yourself and fucking him at an even faster speed than before, getting rougher with each thrust you made. You take one of your hands and wrap it around his waist and push yourself against his back as you fuck him. Your hips roll against his ass as the both of you are groaning in pleasure. Dottore has half a mind to put you in your place, but even he couldn’t deny himself like that. He enjoyed it, the feel of your cock dragging along his walls. 

You bit your lip and carved your nails into his plush skin, throwing your head back with a loud moan as you felt that heat begin to fill up in your gut. Quickly you increased the pace in which you fucked him, now having both hands on his hips as you drilled into him. Not caring about his pleasure you lost yourself in your own high as the thread finally snaps. You let out a strangled moan as you feel yourself release inside of him. You kept him pressed tightly against you so he had no place to escape. Dottore squirmed in your grip, wanting to be let go even if it was a nice feeling. Loosening your grip you move one of your hands to hover over his lower back, pressing it down slightly as you start to fuck in and out of him at a painfully slow pace. 

You watch your cock become covered in your own cum, breathing heavy as you see the white substance leak out of his abused hole. Already you could feel your desire return, you wanted more, whatever he was willing to give up you needed it. You pulled out momentarily to take some time to catch your breath, but before you had the chance to push yourself back in you were grabbed by Dottore and flipped around, switching positions with him suddenly. 

“W-What are you?” You had begun to ask, but he was quick to shut you up. 

“Quiet.” He replied sternly.

You wanted to question him, ask him what the fuck was going on in his head, but he went straight into it. With your back against the counter your cock stood upright, touching Dottore’s hard on just enough to make you go crazy. His tip was red and leaking with pre-cum, a sign that he must’ve wanted this just as bad if not more than you. Taking his large hand Dottore began to wrap it around both of your cocks, squeezing them gently as he jerked both of you off. You gasped at the sudden feeling. The sensation was heavenly, like nothing you’d experienced before. Already you could feel your confidence fade as your hand covered your mouth to suppress your pathetic whimpers.

Dottore ripped your hand away from your mouth. 

“No, I want to hear you.”

You opened your mouth as if to gasp but no sound came out. Instead you started to silently cry, feeling warm tears stream down your cheeks as Dottore started to stroke both of your cocks faster and faster. He kept this up till you were arching your back and crying out his name. He smirked as he drank in the sight of your body writhing in pleasure. It sure was cute seeing how the once confident image of you had been shattered and turned into the image of you he’d grown accustomed to. Soaking in the sight of your hips rolling and back arching as you cried for him to stop, but both him and you knew better than that. You didn’t want it to stop, not for a single second. If anything that just gave him the go ahead to keep going. 

“S-Stop, it’s- it’s too much!” You cry out, tears falling on your hot cheeks. 

He chuckled to himself as he began to grind against your cock, rubbing in the pre-cum leaking from both of your tips. Your bottom lip trembled just moments before he kissed you, slipping his tongue past your lips as he stroked both of you off. His hands were soft, just the thing to send you over the edge at long last. When you finally released yourself all over not just yourself but him as well, you found yourself moaning into his mouth and clawing at his back. Pure electricity enveloped your body as both of you desperately bucked your hips to milk each other of every drop of cum. 

“D-Dottore.. Fuck, that feels amazing.” You cried out, clinging to him in pure desperation.

“Shh, I’m here.” He spoke those words reassuringly even as they’re thick with condescension. 

You don’t care, only worried about how amazing it felt for his cock to rub against yours until you both eventually grew soft. You lean back against the counter, barely able to hold yourself up as Dottore went to get a fresh cloth to clean you both up. Your pants are down to your knees and you make eye contact with Dottore as he wipes the cum off of you. He’s gentle but still you hiss in pain, the overstimulation caused more harm than you expected. Thankfully, it’s done before you can even think twice about the pain. Dottore looked you up and down and then grinned slightly just before he pulled up his own pants, then helped you with yours. Something about looking at him as he did that had done something to you that you couldn’t quite put into words. It was truly mesmerizing.

“So..” You start, feeling the awkwardness in the air.

He jerks his head towards yours and glares at you.

“No.” He snaps at you, running his hands through his hair before adjusting the rest of his clothes to look more presentable. “Don’t even think about telling anyone about this, either.”

You rub the back of your head nervously and try to look the other way, but instead you only made awkward eye contact with a segment who had just entered the lab. 

“Geez, way to be harsh, Doc.” You joke, trying to make light of an extremely uncomfortable situation. 

He didn’t say anything or seem to acknowledge what you said but you could tell by his stiff demeanor and his hand that trembled that he was anything but unaffected by what had just happened. You started to walk your way over to the counter where you joined Dottore with what you were previously doing before everything escalated. The silence was deafening and even with the obvious way in which it affected Dottore, you couldn’t help but wonder whether he cared at all. You thought to yourself about whether or not he felt the same way during everything. Did his heart pound incessantly, an irritating pounding in your chest? Or was it an empty casket waiting for a body that’d never come? Whatever he felt he made damn sure he kept it to himself, and something about that truly disturbed you. Maybe, you pondered, perhaps things could be different in time. Perhaps all you had to be was patient and above all, persistent. 

[lovelessrage]

A lot of people are completely disinterested in creating a safe space for all aros and aces because that would require letting go of being allowed to publicly shame things like sex and romance. There is a stark difference between repulsion/aversion and negativity, and that line stands where you treat those things as disgusting or as a personal fault/flaw. While I'm romance repulsed, I'm never going to go on my blog and call romance disgusting or gross, because it isn't; it's a feeling, neutral in morality, and a way to live your life if you so choose.

I don't think a lot of people get this or what the difference is. Anybody can be negative and anyone can have harmful ideas, favourable or repulsed. It's about how you treat it, how you express about it, and if you seek to demonise or make those things out to be disgusting, perverse, or deviant.

Even small things or "jokes" add up over time; put yourself in the shoes of someone who has to see those "jokes" made about their lifestyle and what's important to them every day, or even every hour. Would you still feel like they're lighthearted after even one day of reading over and over again?

[Not to say anyone who's done this in the past is a horrible, terrible person. You can change and grow as you take in info; that's just the life experience. But, to grow, you need to actively want to, and that means addressing biases and asking yourself "should I say this? Could this affect my peers?"]

[setsugekka]

『atarashī 』 ; 08

❝ walking on glass ❞ | mlist  ｡

student!hongjoong x fem!reader, husband!yeosang x fem!reader — drama, dark romance, mystery, heavy sexual content [7,2k wc] ch cws: smut, unhinged jealous behavior, tough conversations, retribution finally 💀

Yeosang comes home eventually. You try to be happy about that fact.

The truth of the matter, however, is that your husband being around produces difficulty in your life now. Time not spent at the office now often spent nervous, anxious at home. Inside of you, always a peculiar but understood twisting of discomfort in your gut. This is your own doing, you brought this upon yourself and you know that, but it doesn't change the fact.

You'll live with this forever, in all likelihood. Each and everyday an uncomfortable wondering if today is the one when Yeosang finds out about all of the nasty things you've been doing without him, behind his back. A quiet torture enacted not only onto you, but to him as well.

And your husband starts out so pleased about being with you once more too. It starts this way, though slowly devolves into something else which each passing day. Suppose there's something there, something behind the idea of his knowing you in a way that other men, other people simply don't—can't—because he has been by your side for so long, so many of your developmental years into adulthood shared together. Yeosang knows how you work on an intricate, fundamental level. He was there when you came into yourself, so how wouldn't he?

But your shortness with him becomes gravely apparent, and over time, he becomes none pleased by it. A month is a long time to be gone, Yeosang must know and understand that to some degree. It's far from the first time he has been away for such an extended trip, and each time things are stilted upon his return. A getting to know one another again period of awkwardness even between lovers, even between husband and wife. He has always taken it in stride, been understanding of the fact, but the two of you often find that it's nothing a bottle of wine and two rounds between the sheets can't take care of.

Except now you have little to no interest in having sex with Yeosang.

Not for lack of trying, but there's a pointedly repulsed itch that creeps into your skin with every initiation that your husband makes. Gentle touches on your neck that once would drive you wild now make you pull away in disgust and leave bewilderment across his features that you try to ignore, try to pretend that you don't see. Because seeing it makes you feel badly, and you don't need any additional help on that front.

Two nights earlier and in the shared shower, Yeosang slots his hand between your legs and presses teeth and tongue against your neck in just the way that he knows you like it. Except you don't like it. Not anymore.

The oldest adage in the book: it's not you, it's me.

Because every time Yeosang touches you, Hongjoong is the one that comes to mind. Every kiss Yeosang gifts to you reminds you of Hongjoong's lips and where they've been in the meantime, where yours have been too.

Even in the moments where you don't actively crave to be with another, everything Yeosang does causes you to think of him regardless. How could it not? An undeniable truth.

Cozied up on the couch together and late into the evening after dinner, the television in front displays a show that you've seen the reruns of perhaps a thousand times. A candle on the table flickers with a gentle, romantic ambiance, and your husband resides beside you with the closest hand resting on your thigh.

Now that it's been some time that Yeosang has been back, you as well, have slotted back into your normal routine. Normal as if he weren't there at all. Normal, because you can't possibly stay away.

He's not said anything about it, but the contention festering is obvious. Greetings back home in the afternoons becoming shorter and more stilted, questions about your day coming in less frequently—which you're thankful for—because you find yourself to be running out of lies to tell him. Being at the office all day isn't good enough for a man who knows precisely where that is, and can come to check up on your whereabouts with ease.

But something is off, and your husband, ever perceptive as he is, very much knows it.

"What do you have going on this week," he says suddenly, over the sound of muted laugh track from the television and turning to face you. "Was thinking we could take a few days and go somewhere. Nothing lavish or expensive, just something for the two of us to reconnect."

"Reconnect?"

Yeosang's chin falls down towards his chest, a bashful looking away from you but comes back up just as quickly with a small smile across his lips.

"I can tell there's...something amiss between us, and after everything between us and my absence trust me, I don't really blame you for that, but I want to get it back to how it was before. I miss you, I love you. I miss us."

The words make your chest feel as though it's caving in, because around your heart now sit erected walls that have tricked you into believing that you care so little for this man that it doesn't matter what you do, or who you do it with.

They come crashing down in an instant.

The third class has their play at the end of the week, Hongjoong's garment will be on display. You can't possibly miss it.

"I can't this week." Or any week. "We have a really important showing at the theater." What if he forgets me? Loses interest in the meantime? 

Yeosang's hand slips further between your thighs but not exactly with any intent behind it. A slightly mischievous smile takes his lips, sure, but no huge effort made.

"Are you sure it's nothing that the staff and the Akademiya can't handle?"

Of course it is, but you can't stand the idea of not being there for numerous reasons, and none of them you're especially proud of. The girl that Hongjoong has fitted for that gown will be on full display too, and you hate the way thinking about her makes you feel in regards to him. Jealous for no reason, no room to be feeling the way you do and yet doing so so carelessly and fully.

"I can't, I have to be there. The student I've been working with is showing something so—"

"You're spending an awful lot of time with that guy as of late."

Yeosang cuts you off with the revelation, but it's the saying as much that's enough in and of itself to ensure that the rest of the sentence dies out before it ever sees the light of day between you. So he has noticed. So he has been paying attention.

So you haven't been as clever as you'd like to make yourself believe.

His attention turns back to the television ahead, though not without a pointed glance out of the corner of his eyes towards you. Your heart beats hard and fast within your chest, thinking this is it, this is the end, this is when everything you've done up until now finally comes crashing down and suffocating you. This is when you'll finally reap what you've spent so much time sowing.

But it never does. Your husband silences, calmly goes back to watching the show as it plays. You find, however, that this dredges up a whole different collection of feelings inside of you now—anger, bitterness—of course I've found something else to do, you're never here.

"I had to find something to do, didn't I?"

The words are biting, cutting in tone and delivery as they fall from your mouth and certainly are received as such if Yeosang's slow, calculated look towards you again is any indication. Unexpected. Blindsided, because he hadn't thought himself to be starting a fight.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," you answer back quickly, turning your attention back to the forgotten show now. "It means nothing."

"It obviously means something," Yeosang continues forward. "I've been gone for a while, I get it, you've kept yourself busy and that's fine—"

He pauses for a second, you feel his eyes still on you though.

"Guess I'm just beginning to wonder what all it is that you've been keeping yourself busy with."

Your attention snaps back to him in an instant with those words. "And what's that supposed to mean?" You know the implications behind the words, however.

Yeosang looks at you as if he can see through all of it. Knows everything there is to know already but just can't dare say the words out loud. Doesn't want to be wrong, but even more than that, doesn't want to be right.

"All I'm saying is that things have been...different," he replies, softer in tone. Non-accusatory now, or at least less so, but the initial impact of it still sits heavy on you all the same. "It's never easy after so long, I understand that, but I do wonder—"

"Wonder what?"

There's a few moments of silence between you and your husband before he parts his lips to answer, but eventually, he does.

"Wonder what's so important about this guy—this student—that he requires so much of your time and attention. I'm all for you taking up projects while I'm away, but now that I'm here..."

You roll your eyes. "He's not a project, my God."

"Then what is he, exactly?"

The way that Yeosang reminds you to vividly of the fact that Hongjoong is a student of the Akademiya feels so pointed, to help you in the case of long having since forgotten that fact and in an attempt to correct the path that you've long since strayed from. A student, not your student, but someone in which you should have no such personal involvement all the same.

Your nerves feel electric, like any touch could set you on fire. Queasy in stomach but fighting back the fact. Yeosang doesn't know, he couldn't, not with any definitive proof.

It feels as though he does regardless.

"Someone that I'm helping." Someone that I crave, someone that craves me. Someone that I need and cannot possibly see a future where I don't have him in precisely the way that I do now, and behind your back.

"I'm sure he'll be fine for a few days without you being there," Yeosang mutters back under his breath. Not letting the original idea go so easily. His hand makes itself known on your leg once more, inches up slowly towards somewhere more intimate. "I miss you. Want to get us back on track."

Your husband leans in closer then, removes the distance between your bodies and mouths gently at your jaw in just the way that he knows you like as his fingers find their mark elsewhere. 

If you just give in, you can move on from this.

"I have to be there for the showing."

Stripped bare and laid out on the couch, Yeosang nestles himself between your knees just as he has so, so many times before. Finger tightly pressed inside of you with a slow, deft drive that is so easy to get lost in because in part, you have very much forgotten what the touch of your husband feels like. By now, and with so many instances past, your body knows something different, only knows Hongjoong, but the familiarity of such serves as a reminder of how much you have missed the feeling of him after all with hips rolling down against his hand to meet the friction further.

"There you go," Yeosang coos, a breathy whisper that makes your skin tingle from below. "See? Just needed a reminder, huh?"

He leans down over your body then, kisses your lips with a hungry urgency then slips down to nip at your ear. Back arching and whine falling from you as he continues to stretch you open for what's soon to come.

You can't help but wonder if he can tell.

"When I'm gone so long, you're all I can think about," Yeosang says against your skin, hand settling into a pace that feels akin to slowly fucking you properly, like he's taking you along with him for the fantasy he is soon to indulge you with. "When it's late at night and I'm finished with work, I go back to my hotel and make myself come, still thinking about you and only you."

The thought of it drives you crazy, crazier than you might have imagined it would, bucking up into his hand to chase more of what he's giving you.

"Can you believe that? Seven years together and I still want you just as desperately as I did the first time—"

Yeosang pauses, gently pulls his fingers from you and shifts his hips. Replaces the emptiness with the blunt prod of himself and teases at the prospect of filling you once more. "How about you let me show you just how badly I missed you while I was away?"

Fingers gripping into the skin of his toned, muscular arms as Yeosang buries himself into you; slow, methodical strokes until all resistance falls away and the glide is easy inside. One hard, full push to renders the both of you hip to hip, he stills there for a moment—leans back over to your lips and captures them into his own with a needy groan that makes your nerves feel electric under your skin. The wanting, the needing of you and your body to be had by him and his.

It drives you crazy, and still, you think of Hongjoong.

You push the thoughts back, focus on all of the ways that this is different; Yeosang far more fit in stature, your fingers run over the dips and divots of muscle in his arms and back as he withdraws and sinks into you again, repeatedly, settles into a pace that suits the both of you—firm but slow, so that you can feel every inch of him pressing against your insides.

"Come away with me for a couple of days," he says again, not letting the topic go still. One hand slipping between your bodies to run circles into the place just above where the two of you meet. A leveraging tactic, how can you refuse? "Let me make up for all of the lost time—" he pauses, focuses on getting just the right pressure on you so that you're moaning and whimpering beneath him for more. Sighing his name, gripping nails into his skin. "There's so much I want to do to you, if I'm honest, the way I crave your body is a bit...depraved."

God, you want him badly, and he knows all of the ways to get you there, as expected. Yeosang fucks into you harshly then, the prospect of perhaps new and unexplored things between you igniting something inside of the both of you, and teetering on the edge of release, biting into the bottom of your lip, you writhe beneath him but still don't relent.

"I—I can't, fuck, 'Sang."

Your husband doesn't reply in words, though you hear something of a sigh followed by another harsh and pointed snap of his hips against you. 

"Want to fuck you like I hate you," he whispers into your mouth. "Want that? Have you coming around my dick like you mean nothing to me, just a warm hole for me to fuck."

The answer is yes, but underneath it is the nagging feeling that this is strange. Too much pent up trouble in the marriage that hasn't found resolution just yet to be divulging in such a fantasy and expecting it to be left as nothing more than that. Yeosang's drives into you are hard and fast now, no doubt already settling into the thought of doing as much—he is fucking you like he's angry with you, like he hates you. Worse than that, you're loving every second of it.

The answer is yes, because I hate myself just as much, if not more than you could ever hate me.

You come first, but only by a split second margin as your husband follows shortly behind and with a low, almost pained groan as he does. Deeply buried inside of you, teeth gritted against your neck. If you didn't know any better, you might think this to be some strange, pathetically masculine attempt at staking his claim over you once more.

When breaths are caught and limbs begin to untangle from each other, Yeosang begins to pull up and away from you first—a face of features that are telling of his mind being somewhere, elsewhere, not entirely sharing the space where you two currently reside. You catch his attention before he slinks away completely, remind him to kiss you in the aftermath of this, and he plays off the fact of having forgotten with a small, huffed out laugh.

And so he does kiss you—full and loving just like all of the times before, but something is amiss still. A reluctance, a fissure created between you in the split seconds that have just transpired.

It can all happen so quickly.

Yeosang sits back on his heels between your legs, runs a hand through his hair and then fishes around for his pants that had been dropped down below and onto the floor. His eyes glance everywhere, for everything—they never find yours though.

You watch him from where you lie, the awkwardness and discomfort displayed in each and every motion he makes. Like he's trying to hurry and dress, like he wants nothing more than to escape the scenario that he created himself. 

Escape you.

"Yeosang," you finally say, calm and airy. Already questioning but non-accusatory in delivery. It's enough to finally get his busy hands to still, face pulling upwards to look upon you, but there's a guilt that rests on his features that you've not quite seen before.

"Do you hate me?"

He scoffs at that, gently rolls himself off of the couch and from between your legs to gather together all of your shared belongings from the floor and sort through them. He gently pulls together your shirt, your pants...folds them neatly atop the cushion just next to you despite logically understanding that you are to put them back on shortly anyway, and that in theory, he is wasting his time.

But his thoughts obviously aren't there with you, with this evening, with anything that has just transpired. Evidenced in everything he does, and everything—no matter how little—he says.

The silence is deafening, the lack of response from him. Yeosang dresses himself and then reaches down for a glass of water that's sitting on the table, hands it to you as if it's meant to be some sort of peace offering. Still no answer to your question, still nothing given outside of small acts of deflection.

When his eyes fall on your again—yours still glued onto him, expectant for an answer to the question laid out—you watch him fall limp and resigned to the fact that he can't escape it. Part of you wonders how you got here, how this got to far, but realistically, you sort of know. A cocktail of scenarios, and while he is far from blameless, what sits you and your marriage on the precipice of destruction is not your husband's inability to love you, or relent to you; because he has done both of those already.

It is your insistence on punishing him for it.

Yeosang's arm remains extended to you with the glass in hand, jerks it gently in an attempt to get you to take it from him whilst not spilling the liquid inside, and then sighs.

"Don't ask such silly questions."

On the day of the class presentation, you feel as though you're sitting atop cloud nine.

Evening showings are nothing unheard of, and on days when they are to take place, much of Aurelia is empty save for the handful of students uninvolved and still using the empty spaces for their own projects, the collective of them involved in the play itself, and little more. Most will arrive much later, closer to the time that it is meant to go on, but more than that—it serves as something of a half day for you.

Thus, you spend the earlier hours of the day out and about, running small errands that need to get finished. On the streets the weather is far from inviting; windy and cold and slightly rainy as if the combination of them is meant to serve you in some way. Regardless, things must get done, and the large supply store just down the street and sitting at the corner has you thankful for its relative closeness, all things considered.

Stepping inside, you're greeted by a member of the staff who idly works at the front and behind the register. Quiet music plays over the speakers is the only thing that cuts through the monotony of your surroundings; rows upon rows of uncut but neatly filed fabrics that drape and color the aisles, giving life to the insides of the place, and though you're pleased by the sight, it's a sound that catches your ears and has your anxiety trickling up and across your flesh.

A voice you recognize, and one that you do not.

Hushed giggles and the delicate sounds of rustling pique your interest, there are other people here though it feels to be nearly an impossible task to ever locate them among the insides of the establishment. You carry forward, because you know one of the voices. Curiosity getting the best of you, perhaps in the worst of times.

Further towards the back and not far off from the backroom, the movement stills—feet planted in place on the other side of a wall of fabric, and although you're not able to see anything, you can certainly hear everything with little interruption, and what you hear causes your blood to run cold through your veins.

The voice that you recognize whispers something to the other—the other—a girl’s voice, a giggle in response to whatever it is that he has said. Too hushed to make out even in spite of your proximity to them, that is until he raises it just ever so slightly.

"—let me use you for future projects, I'll make it worth your while again."

It's so flirtatious, so full of salaciousness dripping from tone on every single word. You've heard it before, so many times before, and hearing it here, now, not intended for you, boils the rage and jealousy and hurt inside of you to the point that you can't fathom an outcome where you act rationally. Because acting rationally would mean to quietly let this go, leave now, call things off for good.

But you can't, because you are irrationally succumbed to him.

Twisting around the corner suddenly, the both of them look at you, though it's only Hongjoong that your eyes are set for. This isn't her fault—the other girl—and in so many ways it's already bad enough that she will bear witness to this display that will be so telling, explain so much but leave so many questions as well.

Anger clouds your judgement though, sends you into a whirlwind of you barreling towards him—in tears, livid—everything all at once and so strongly that you can't pull it back at all. The girl—another student—asks questions, wonders what's going on as you grit through teeth and ask him what this is, what he's doing. Hands fly, though you can barely tell whose and from where or for what purpose, you don't intend to put yours on him out of anger, but you could very easily understand why he might think that, all things considered.

It all happens so fast, and the next thing you know Hongjoong is tearing you out of there and away from that girl; down the street and towards the building of his apartment that you've grown so familiar with over such little time. He drags you along, though it's barely a tug that you aren't stumbling along with anyway. Broken, defeated, but even more than those—humiliated. How will you explain this if that girl goes to the admin board? How will you explain it if she just as easily whispers among friends, who will whisper among theirs?

How will you explain this to Hongjoong? But worst of all, how do you explain this to yourself?

During the short ride up the elevator, you and Hongjoong stand at opposite ends of the small enclosure, attempting to maintain as much space as possible from the other. Both wet and disheveled—you more so than him—he stands with arms crossed over his chest and you, in the corner with yours limp to your sides, huff out a laugh. At all of this, at yourself, most of all.

You bring a hand up to your head, palm over your forehead. Disbelieving of how you allowed it to get like this.

"Who is she?"

Hongjoong doesn't grace your question with a reply.

"Is the she girl from the play? The one we talked about? The one that you fitted?"

Sarcastic emphasis on the last word, as if now understanding that that means something very different in the grand scheme of things. He still doesn't answer, however.

"How many are you seeing? Three? Nine? The whole class and the theater owner on top of it for a little spice?"

"She's just a friend," Hongjoong finally says, the elevator reaching its destination at his floor. "Am I not allowed to have friends? Go out with classmates? Didn't you once tell me I should?"

You scoff as he drags you from the small space and down the hall towards his apartment. "You're a fucking liar."

To that he stops, dead in his tracks and turns to look at you with narrow, somewhat amused eyes.

"I'm the liar?"

You swallow hard, attempting to dislodge the lump in your throat that has accumulated there as a result of all of this. Hongjoong never brings up your marriage nor your infidelity in such a way that is meant to make you feel bad, or guilty for the goings on between the two of you—but now, less than his words, his gaze does precisely that before turning again and shoving keys into the lock of his door.

"I don't want to do this anymore." The words come out before you even really think about them, what they mean, whether or not you're even capable of following through with them.

Hongjoong opens the door, pushes you inside like he's done hearing about this, dealing with this altogether. Enters after, shuts the door, locks it, and then just as swiftly has your back hard against the wood with a bang to punctuate it. He kisses you; needy and sloppy and full of teeth nipped into the bottom of your lip in just the way that always has you melting beneath him. A hand slipping up your leg and disappearing under your skirt all the while.

The kiss leaves you breathless when he finally pulls away, as if pulling all of the oxygen from your lungs himself. You try to focus on your conviction, how sure you are about ending this, how badly all of this is now making you feel while deft fingers dig between your legs and find their mark.

"Okay, go back to your boring life." Hongjoong kisses you again, pulls back only enough to turn you around to face the door, multitasking the removal of your undergarments and the freeing of himself from his. He presses his body firm against your back, lips only barely unable to find the shell of your ear—warm breath and tone dropping in all of the ways that have you so weak for him. And he knows it, too.

"End it, never see me again, but I know you won't do that and you know why?" His fingers press deeper inside, curling just right, and you moan out as a result of it—hips pressing down and against him for more. "Because you hate your life without me in it, and you may hate yourself with it but it's an easy trade-off, isn't it?" Hongjoong then settles for the more rhythmic guide of his hand against your insides, simulates the way he often fucks you, reminds you of it in explicit detail as you whine out against the wood in front of you.

"Because at least hating yourself gets you off, hating your life doesn't."

"Fuck you." You say the words but there's little conviction in them between how badly you're wanting for him, even now. Hongjoong knows it, smirks at the sound as he continues the drive of his hand while watching you come unraveled against him.

"Now that'll make you happy, won't it?"

"I hate you."

"Something like that, sure," Hongjoong agrees, partially. Pulls his hand from you and replaces the emptiness with the firm, blunt tip of himself and uses a hand to jut your hips out for him just right. "You want me to fuck you?"

But you don't want to say it, don't want to admit that there is truth there. You do, obviously you do, there's nothing else you ever want and it's all you ever think about when not engaged in the very act of him fucking you, but now of all times it feels worse to admit as much. Hongjoong understands you—knows you—on such a viscerally deep level that it makes your skin tingle with discomfort. The feeling of being held under a microscope and carefully picked apart for his viewing pleasure, as if it's all just been some sort of bizarre experiment to him, never meaning anything more than seeing how far he can make you fall and with how much effort required from him to achieve it.

He's right, in everything he says. That makes you queasy, though not enough to dispel your lust for him. As usual, nothing does.

You arch your back, push against him but Hongjoong doesn't allow you to do so. Holds you in place, doesn't carve his way inside of you like he might normally under such circumstances where you want him. Instead he waits, smooths a hand up your back and settles it firm against your shoulder as if with intent to use the leverage to pull you down and onto him.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes, Christ," you gasp out, growing tired of the way he seems intent of humiliating you further.

"Then say it, say you want me to fuck you."

"I want you to fuck me!"

Blurting the words out, irritated and biting, Hongjoong grants you your wish just as promised and fills you from behind with a single, sharp snap of his hips and the added bonus of pulling you back and down against him halfway. Unable to fight back the moan, you instead attempt to muffle your cries against an arm that helps keep you steady against the door panel, though it helps little with the relentless roughness and pace being driven into you by the man that you only hate the second most out of everyone in the room.

But it feels almost better than it usually does. Hongjoong fucks you like he hates you, like he knows that you hate him, and it only makes the drag of him against your insides feel that much better. Each stroke of himself punching a sound of desperation from your throat and quickly barreling you towards a tightening in your abdomen in result.

Dizzyingly quick, Hongjoong pulls out of you, drags you off of the door and to the side against a table barely sturdy enough for what it is about to endure. He turns you to face him, sets you up atop it and smoothly reenters you as if never having moved at all. Hands wrapped in hair and mouths desperately tasting at one another—being face to face with him once again as he fucks you only reminds you even more that you are next to hopeless at escaping him. How are you meant to and still remain wholly intact?

"Fuck, you feel so—"

"There you go, that's right," he whispers against your mouth, cuts you off mid-sentence, still delivering fast and hard drives of himself into you in an effort to quickly push you over the edge and having you coming undone for him like so many times before. "Say my name. Tell me how it's me and only me."

And you do, pathetically so.

"Do anything for me, throw everything away to have me. You wouldn't be the first—"

Just one of many, you wonder how many before you have fallen just like you.

His mouth trickles down, teeth grazing your jaw as he feels you tighten around him and your moans air out into silent screams with how you're soon to come.

"But maybe you can be the last."

Favorite.

You whimper out that you're close, knowing he can feel it without the verbal prompt. His drives into you slow a bit, more focused, more careful—wanting you to feel every bit of him even if it means prolonging your release—it hardly does though, because he feels heavenly even like this inside of you. Languid, purposeful glides paired with the pertinent deep press firmly against your walls so that you can feel everything before another withdraw, and then doing it all over again.

His name falls from your lips again, a begging of sorts as your fingers curl up into the brown hair that lies at the back of his head—hips attempting to grind down for more, to feel more of him, to have more of him at all times.

He has you wrapped around his finger, has for a long time.

"Maybe I came here just for you," Hongjoong says, whispers it against the damp skin of your neck before sucking gently into the very same place. "Already had you in my crosshairs—" his lips travel upwards towards your ear, he whispers a playful "bang" to drive home the point. "How indisposed are you with me that the thought of it doesn't even scare you—"

It doesn't.

"Thrills you instead."

It does.

You come then, a silent cry with any chance of sound caught in the dryness of your throat as Hongjoong fucks you slowly, earnestly, thoroughly through it and the words gifted to you by him hanging startlingly at the forefront of your mind all the while. 

Is this an admission of horrific wrongdoing on his part? So sure in your obsession with him that even telling you as much will result in the same thing that it always has: you, here, laid out beneath him and open for his taking emotionally, mentally, physically. In all ways.

He chose you.

Still nestled between your legs, Hongjoong kisses you, though this time calmer, more passionate. Hands cradling each side of your face to hold you perfectly in place for receiving his adoration of you. Always so openly consumed by you, addicted to you just as you have been with him.

But even in the aftermath of all of this, something itches beneath your skin. A need, something that goes so far beyond a desire.

Self destruction.

"I'll never get away from you."

Hongjoong smiles against your lips as you whisper the words to him, so simple but so apt still. Arms dropping to circle around your back, he pulls you into a tight embrace, sets his forehead against yours to bring the two of you so close that your eyes cross in an attempt to see him.

"Did I tell you," he says, tone void of almost any discernible emotion, and especially jarring in the aftermath of everything that has just transpired. "That you've done so well..."

Silence sits between the two of you for a moment, and for a second, he is nearly unrecognizable to you.

"I've been offered three senior positions, and it's all thanks to you."

Behind the closed door of your office, busy students are still easily heard running about to make their final preparations before the show. It serves you well—their nerves—matching your own in a way. The heavy, vibrant thrum of anxiety that courses through you with each passing second, no reprieve from it at all, only getting worse as the time beats on.

It's not going to get better, not until it gets worse still. You've made peace with that. Made peace with it a long time ago, in fact. A truth you've not wanted to take on face-to-face, much like other things and people you've opting out of engaging with much in the same way.

A student yells something just outside the door—your heart jumps into your throat despite it not being for you, not being for either of you—but you are faced towards the back of the room, not your guest. You don't particularly need to see him to know precisely how his judging eyes fall upon you anyway.

You've not said the words, but a part of you figures that he knows well enough without them anyway.

"Are you ready to tell the truth?"

Words you didn't grace with a reply over the phone, but now that Seonghwa is standing here, with you, with all of the horrible, nervous energy that you have manifested, that exudes from you, suppose you have little other option.

You can't do this forever, that was never an option. A fool’s errand to begin this, thinking it could end in anything other than precisely the way that it shall.

Throat dry, hoarse, and no thanks to even the exact engagements you'd been involved with earlier in the day, you take a deep breath as you gather yourself, gather your thoughts, and then exhale slowly with intention to finally—for once—tell the truth.

"I've been seeing someone."

Being unable to face Seonghwa as you own up to this grave misdoing is unsurprising of a coward, and Seonghwa doesn't grace you with a response for a few moments at first. His breaths silent, no subtle shift to the way that he stands.

"I kind of figured." He sighs. "How long?"

"A month? Two? It all sort of happened so fast."

"Who is it?"

Then you turn to face him—find him with arms crossed over his chest and staring into the floor in front of him until he realizes that you've finally found him. Seonghwa looks up at you through his lashes, barely, but glances back down just as quickly.

"That um—" you start, losing your nerve before you can even get to the words. Tone dropping along with volume and eyes falling to the floor much like the man ahead of you. "That Akademiya student I told you about a while back. The guy from the cafe when we were out with Mingi."

"The twenty-five year old?" Seonghwa questions, not only surprise but unbridled judgment lacing his tone that makes your stomach turn, though you're deserving of it. "The guy from the cafe? The guy that Mingi was talking about?" The puzzle pieces seemingly fitting together in real time inside of Seonghwa's mind with those words spoken aloud. "Oh wow, you fucked him there, didn't you? While we were waiting for you and you went to the bathroom."

You nod, barely any movement behind it, staring out and focusing on nothing in particular while you're taken with grief. 

Hand through his hair, Seonghwa sighs like everything has happened to him just as much as it has you now. Dragged into your mess, in a way. Perhaps you really had done him the favor in not telling him to begin with.

"Okay, so now what? Is it over?"

"I think I love him."

Those words send Seonghwa spiraling in an instant; features scrunching together in such an ugly, displeased way that you don't often see from him. He reels in place, arms falling limp like he's about to give up on this whole conversation altogether if you say one more asinine thing within in.

"Oh, give me a fucking break." He looks at you, eyes finally meeting with a stern insistence. "You don't love the twenty-five year old costuming student from the Akademiya, do you hear yourself?" A roll of his eyes finds you then. "You love the way he fucks your brains out, you're enamored by him and the way he makes you feel when you don't have to think about it that hard, but you're not in love with him, Christ."

It stings to hear, but by this point in the conversation you're barely still engaging. This isn't what you want, though it's probably what you need, and even though Seonghwa's words are harsh, you hadn't really gone into this conversation anticipating him to pat you on the back for all of your mistakes, anyway.

Another student yelling out for another on the other side of the closed doors cuts through the thick blanketing of guilty silence that seems intent on suffocating you inside of this office. 

"I don't know if I can stay with Yeosang," you say then, all but ignoring everything that your closest friend has just said to you. "I don't know that I still love him."

"What's your plan then? Leave your husband for this new and exciting guy that you barely even know?"

"You don't know what it's like when we're together." Irritation creeps up in your voice at how insistent Seonghwa is about this all.

"You don't know him," Seonghwa reiterates, pointed in his tone. "Why has he skipped around so many schools? He's talented, right? Good at what he does? So why is he blowing through universities all to finally—somehow—end up at the Akademiya? You don't think it's suspicious that he's flunked out of numerous other places and then still has managed to bag a spot at one of if not the most prestigious school? Most aspiring students couldn't blow enough people to even get an interview with the governing body and yet here he is."

"He's—"

"Don't say he's special," Seonghwa cuts you off immediately, eyes judging as he leans down to grab his bag and finally take his leave from you. From this conversation. "He's not special, you're bored."

Belongings slung over his shoulder, Seonghwa cuts across the carpet and with a hand on the doorknob he pauses. Glances back over his shoulder at you one last time with a sigh.

"Does this guy know? Know that you—whatever. Have feelings. Does he have them?" Doesn't want to say the word that feels so stupid to him.

You smile slightly, because if there's one thing you feel sure of, it's that. Hongjoong has time and time again shown you exactly the way that he feels for you, so when it comes to this topic in particular—it's an easy sell.

"Not yet, but," you look up, catch Seonghwa's eyes. "He's obsessed with me, I know he feels the same."

Seonghwa frowns, turning the doorknob and cracking the door to exit.

"Obsession and love are not the same thing."

a/n: LMAOOOO WHAT A BOZO. well lads are we having fun YET!? LMAOOO. cheers x

[daughter-of-sapph0]

remember how during the first homosexual riots, the queer community and the kink community were so intertwined that they were the exact same thing? and now you have corporations who only support gay people on the condition that we show no indication that we ever have sex in our lives, and queer people on twitter who will tell you to kill yourself if you wear a collar to pride, and nerds who think that lesbians being attracted to woman is "fetishizing lesbianism".

I blame radfems and the political lesbians. because they assumed (and still think) that being a lesbian is equivalent to hating men, but they didn't actually want to date women because that's gross, and they didn't want to experience homophobia so they were never involved in the community at all. they were so repulsed and disgusted by the idea that queer people have sex, and now we have entire sections of our community who have been manipulated into believing the same thing our oppressors think.

you don't have to participate in any kink stuff. you don't have to enjoy it. you don't have to even engage with it at all. but don't go around attacking people who are part of your own family, because the people who want us all dead told you that you should.

[heartless-aro]

I just realized that with all the efforts to get #aromantic trending in time for Valentine’s, this February 14th could be the day someone on this website learns the word aromantic for the first time. So, for anyone who doesn’t already know what it means:

Aromantic - describes a person who feels little to no romantic attraction. This could also describe someone whose experience of romance is disconnected from normative societal expectations, due to feeling repulsed by romance or uninterested in romantic relationships.

You may be aromantic if

You’ve never had a crush or been “in love”

You have only had crushes on a few occasions

At some point, you chose a specific person to have a “crush” on, because you thought that was how crushes work

Your past “crushes” have been less about wanting to kiss/date/etc. and more about wanting to be friends with someone, wanting the approval of someone you respect/admire, wanting sex, wanting validation/to be seen as attractive/interesting/special, etc.

You’ve been interested in people sexually, but you’ve never wanted to do traditionally “romantic” actions (like kissing or going on dates) with anyone in particular

You want to be in a relationship, but for non-romantic reasons, like finances, childcare, having someone to live with, etc.

You don’t “get” things like celebrity crushes, speed dating, dating apps, etc. In order to have a crush on someone, you have to already be close friends with them.

The idea of being in a romantic relationship someday doesn’t interest you or even outright disgusts or repulses you.

You see romantic feelings and platonic feelings as the same or indistinguishable from one another

You can’t imagine yourself getting married to anyone, regardless of gender.

If you try to imagine yourself in a romantic relationship, it’s with someone nameless, faceless, and overall generic.

If you fantasize about romance, the fantasies don’t tend to involve anyone you know in real life. Subjects of romantic fantasies tend to be unattainable people like celebrities and fictional characters or just the “idea” of a person.

You have, at some point, assumed you were bi, because “i’m equally uninterested in everyone.”

(If anyone wants to add on, feel free)

[olderthannetfic]

I'm so tired of people "helpfully" "letting you know" me about my own fanfic. Yes, I understand that not all aro people are ace. I understand not all ace people are aro. I know I am extremely fucked up for being both. I know good ace people are sex-positive or sex-neutral and like to fuck. I know I'm fucked in the head/broken/stereotypical/bad for not liking it. But I should be allowed to write an aroace sex-repulsed character without people assuming I'm allo and aphobic and in need of correction regarding my misconceptions regarding "real" ace and "real" aro people.

An hour ago I got a comment on how actually ace people like masturbating. The character had shifted uncomfortably in his seat because a friend of his said she spent her teenage years self-harming, masturbating and crying over being a closeted lesbian. Clearly, there's no reason to be uncomfortable with the idea of a friend being trapped in a hopeless situation - it must be that disgusting broken non-sex-having non-sex-loving freak being fucked up again!

I get that I am the kind of freakish monster that none of the good aces or good aros would ever want to be around or see. But I'm not putting out ace representation on TV. I just want to write a story for myself without being reminded that I'm a piece of shit in the comments. I guess that's more than I should have hoped for. More than I should have deserved.

It's funny. Writing fanfic used to be what I did when I felt suicidal and I kept telling myself that come college, shit would get easier. Now I'm in college and I'm realizing high school was the happiest time of my life, before I realized how disgusting I am.

I deleted my fic so at least I don't have to deal with that anymore but it still stings, knowing even in fiction, there's no place for people like me.

Assuming I count as a person. Sometimes I think of myself more like a thing. I feel like that's more accurate. I have more in common with a rock or a trash bag than a human being.

--

Dude, this is full on meltdown mode, and you need to go talk to a therapist about it.

Wanting to fuck or not wanting to fuck is normal.

Thinking of yourself as disgusting, however, is not healthy nor is it realistic. That's your brain lying to you, and it's not something tumblr randos can help with.

[wordsbymae]

You mentioned somewhere in the yandere alphabet for killer OC that he made reader and a random camper have sex to see if he’s been doing it wrong and then killed the camper, that unleashed a new side of me. New fantasy: unlocked. Could you write a one shot of that?

Thank you so much for sending this in!! You have no idea how much of a genius I thought I was when I wrote that. I thought I was the next Hemingway. Of course, I can!!! I am insane for this but I'm hooked on it.

I didn't describe the man's appearance cause I wanted you to imagine him however you like. Just don't get attached.

TW: DARK murder! Implied non/con (dub/con), Implied smut , murder murder, crying, lots of it,

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke with a start.

The door had banged open and a body thrown inside.

This wasn't unusual. You often were made to bear witness to corpses being dragged inside, blood striking the wooden planks below. It had happened so many times, a path of dark maroon was etched into the planks from the front door to the cellar. You shuddered to think what happened down there. But nothing made of flesh ever came back up, only the killer and his spoils.

You also tried to ignore the body. If you tried hard enough you could kid yourself into thinking the body was one of a buck or wolf. It didn't help your disgust, but your repulsion could be tamed.

The dead man groaned.

As the corpse struggled to stand, you yelped from your place on the bed.

This was not usual. Killer never left anything undead.

Killer slowly stalked his way inside.

You expect him to attack, to butcher, to slaughter. Anything violent to finish his misdeed. But he did not. Instead, he grabbed the man by the neck and yanked him to full height.

Without lettering go, he dragged him to your bed.

You still were under the covers, only now resting on your knees. With a grunt, killer pushed him towards you. You caught him with a groan, struggling to hold him up from your place on the soft be. The man wasn't much help, falling on top of you with a painful moan.

His weight forced you to fall back onto the bed with an oof. He just let out another painful groan. His hand reached his ribs. You could see through his torn shirt the dark bruises forming.

The man tried to get up, but Killer push him further onto you.

"Fuck Bunny" he growled

You went pale.

"What the fuck man! Get the fuck off me!" the man shouted, pushing himself off you and turning to push Killer back.

Killer just growled again and reached for his machete. He pointed it to the man, then you.

"Fuck. Bunny" he sneered.

You whimpered. The man looked confused, frightened too. He wasn't badly hurt, but he was shaken. Hands trembling at the sight of rusted iron.

Getting impatient, Killer reached for you, you pushed away at his hands but you were used to this. He ripped away at your shirt, cutting anything too hard to rip easily. Soon you were bare.

You tried to cover yourself as tears filled your eyes.

"Hey! Hey what are you doing! Leave them alone!" the man shouted

He dived at killer, trying to grab the machete. The killer was too quick and too ruthless. With one move he backhanded the man, blood streaming from his nose. With another, he belted him in the face with the handle of the machete. Grabbing his collar again, he picked the man up and pushed him on you.

"Fuck! Bunny!" he roared, machete inches away from the man's jugular vein.

"Ok! Ok! I'll fuck them! I get it! Just don't kill me! Please ok!" he cried, tears mixing with his muddy cheeks.

"Please don't" you whispered "please". your body was shaking, it was one thing for killer to touch you, and a whole other for a stranger to do it while the killer watched.

"he's gonna... he's gonna kill me if I don't" he whimpered, hands finding their place at his belt.

"He's gonna kill you anyway"

"you don't know that" he sneered, his belt being undone

"I do" you said. The man took a second to think before speaking.

"Just, just don't look at me." he whispered as he turned you over.

----------------------------------------------

Killer was quiet for the whole thing. Just sat and watched. You could only tell he was watching you get fucked roughly by a stranger by the tent in his pants.

Thankfully it was over soon. The man was as nice as he could be. He was gentle at first, but Killer didn't like that. Killer didn't seem to like anything the man did. He only moved once, and that was to rip the man's hand away from between your legs. He seemed to do it out of concern for you. A large hand patted your head as you whimpered face down on the pillow.

It was over. and the man was doing up his pants.

"I can go now... right?" he asked, hope in his eyes.

Killer just grunted.

The man nodded, and without looking at you made his way to the door. He made it 4 steps exactly before killer thrust the machete into his back. The air was knocked out of his lungs, leaving a dying gasp.

Killer yanked the machete back out.

Waited for the man to fall to the floor.

And then slashed the man over and over again.

By the end, killer was covered in blood. The man was not even the likeness of a man anymore, and killer was gasping for breath.

You sat still and naked on the bed. You did try and warn him.

Killer dropped the knife and turned to you. A few steps more and he was breathing down at you, blood dripping from his eyelashes.

One lone hand made its way to your cheek, before travelling down to your stomach, leaving bloody tracks along your skin. You cringed at the warm, wet feeling and the metallic smell in the air.

His hand travelled further, down in between your thighs. With a push, you were on your back.

You watched in disgust as he mimicked the poor man's movements only minutes before. He undid his belt and slowly rolled you over, pulling your hips up high.

You finally let yourself sob.

-----------------------------------

Hope you liked it!!! I love the idea so much but I'm very tired at the moment. If I have time one day I want to fix it and flesh it out. Give the man and the reader a lot more dialogue.

[life-of-an-asexual]

i need to confine in someone, and perhaps look for an answer. it would seem that you know your way around the ace stuff. i myself -not really, the whole lgbt community is very new to me, tho i find it comfy here. feel free to dispose of this message if you don't feel like answering it, i will understand. i see the phrase "sex repulsed" thrown around a lot. while it resonates with me, i'm not sure if for the right reasons. i'm not very fond of the act, it brings me only disgust and deep sorrow. i know it's not normal, since that act is crucial to the beautiful thing that is birth - something that brought about many great people, who brought about many great things. something that was crucial in starting my life. i know it's a sign that something might be a bit wrong with me, be it physically or mentally. it's something i still try to understand about myself. my partner treats it as very casual themselves, tho they do understand how i feel about it. we do it very occasionally, since i don't want to leave them like that, i feel like it's my duty to a degree. and i try to tolerate it, maybe grow to like it, but it's heartbreaking. i can't look at them afterwards, i'm appalled by the person i love doing something so brutish and animalistic. and last time i felt my vision turn black and my limbs went numb. it's been only going donwhill, and at this point i wonder if it may actually be my physical health playing tricks on me. i'm not sure. does it happen to other people? do those people describe themselves as asexual? regardless, thank you for reading it out, if you happen to. i appreciate it.

apologies for taking so long to answer. i moved earlier this month and so things have been very hectic for me, and i haven't had the mental acuity to formulate a proper response until now.

since there is a lot to unpack here, i'm going to try to take it one thing at a time:

i see the phrase "sex repulsed" thrown around a lot. while it resonates with me, i'm not sure if for the right reasons.

for the record, you don't need a "right" reason to be sex-repulsed. for some people it's just how we are, for some it was caused by trauma, and others may have their own reasons i'm not privy to. but it's just a word to describe what you feel, it doesn't need to be justified by the "right" kind of explanation.

i'm not very fond of the act, it brings me only disgust and deep sorrow. i know it's not normal, since that act is crucial to the beautiful thing that is birth - something that brought about many great people, who brought about many great things. something that was crucial in starting my life.

look, giving birth is just a thing humans can do. it's a pretty incredible thing, but it's not sacred. lots of species on earth do it. i don't think it's wrong to find beauty in it, but disliking something related to it isn't disrespectful. you can think birth is amazing and still not like sex for yourself; one has nothing to do with the other.

i know it's a sign that something might be a bit wrong with me, be it physically or mentally. it's something i still try to understand about myself.

again, for the record, there's nothing wrong with being sex-repulsed. lots of people are sex-repulsed, myself included. i've never had sex and i probably never will. i don't even masturbate. the idea of it makes my skin crawl. there are people who think i'm missing out, but i've lived 30 years like this, and i'm much happier being sexless than if i forced myself to do something that would cause me emotional anguish.

my partner treats it as very casual themselves, tho they do understand how i feel about it. we do it very occasionally, since i don't want to leave them like that, i feel like it's my duty to a degree.

a third time, for the record, IT IS NOT YOUR DUTY TO HAVE SEX FOR YOUR PARTNER. there is no "leaving them like that," it will not kill them to go without sex; they can masturbate if they need to get off so badly. it is not your responsibility. your partner's sexual desires are NEVER your responsibility, no matter the circumstances. even if you enthusiastically loved having sex, you would STILL never be obligated to have sex for your partner's sake.

and i try to tolerate it, maybe grow to like it,

i don't know how many times you've had sex, but at this point, i think if you haven't "grown to like it", you probably won't, and it's certainly not going to happen through FORCING yourself to do it.

but it's heartbreaking. i can't look at them afterwards. / and last time i felt my vision turn black and my limbs went numb. it's been only going donwhill, and at this point i wonder if it may actually be my physical health playing tricks on me.

to speak bluntly, this is not healthy. your physical health is not playing tricks on you. having physical reactions like that is indicative that mentally, you are undergoing something traumatic. i would STRONGLY recommend to stop having sex for the sake of your mental health. you are not doing yourself, or your partner, or your relationship, any favors by enduring this kind of suffering out of a sense of duty, i promise you.

(if your partner would be upset with that decision, i would recommend ending things with them. they would not be a safe person to be with even if you weren't sex-repulsed. and i know that sounds harsh, and it's a big decision, but i think you need to focus on yourself and your mental well-being right now.)

does it happen to other people? do those people describe themselves as asexual?

i think i can pretty confidently say that if i forced myself to have sex, i would have a very strong negative mental and emotional reaction to it, and i know there are others who feel similarly. some of these people are asexual (and some consider themselves asexual for this reason) and some aren't. sex-repulsion isn't something exclusive to asexuals.

if you have further questions, or require clarification about anything i've said, by all means, please ask.

~Mod Q

[communistkenobi]

sorry for sending this and getting involed while everyone else is being a dick about it. please dont think i agree with them.

but i do want to say that like. the genital preference thing is just like, a preference. like some people prefer to have sex in certain ways and thats not always possible with a given person's anatomy. i dont think its like a moral issue to say like for example "i like eating pussy but i prefer not to suck a dick" because those are two different things? and it doesnt necessarily come from transphobia either, i think theres more nuance than that.

there are plenty of reasons that someone might prefer a given set of genital traits (idk how to phrase that) like some people vastly prefer sucking a dick and thats great and fine and someone without that wouldnt be able to satisfy them in the ways they want to

like it will ofc get transphobic if there are assumptions about a persons anatomy based on whether theyre trans. like "i wouldnt have sex with a trans woman bc i dont like dicks" IS transphobic. but the statment "i dont want to have sex with a person with a dick" is just, a preference. the transphobia, i think, comes from the given assumptions about what trans bodies look like, both before and after surgery, thats where the political and social implications of genital preference come in. well that and the set of sex acts that people assume are possible with any given genitals.

wrt the sex acts thing like i, a pre bottom surgery trans guy, can have piv sex using my dick, which people would not think given the political and social implications of having a vagina. i think at a certain point blanket statements dont cover it and you would be Much better off confining it to specific sex acts and discussing with a person beforehand.

ftr i dont think cis people use the term genital preference acceptably and we should absolutely take that phrase away from them. but that doesnt make the term itself transphobic imo

I guess I’m just not willing to give this line of argument a lot of credit given how deeply this conversation is entrenched in (especially transmisogynistic) transphobia. I do not think it is possible to fully extricate yourself from cis-heteronormative ideas about bodies when talking about genitals in general.

And to be clear, I agree with you in the sense that I think moralising all aspects of sexual desire can lead to really bad conclusions - my stance on this issue is not predicated on the fact that I think all sexual desire and sexual expression is indicative of some underlying moral principle (ie the notion that BDSM or kinky sex means you love abusing people, or that engaging in group sex means you’re needy and self-centred, etc), because I don’t believe that and I think that can quickly lead to reactionary ideas about sex. But I am unwilling to cede rhetorical ground to “it’s just a preference” not because I think it’s impossible to prefer certain styles of sex over others - or even certain genitals over others - without attaching grand moral values to those preferences, but because of how deeply violent and malicious these ideas are so often expressed in the world. There is a dedicated slur for trans women that is premised on the fact that they have “the wrong” set of genitals, and by “pretending” otherwise (ie by being women) they are “tricking” men into finding them attractive or having sex with them. Because genitals are synonymous with gender by societal standards, because their presence and absence within gendered spaces are so deeply policed, because trans people having the genitals we have is itself seen as a criminal act (“concealing” our “true nature” for “nefarious” purposes) as well as evidence of the fraudulence of our humanity, I am extremely reluctant to entertain casual conversations that conclude with “well it’s just a preference.” Like, okay, maybe it is! But when I see that articulated in ways that frame some genitals as universally “repulsive” or disgusting, both of which are aesthetic assessments with very loaded (even if unintentional) moral judgements, transphobia alarm bells start going off in my head. Trans people are existentially dislocated from public spaces because our genitals determine access to basic necessities like bathrooms, changing rooms, dressing rooms, and the like - we do not belong because we are trying to enter gendered spaces with the “wrong” genitals attached to our bodies. Because access to public spaces is gendered, and because that gendering process is mediated through your genitals, it’s not just our identity being called into question but our ability to be human beings in public space. Our genitals are the site of metaphysical societal anguish over the nature of gender itself. Those are some pretty high stakes!

If someone prefers some sets of genitals over others, that is not an automatic comprehensive condemnation of their moral character vis a vis trans issues - it is, however, if the way they articulate that preference is indistinguishable from transphobic rhetoric, and if you step two paces in any direction you will encounter crowds of people doing just that.

[highlifeboat]

The way I heard it, sex repulsed is on opposite end of Sex positive. Like on one end you don't want to have sex at all, on other you don't mind it.

And stuff like, imaginary scenarios, art, writing, etc. are on separate level :p

At least, that's how i understand it.

Sex Repulsed is like... physically being disgusted by the idea of sex.

Like I would consider Bela someone who's sex repulsed and finds the act disgusting. Or like... Alastor (who seems to maybe be sex repulsed. Or in my head he is.)

Sex Averse is more what you're thinking of. Where you don't desire sex for yourself. Not necessarily hating sex, but you just don't wanna do it with anybody.

Which is what I consider Donna. They aren't disgusted by sex, but they don't wanna have it.

And then there's Sex Negative which is just.... thinking sex is Bad and Wrong and should be stigmatized. But not necessarily that you don't wanna have it.

Like Miranda. Who definitely slut shames Daniela behind closed doors.

[rjalker]

"Some aroace people are relationship favorable" does not fucking mean you get to erase aroace people who are repulsed by all kinds of relationships. You are still literally being an aroacemisic.

Just because some aroace people want relationships does not mean you get to ship aroace characters who explicitly do not want relationships and then pretend like you're actually supporting aroace people who don't want fucking relationships.

Especially when you not when you are fucking shipping the character romantically.

You cannot create representation by taking it away from other people. Do not ship aroace characters who are explicitly disgusted by the idea of being in in a romantic, sexual, or even platonic/queerplatonic relationship.

You are still literally being aroacemisic, yes. Even if you are yourself aroace. Just because you are willing to be in a romantic relationship doesn't mean you get to further amatanormativity by erasing a character who does not, and pretending to support non partnering aroace people -.-

This would literally not be a fucking issue at all if murderbot were open to being in any kind of relationship, but it is explicitly not. Martha Wells cannot get any clearer except by literally having murderbots say do not fucking ship me do not fucking say I should be in a sexual or romantic or queer platonic relationship. How many times does Martha Wells need to make it explicitly fucking clear that murderbot is not only completely uninterested in, but actively disgusted by sex and romance and the idea of being in a relationship with someone before you people understand that non-partnering, completely unattracted people who do not want any kind of fucking relationship exist and deserve respect as fucking people.

You cannot erase the identities and personalities of canonically Arrow Ace characters who are explicitly disgusted by the concept of being in literally any kind of relationship including platonic and then pretend like you are not being a bigot.

It cost nothing to not ship arrowace characters who are explicitly fucking relationship repulsed. It is literally fucking free. Nobody is holding a gun to your fucking head and forcing you to ship Murderbot.

You people just very blatantly fucking think that it is impossible for someone to be happy unless they have a fucking partner. You people are literally just fucking incapable of interacting with any goddamned media without desperately searching for something to ship.

[amysubmits]

So, I had my first babe a little over a year ago, and while I’ve lost the pregnancy weight (shy of 8 pounds), my body is completely different and honestly it just disgusts me in every way possible. I was a hardcore fitness type of person for many years and that’s something that has completely taken the backseat since my little was born.

I have always struggled with body image (significantly overweight to severely underweight and all stages in between) but this is killing my dynamic with my husband. I can’t submit. I can’t relax. I’m afraid he’ll touch my belly and be as repulsed as I am.

I so terribly miss it but the idea of showing my body makes me frantic with anxiety. I even lock the door now when I shower so that he won’t walk in and see me. We haven’t had sex in months. He says he doesn’t think my body has changed much but I’m convinced he’s just being nice.

I don’t really know what kind of advice I’m asking for, if any, but if anyone has had a similar experience within a D/s dynamic I’d appreciate your input on how to move past this.

Hello :)

Congrats on the little one! I'm so sorry that you're battling body image issues from how pregnancy has changed your body though :(.

CD and I read a book recently called Come as You Are: The Surprising New Science that Will Transform Your Sex Life, by Emily Nagoski and it covered body image and how it can cause problems with sexual intimacy including the postpartum period, so you might find that book helpful.

I always have anxiety about suggesting therapy to people, because I know that some find that suggestion insulting, and some use "get therapy!" as an insult...and when I suggest it, it’s never meant as a bad thing whatsoever. I think literally everyone could benefit from therapy, that it isn't just for people with mental illness or those in crisis, though it can be extra helpful for people who are struggling. So I hope you're able to trust that my intent isn't negative here at all...but I suspect therapy could be really helpful.

My perspective from what you've shared is that your anxieties related to your body image have made you feel like you can't be physically intimate or even naked around your husband right now...as that would feel really unsafe to you to risk him seeing or feeling your stomach, I imagine that you feel like you're protecting you both by blocking him away from your body. Yet I think the reality is that you're soothing your anxiety by not having sex or being naked around him....but it's likely hurting you by keeping you from submitting which is something you terribly miss, in your own words. I imagine it’s also hurting him, as he likely misses those things terribly, too...and is aware that you’re feeling like you have to shut him out in order to be safe, which would be hard to face as a partner (maybe especially as a Dom?) even when knowing it’s not really about trusting him. So while you're trying to protect yourself, it's causing collateral damage.

In my mind, when an anxiety is having to be catered to so much that it prevents you from doing things you really want to do, that's a sign that the anxiety has become too powerful and it may be time to get outside help to find ways to reduce how much power it has over you so that you can go back to living the way you prefer to live. I think therapy is just a really awesome tool and I see it as the best way to take control of your life and to get guidance with creating the life that you want.

I am sure that others can relate to your situation and may have advice that is more based on personal experience so hopefully those people will chime in with advice too. 

[clotpolesonly]

I just saw the comic you posted and i feel so confused! I mean why the hell do i enjoy yet feel disgusted at the same time reading smmutty fanfiction about my favorite fictional couples yet every time a guy or a girl have tried to kiss me i didn''t let them and i don't want to have sex, ever. I have never fell in love with anyone ever. What does it maen?

it can mean any number of things, and i can't make that determination for you. all i can do is tell you that you're not alone in feeling those ways, and you're not alone in being confused or even distressed by trying to figure it out.

pls know not wanting to have sex, now or never, is completely fine. there's nothing wrong with that whatsoever. it may very well be asexuality, though sex-repulsion isn't restricted to asexual people. and your opinion on and preferences regarding what you read in fiction has NOTHING to do with the activities you enjoy participating in in real life. i have no desire to have sex myself, but i read smut all the time!! it doesn't make me any less asexual, and it doesn't need to be a factor in your self-determination either. focus on how you feel about yourself.

as for the romance, that's even more up for you to determine. romance itself is so subjective (and largely separate from asexuality), and romantic attraction is really difficult to pin down. i will say that not having been in love isn't necessarily an indicator - plenty of alloromantic people don't get into relationships until later in life (i have no idea how old you are) and lack of relationships =/= lack of attraction. do you want to fall in love? do you have people that you've desired romantic relationships with? those are more important questions to consider while figuring this kind of thing out.

also important is that, ultimately, you don't have to figure everything out down to the last detail. definitions for these kinds of things are WAY looser and more flexible than you may think. liking to read about sex is never going to disqualify somebody from being asexual if asexuality is something that they feel connected to and described by. the question "what am i" is only worth it if the answer will provide you more comfort and security than the self-examination required will provide discomfort and stress.

ultimately, you are you. you feel how you feel, you like what you like, and the meaning behind your experiences is defined by you. there is no wrong way to be you, and there's no wrong way to be ace (or aro) if that feels like something that you may identify with.

you define your own existence!!! ♥♥♥

[bi-sapphics]

I'm a transmasc genderfluid person (this part doesn't really matter to my question, I just felt it important to include for some reason) and I'm a bit confused on whether I should identify as lesbian or bi(romantic, I'm a sex repulsed ace)

Let me explain briefly

I don't feel uncomfortable/grossed out by the thought of being with men, kissing them or holding hands with them or whatnot, but I've only ever dated and had legitimate feelings for women or nonbinary people

Am I bi because the idea doesn't disgust me and I could see myself doing it, or am I just a really open minded lesbian?

you sound bisexual to me since you implied still being open to dating a man, but that's for you to decide for yourself, my friend!! i am critical of how comphet's usage as of late has been biphobic and implied misogynistic things about bi women not being able to experience things that lesbians can (i.e. repulsion towards men), but i still think it's a valid term in theory nonetheless if used properly, and idk maybe it suits you? if that's the case, you could be a lesbian. but again, this is for you to decide, and you also have to remember that dating history (or lack thereof) doesn't determine your sexuality.