#this is just my understanding of the story so far but if anyone has any corrections or additions lmk :)
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Guilty as sin? [SVT Dino x Reader]
Welcome to the first part of the TTPD x SVT series! Introducing you to our adorable maknae, who has been the biggest inspiration for me to create and finish a story this week. This song is dedicated to all the dreamers, the fangirls, and those seeking to be treated right. Enjoy!
PAIRING: idol!chan x gn!reader
GENRE: angst (too much delusional)
WARNINGS: mentions of food and drinks, suggestive, reader has a boyfriend, a few curse words
WORD COUNT: 3.8k
Series Masterlist | Next
"𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞"
It wasn't supposed to end like this. This journey was supposed to be a brief interlude in the grand scheme of things. Yet, here you are. In this reality. In this present.
You were running late that day.
Well, at least that's how you look at it. You prided yourself on never making anyone wait—a firm believer that punctuality was a virtue you held dear, never wanting to inconvenience others. Everything you needed was already prepared and waiting by the door. As you waited for your ride, you have your best friend on the phone.
"And then how's the boyfriend?"
"He's great."
"You're still seeing him," he remarked, more to himself than to you. You found it unusual to hear his tone lacking the usual enthusiasm as you were more accustomed to his cheerful demeanour.
"It's not that easy, Cheol."
"Fine, we'll talk when you get here. By the way, I know you're not good with strangers, but is it alright if I ask one of my members to pick you up instead? I'm out of the way, and he'll pass by your apartment on the way. It's alright if you don't want to, though."
Do I have a choice? you wanted to retort, but you knew Seungcheol too well. He was the kind of person who wouldn't even let you open the door for yourself; he was just that thoughtful.
"Is he nice?"
"Very much, unlike that dick you're dating. He's the baby in our group!" You ignored his not so subtle insult he just threw about your boyfriend. You sense a hint of pride visible in his voice. So you tried to tease lightly to lighten the mood, "So, a superstar's gonna drive me?"
"Hey, why don't you say that when I'm the one driving you?"
"Fine. I trust your judgment. Just, tell him I'm super awkward, alright?"
"Don't worry. He's pretty good with people. I'll tell him not to be weird."
"𝐈 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬
𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧' 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬
𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧' 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐱"
"Hi, I'm Lee Chan!"
You went to step out on the porch a full 30 minutes earlier than planned, determined not to keep your ride waiting. The early morning air was crisp, and the faint glow of dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky. Just as you took the first step down the porch stairs, a car pulled into your driveway, surprising you.
You quickly gathered all your things. Lee Chan greeted you with a friendly smile, and you returned the gesture with a bow before carefully getting into the passenger seat. "Good morning, hi! I'm so sorry. I really hope I'm not bothering you."
"Not really, it's fine. I'm going to pass by your apartment anyway."
"Cheol insists and I couldn't say no," you explained, feeling immense gratitude for his understanding. His tone was light and easygoing, which calmed you a bit.
"Well, it's Cheollie. It's fine, really!" he laughed, clearly trying to ease any tension, which seemed to work. "It's okay if you want to stay silent, alright? I'll just turn on the radio. I hope you don't mind."
"Oh no, I don't. It's your car."
During the drive, the boy made light small talk, about the weather, your impression of South Korea so far, and how you and Seungcheol knew each other, "We go way back, like elementary school levels," you shared, smiling at the memories. "I appreciate how he hasn't forgotten his roots, even after all the achievements he's had." You also mentioned that you were a sound engineer.
His friendly demeanour and natural charm made the journey feel shorter than it was. You found yourself laughing at his jokes and stories, enjoying the unexpected company.
You had arrived at the studio without realizing it.
"Hey Chan, thank you so much for this. I owe you," you expressed your gratitude as you both got out of the car, very appreciative of his kindness.
"Don't mention it!" he replied with a smile, waving goodbye as you went your separate ways.
You met Seungcheol in the cafeteria to grab breakfast and catch up before proceeding with the recording. As you watched from the control room, you were overjoyed with all the gadgets and equipment, finding it a little funny and impressive how all thirteen boys managed to record so quickly, considering they only got 1-2 lines per song.
The atmosphere in the studio was lively, and you couldn't help but feel excited to be a part of it all.
The recording process stretched on for a week, followed by several more weeks for mastering. During this time, you had the opportunity to build a rapport with the staff, particularly with Jihoon, whose dedication and talent in producing the songs left you in awe each day.
You also had the chance to meet the other members, but your interactions were quite limited due to their celebrity status. They were always surrounded by tight security, even within the studio premises, unless Seungcheol came to check in on you. One time, while you were helping out the audio department, Seungcheol checked on you along with Chan.
"What are you even doing here? You don't even care about me," Jihoon playfully chided, nudging Chan away as he reached for the audio mixer's controls.
"It's because I'm not here for you, loser! I'm checking in on YN!" They were playfully pushing each other, almost like kids playing, which you were grateful for, or else they would've seen how red you turned.
Jihoon settled back into his big ass producer chair, a big grin on his face and you couldn't help but feel that he needed that short break; he had been working nonstop the whole day, glued to that chair. "What a friend you are, Chan."
"Hi Y/N! How are you?" Chan greeted warmly with his signature charm, his smile infectious.
"Chan, hey. I'm good. Actually just being amazed every day by Jihoon," you tried to express your admiration for his talent. The two boys joined in, showering Jihoon with compliments, and you could see the blush on his face, a clear sign of the love and appreciation he received from everyone. You thought he was humble.
As you and Chan caught up, you couldn't help but notice the genuine kindness and warmth in Chan's demeanor.
This led you to look at him in a way you knew you shouldn't, feeling a fleeting moment of attraction that left you momentarily conflicted, your thoughts briefly drifting to your boyfriend. Your mind wandered, 'When will my own boyfriend ask me how I am?'
Scoups announced they had to leave.
"Ji, take care of Y/N," they bid their goodbyes and exchanged hugs. Chan surprised you by pulling you into a hug as well. As you felt his embrace, you couldn't shake the feeling of longing that lingered after he left, a stark contrast to the fleeting thought of your boyfriend.
"𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧' 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧?"
When the mastering was completed, a company party was held to celebrate the accomplishments, but it was exclusive to all creatives responsible for the producing and mastering. You were fortunate enough to be friends with Seungcheol and had also won Jihoon's friendship along the process, so you received an invite.
At the party, you mingled with many of the creatives, expanding your network and soaking in the knowledge and experiences of seasoned professionals. You found yourself inspired by their stories and insights, feeling more motivated than ever to pursue your own career in the industry.
As the night went on, you couldn't help but reflect on how far you had come since starting your journey. A beautiful warm feeling in your heart as you look at all the opportunities you had received and excited for what the future held.
The party had a semi-formal dress code, so you opted for smart slacks to ensure comfort throughout the evening.
As your social battery began to drain, you found a moment to sit down at a round table. A waiter promptly served your food, and shortly after, Chan approached and asked, "Is this seat taken?"
"No, go ahead, sit."
True to form, Chan's presence was comforting, and any hint of your earlier drained battery seemed to vanish as if Chan had electrified you with energy.
You both shared laughs, with Chan mostly cracking jokes and pointing out random people, sharing funny anecdotes about them. You found this particularly amusing as you had met and knew half of them from the mastering process.
"Have you tried their cocktail yet? It's so good!"
"Oh, and don't forget to apply Vaseline to your lips every night."
"Moisturizer! Every time I finish shaving."
He was just an ordinary guy, chatting with you about the most everyday things. That's what you liked about Chan—there was never a dull moment when he was around. You were starting to get used to his presence, finding comfort in his company.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan took seats in front of you. "Is this guy bothering you, Y/N?" Seungcheol asked jokingly.
"Why would you even say that?" the boy beside you just whined like a baby. You laughed and carried on with your conversation, enjoying the lively atmosphere of the party.
After a few drinks, the both of you were now eating pasta. Chan took a bite from your plate, and a piece fell on your thigh. "Shit, I'm sorry," he exclaimed.
You both burst into hysterical laughter at the randomness of the situation. Chan quickly took the piece off, whilst you're relieved that you were wearing pants. A faint stain was left, "Hey, it looks like a cursive 'M.'"
As Chan's finger traced the cursive "M" on your thigh, you couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions. His touch, so gentle yet electrifying, sent a shiver down your spine, and a warm sensation spread through your body. His smile was innocent, but the effect it had on you was intense. You were acutely aware of the world around you seemingly stopping, leaving just the two of you trapped in a bubble with his burning touch.
You locked eyes with Chan, and for a moment, you couldn't help but notice how close he was. His presence was comforting yet exhilarating, and you found yourself leaning slightly into his touch, wanting more but also hesitant to show it. You were lost in the moment, caught between the warmth of his touch and the realization that this was a line you shouldn't cross.
Eventually, the spell was broken as Soonyoung approached to whisk Chan away for another one of their antics. As Chan withdrew his hand, the spell seemed to break, and you became aware of the bustling party around you once again. You could feel your cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement, and you quickly looked away to try to compose yourself.
He excused himself and as you watched them go, you couldn't shake the feeling of being caught in a surreal moment, wondering what it all meant and where it might lead.
In front of you, you felt a burning gaze. "What?"
"Can I talk to you?" Seungcheol asked, his tone serious as he gestured towards an empty hallway.
"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 "𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞" 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝?"
"Chan, really? Of all the boys, you chose Chan?"
"What are you talking about?" You tried to keep your voice low, but you already had a feeling of where this conversation was going.
"You know, I wouldn't mind it because you're seeing a jerk and I want you to be happy. But Chan? It's Chan who you fell for?" Seungcheol's tone was a mix of confusion and concern.
"Can you please lower your voice? People might hear you!" Y/N whispered urgently, glancing around to make sure they weren't drawing attention.
"You—" Seungcheol paused, catching himself before saying something he might regret. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts.
When he finally regained his composure, he looked at you, silently urging you to continue. He's never given this look at you before so you just looked down in fear, "how did you know?"
"Uhm, the way you looked?" You met his gaze, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you. "Sorry, but it wasn't that subtle, just in case you don't know." You groaned, feeling like your secret was suddenly out in the open when it was supposed to be locked up in a tiny vault, never to be opened.
"Damn it. It was your fault!"
"Mine?!" As the ever-good leader of Seventeen group, Seungcheol was obviously taken aback by this accusation.
"You introduced him to me!" You tried pointing out, but even you weren't convinced by it. You just fell, and you fell hard.
"Oh my god, you've been crushing on him since that day?" The man in front of you looked so pale like a ghost.
"What's so bad about Chan? I get that I'm seeing someone right now, but it's not like something will blossom from this. I'm coming home in a few days anyway," you defended.
"I don't know. It's just weird. He's like a little brother," Seungcheol explained, trying to make sense of his feelings.
"I hate to break it to you, Cheol, but he's an adult and he's not your kid."
Their conversation was cut short when they heard the boys running down the hallway, their voices loud and boisterous.
"Cheollie!" Mingyu called out, followed by Soonyoung and Chan, their voices filled the empty hallway like a bunch of kids running around.
"See what I mean?" You actually found the situation funny, you got his look understanding exactly what he was referring to.
"Hey, is it alright if I bail early? I suddenly don't feel well," you asked, your expression turning slightly uneasy.
"I'll tell my driv--" Seungcheol was interrupted by Mingyu crashing into him and hiding behind his back.
"Cheollie, look at these two!" Mingyu exclaimed, attempting but failing to hide himself.
"I swear to god if you three don't behave yourselves! We're at a company event, not in a GOSE episode," Seungcheol scolded. You felt like he had been through so much that night already—dealing with you and Chan, and then managing the antics of the other boys too.
He then turned to you, "Just tell my driver to come back right after. This party doesn't seem like it's ending soon."
"Huh? You're leaving already, Y/N?" Chan asked disappointment was evident in his tone, but you didn't dwell on it too much.
"Yeah, I don't really drink much, so I got a little light-headed with the drinks we had."
"Oh, I didn't even feel a kick," he boasted.
"Of course, frat boy, it's you," Soonyoung teased him. You don't know why boys do that but they seem to always slap some shit out of their friends when they're all teasing.
"Oy! I'm not a drunk!"
"Yeah, right," Mingyu joined.
"Well, good night, everyone!" you bid your farewell and started to make your way back inside.
"Can I walk you, at least?" Chan offered, looking genuinely concerned.
You exchanged a glance with the eldest, "Oh, it's fine. I'm good. Thank you for the offer, though," you tried to sound politely as you can, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty about your decision.
"Alright, well have a good night, Y/N," Chan said warmly, bidding you goodbye as the others chimed in to greet too.
You turned to leave the party coming home with a pang of regret, wondering if you should have accepted Chan's offer after all.
Returning to your apartment, the weight of disappointment that usually accompanied your boyfriend's predictable good morning text was conspicuously absent. Instead, there was a curious sense of relief, as if a burden had been lifted from your shoulders.
As you settled in, the memory of Chan lingered, his presence more vivid than ever. You couldn't shake the feeling of warmth that had enveloped you in his company, a stark contrast to the mundane routine of your current relationship.
The night replayed in your mind like a movie. You remembered the way Chan's eyes lit up when he talked about his passions, the genuine interest he showed in your own stories, and the way he made you feel seen and understood in a way your boyfriend never had. The laughter, the camaraderie, the easy banter with Chan—all of it felt more real and vibrant than anything you had experienced in a long time.
You remember the way his finger drew burns on your skin.
You couldn't help but compare the excitement and genuine connection you felt with Chan to the monotony and predictability of your relationship with your boyfriend. His single text message, a mere formality, now seemed like a stark reminder of what was lacking in your current situation.
Despite the late hour and the day's activities leaving you tired, sleep eluded you as you lay in bed, your thoughts consumed by Chan. You found yourself wondering about what could've been.
You hadn't returned to the studio since the party, as you weren't needed there anyway.
"Cheol, I'm coming home early," you decided, thinking it would be best to leave before your feelings grew unrequited.
"I thought you still had a few more days?" even through a phone call, his surprised voice is pretty evident.
"Yeah, I thought I'd start early, you know? Got a lot to prepare."
"Alright, well, this is so sudden. I planned on hanging out before you leave but, if that's what you want, sure. Do you already have your plane ticket?" he inquired.
"Yup. Find someone else to spoil, not me. You've already spoiled me enough with this part-time opportunity!" you joked. "I can't thank you enough."
"What can I say? I'm the best."
"You actually are," you admitted sincerely, feeling a warmth in your chest from the precious relationship you have with your best friend.
"Well, when will I see you again?" he asked, even if you haven't left yet, you can already hear the longing in his voice.
In school reunions?" you joke to try to lighten the mood.
"Ha-ha."
"I'm just a phone call away, Cheol," you reassured him, hoping to offer some comfort. The bond you shared was strong, and you knew that no matter the distance, your friendship would endure.
With that, you flew away from South Korea without looking back. However, your thoughts couldn't seem to leave that place.
"𝐌𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐞
𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞
𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧' 𝐮𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞"
"Hi, baby. Look, I know you must be upset, but please hear me out."
You stood at the airport, the cold, sterile surroundings matching the numbness in your heart.
It's now almost an hour.
Each minute stretching like an eternity, as you waited for your ride home. This situation was all too familiar, a painful routine of either waiting for him or picking him up.
"I'll just call you a taxi, alright? And then, I'm gonna treat you to a nice dinner. Sounds good?"
Dinner was indeed nice, except for the part where he brought his whole group of friends. As much as you wanted to catch up with your boyfriend, the whole time you just wanted to lie down in bed, too jet-lagged from all the traveling that day.
Physically, you were there, but mentally, you were still in the studio. You were still at that party. You were still with Chan.
You felt a hand on your thigh, a gesture meant to reassure, but it only served to highlight the growing distance between you. His touch felt foreign, a stark contrast to the intimacy it once held.
It felt like he was encroaching on your space. Despite the happiness of being home and the prospect of spending more time together, every interaction felt jarring, out of sync.
Each kiss felt like poison, leaving a bitter taste on your lips. Every hug seemed to suffocate, the embrace too tight, too restricting. Every touch sent shivers down your spine, but not the kind that thrilled. They felt cold, devoid of the warmth you once knew.
And with every climax, you found yourself calling out a different name in your head, a silent plea for something more, something real.
"𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲"
The day rushed past as the first music video from the album was completed. You had the exclusive opportunity to view it before its public release. Seungcheol even asked for your genuine review and your reaction was beyond words. Your involvement in its production gave you a unique perspective, witnessing the meticulous effort and creative genius behind every scene.
Seeing the boys perform with such passion and talent warmed your heart. Especially seeing him. As a member of the performance team, his dancing prowess was expected, but witnessing it live was awe-inspiring.
A tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek, a mix of pride and a deep yearning for Seungcheol's advice. While you could end your relationship now, it wasn't that simple. Your career was your priority, and you craved stability, something you doubted Chan could provide as a pop star. While you longed for adventure, what you truly needed was a sense of security and stability in your life.
You yearn for the way Chan makes you feel when you're with him. His presence is like a burst of energy, always leaving you electrified and invigorated. It's a stark contrast to the dynamics of what you actually have now in a relationship.
Seungcheol did mention Chan asking how you've been doing and all that. This made you realize that you needed to distance yourself. Choosing not to entertain thoughts of Chan any longer seemed like the only sensible solution. After all, as a pop star, entertaining others was part of his nature, and you didn't want to be just another audience member in his life, they were programmed to do just that, even for you.
It wasn't supposed to end like this. This journey was supposed to be a brief interlude in the grand scheme of things. Yet, here you are. In this reality. In this present.
But in another life, you would choose you and him religiously.
PSA: This is a work of pure fiction. Any names, events, times, or places mentioned are purely for entertainment and are entirely fictional (well, except for the names of the members).
© All copyrights for the title, lyrics, and concept of this work belong to Taylor Swift. The plot and dialogue of the story are entirely original and created by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise. Unauthorized use, reproduction, or distribution of this work may result in legal action.
#madewithangst writes#seventeen#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#svt#svt x reader#dino x reader#lee chan#chan x reader#dino svt#svt dino#ttpd#taylor swift#dino imagines#lee chan imagines#lee chan x reader#scoups#woozi#hoshi#mingyu#svt imagines#svt fanfic#seventeen scenarios#seventeen fluff#angst#poetry#fanfiction#inpired by taylor swift
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"only friends" messy love web: episode 1
#only friends#series#squad#m:p#my gfx#o friends 1x01#this was way too fun to make and i'm really happy with how it turned out alskdf#this is just my understanding of the story so far but if anyone has any corrections or additions lmk :)
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Yandere Head Canons:
Sacrificial Bride
Yandere Dragon Shifter x Princess Reader
TW: Yandere behavior, manipulation, Somniaphilia (suggested), delusional yandede, complacency, etc.
Feroc the Ferocious was the kind of dragon who would bring any silly knight to their knees. The kind of dragon that inspired legends and stories to be written in books. The kind of dragon that was larger than any castle human like could ever dream to build. The kind of dragon that could decimate a kingdom with a single breath of his fiery flames if he was angered… the dragon that your own people sacrificed you, the princess, to in order to save themselves from his wrath.
And so they bound you up and threw you before him. Your own father on his knees as he begged the great dragon for mercy in exchange for his own flesh and blood… the kingdom’s most prized beauty in exchange for peace. An offer Feroc quickly accepted before the king could utter another word!
Dragons collected beautiful treasures! Dragons hoarded their treasure in caves and abandoned castles fad from prying eyes… and unbeknownst to you, Feroc found you to be rhetorical most beautiful
For dragons, a sacrificial spouse was an ancient tradition and this was the first time he’d been offered such a perfect bride! How could he refuse you? Especially when your own people begged him so prettily? Would you beg for him just as beautifully one day?
And so you were scooped up in his ginormous talons and carried away in the sky to a lone tower deep in the mountains. Your new home… your home with Feroc.
You could recall how scared of him you used to be. You’d heard from many people of how this giant scaled beast before you was a man eater. Of how he swallowed many knights in his time… yet this dragon seemed so shy from your experience so far. Skittish even.
Feroc often brought you various jewelry and fine silks from his daily raids. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t bring you a gift of some kind. His molten eagerly studied your form despite his persistent silence. Feroc’s company disturbed you as much as it comforted you.
It took a month for him to speak to you. His accent was heavy from the olden tongue he spoke but he knew the same language you spoke. His voice was booming and low, it could easily strike terror in others… but for some reason, his voice calmed you. Perhaps loneliness has finally crept its fangs into your heart? You weren’t sure…
Feroc would bring you anything you wanted to eat. Within means, of course. He’d bring you delicacies he’d likely looted off some poor caravan if you said you wanted sweets. There was no extremes he wouldn’t go to for you, which was odd since he was a dragon who’s been around for hundred of years… why did Feroc have such an interest in a human princess?
One day, you had a nightmare of a man standing in the corner of your room. Your scream in the night quickly alerted your guardian who peaked his large eye in your room in worry.
“Princess? What’s wrong?”
“I just had a nightmare… I thought there was a man in my room.” You wiped the sweat from your forehead while Feroc clicked his tongue.
“No man could ever scale his tower. I’m the only one who can enter. I’d never let anyone harm you.” The red and black dragon grumbled, his molten eyes glanced you once over. “Why? Do you… want a human companion?”
“I do get lonely sometimes.” You admitted to Feroc . His eyes now filled with hurt. “I do enjoy your company but… I miss being able to touch another human.”
Feroc didn’t understand your sentiment. He was a might dragon! The strongest of his kind! Feroc has proven himself to be the best of mates to you and yet you were still displeased? Was it because he was a dragon? Would you be happier if he showed you his other form?
“I’ll figure something out then… get some sleep.”
Feroc now snuck in your bedroom when you slept. He ghosted his clawed fingers over your oblivious form in wonder. His clawed fingers were too sharp, he’d have to dull them more… he didn’t want to cut up his pretty princess!
Feroc’s gentle touches progressed when he noticed how heavy of a sleeper you were. His desire to see what made you human drove him to insatiable heights. No area was left unexplored with his eyes. He needed to be perfect. Feroc had to be compatible with you. You and him were going to have young one day, after all! Feroc didn’t want to harm you in the process!
Feroc was able to mold his body into a perfect man. Once that was the perfect size for you, yet still immense so you’d know it was him. Feroc now stood at a massive seven feet tall rather than the hundred feet of his dragon form.
Yet there was a constant fear within him that you’d die of old age or of natural causes… Feroc knew humans were fragile creatures so he did what he had to. Feroc shared half of his heart with you while you slept. It was a simple spell and a painless procedure for you. One that would benefit the both do you in the long run!
If one of you died, the other would! You’d never age! You now shared a lifespan with him. Feroc couldn’t wait to tell you once the two of you made everything official!
It took another month for him to reveal this perfect form to you. Feroc had to let the excitement die down from sharing his heart with you so you didn’t freak out! Humans were such finicky creatures, after all! And he’d be an awful mate if he frightened you with a subject you had no knowledge on…
All you needed was to see this devilishly beautiful form of his and you’d be bewitched.
“Look at us… we’re so beautiful together.” Feroc whispered into the skin of your shoulder as he admired your reflection beside him. “I think I’ll find you more gold to decorate you with, my treasure.”
“Feroc, I don’t understand.” You jump when Feroc dragged his forked tongue across your exposed shoulder.
“You accepted all of my gifts and you’re the only one who suits me.” Feroc hissed his obsidian eyes flashed a bright gold. “Wouldn’t you rather be by my side than in my stomach?”
You gulped and obediently rested your head on his chest which made him purr in contentment. His muscular arms wrapped around yours as his wavy black hair tickled your skin.
“I’m joking, I’d never eat you.” Feroc smiled before he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “You’re my bride, after all.”
You didn’t need to know about how many knights he’s killed over the last few months for you. Feroc would take care of you until the day the both of you died. Every heinous act he’s ever committed over these last few months were all for his beautiful, blushing bride.
#female reader#yandere fic#yandere imagine#yandere#yandere oc#yandere original character#yandere oc x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#monster x human#yandere monster#yandere dragon#yandere headcanons#original work#tw.yandere#yandere scenarios#yandere obsession#yandere concept#yandere writer Momo#stockhom syndrome#yandere horror#yandere idea#yandere imagines#monster x reader#princess reader#yandere male#yandere boy#delusional yandere
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➳ my soul searches
--͙[naoya zenin x female! reader]-͙-
╰┈➤ word count; 6512
╰┈➤ rundown; you might be ignorant about anything concerning naoya zenin but somehow he knows everything about you.
╰┈➤ caution; mean! naoya, DUBIOUS CONSENT, virginity loss (mentions of blood), dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, no prep, choking, use of the words slut, whore, bitch (degradation), MISOGYNISTIC ideologies mentioned, manhandling, 1 thigh smack, cum eating, cunnilingus, fellatio (head pushing & rough), belly bulge, throat bulge, size kink, mentions of fingering, hair is referred to as 'cascading' on one occasion. sex on a futon (just so it won't be confusing).
if there are any more warnings i should add please let me know. not proof read!
naoya is awful.
he is a horrible man.
everyone knows it.
whether it be due to the countless stories everyone gossips about or witnessing firsthand the vicious things he does.
you were privy to outrageous hearsay spreading but you did not care enough to understand.
as far as you know, he is a powerful man.
and in your clan, you bow down to powerful men.
you have been fed lies that you do not have much to offer.
women were responsible for wifely duties and child bearing.
it is all you learned your entire life.
you are surprised when there is news of a member of the zenin clan's impending visitation. the people within your district make countless preparations and take any precaution necessary to ensure they meet naoya's standard. the last thing they want is to face his acrimony.
there are rumours of a potential alliance and it seems exceedingly promising to be closely associated with such a powerful family.
the day of his arrival, everything looks auspicious. you are shocked at the innumerable women adorned in luxurious clothing and decked in lavish jewellery.
you certainly do not understand all the fuss about him. you swore everyone hated him.
the welcome is extravagant and curiosity gets the best of you because you find yourself tip toeing to catch sight of him.
he is definitely not what you expected. he is young, his expression is all too smug. you never had the opportunity to see him before but he is gorgeous. in every sense of the word.
he is the definition of it.
sharp narrow eyes were lined, push pink lips with a barely visible cupid's bow and a straight nose although the tip was slightly upturned. his brows were thin and straight. if anyone looked for long enough and he smiled you could see the indents of dimples. he was truly pretty.
naoya tells the head of your clan that an alliance will only be formed provided he receives something. that whatever he wishes must be granted to him for congruity in return.
somehow, someway he pinpoints you in a crowd of too many people.
you were astonished when his stony eyes found yours. you try to tell yourself, you are not the one. it must be someone else. it has to be! you are proven wrong when your mother grips your arm and drags you up to him.
she bows, her hand roughly shoving your head down while you fidget. his stare is heavy, it makes you want to hide away. your parents practically offer you to him on a silver platter.
your eyes look everywhere but at him while he requests a room. unabashedly he speaks for everyone to witness.
his fingers find your chin, tipping your head back to look over your face. he towers over you. "dress her up." his voice is raspy and deep. he speaks to your mother though he does not spare her a glance.
you are speechless, you can only imagine what it means. an uncontrollable amount of thoughts pile into your head as your mother takes you away.
virginity means everything to a young girl like you. you need to be one to get married. it is your clan's way of life so why do your parents not care? your mother dresses you in the finest silk, something they could never afford before. she knots your hair in a bun and it hurts when she pulls at the strands.
decorative pins are stuck into your hair, some nicking your scalp. she drapes a heavy chain around your neck and squeezes your hand as she forces bracelets onto your wrists.
you look just like every other woman that dolled up for naoya zenin in anticipation of his attention.
you realise your parents do not care for your dignity as they usher you into an intricately decorated room.
they crave the validation of everyone else more than they care about you. you always knew that but you never thought they would go to this extent.
"be good and listen to everything he says." your mom commands. she shoves you to your knees on the thick layers of satin.
"this is for everyone's betterment." your father adds like it would make any of this right. you have no choice in the matter.
they were giving you up for naoya to do whatever he pleased because they were greedy for admiration.
you worry what it meant for you afterwards. you worry what people would think once you left these four walls.
the door slams shut upon their exit, you nervously shift. you wonder if you could run away. the weight of the jewellery feels uncomfortable, the clothes are so thick you swear you are sweating. they seem impossible to do anything in.
it feels like an eternity when naoya enters. his broad back faces you as he closes the door. his presence is intimidating, his aura is immense.
you swallow hard.
you are only to speak when spoken to.
yet you want to ask what took him so long.
why did you chose me?
what are you going to do to me?
you cannot question him. that is not your place.
you are sitting, hands anxiously twitching where they rest on your thighs. your eyes drop to the floor as he faces you.
he draws closer, your breathing stops as he circles you. he does it slowly, intently like he wants to memorise you from every angle.
you feel like prey, you are awaiting your predator to strike. there is absolutely no escape. his gaze sears into your being.
in a way he is scary. "strip." his deep voice instructs. your body tenses, breathing more laboured. you are unmoving as he steps closer. he cups your head, it is softer than you expected. he tilts you back to look at him, you are made aware of his bulge right in front of your face.
it is when he grips your hair, disheveling your bun that you realise it is all pretence. you shriek as he forcefully lifts you to your knees. the way you reach for his hand is futile because you cannot stop him no matter how hard you try.
"don't make me speak twice, y/n." you wonder how he knew your name. you were no one. you were not anyone important to this clan or world. "now take your fucking clothes off before i do it myself."
he shoves you back, you just barely brace yourself. his nimble fingers reach for the laces on his robe as he undoes them with ease. tears prick your eyes, you shakily tug at your bracelets. your movements are frantic enough to send them scattered across the floor. you rip the necklace from your throat, it stings where it nicks your skin.
your hands endlessly tremble when you pull off the layers of heavy fabric draped on you. you are too busy removing your clothing to see that he is already bare.
once you are rid of anything that preserves your modesty, you fold your arms to hide your body. a man has never seen you like this and you never thought the first time would be under this circumstance.
naoya's eyes trail over you, he is already hard. it is borderline painful. he was hard from simply thinking about you obediently waiting for him.
you feel his presence behind you, he lowers himself to his knees. his hands reach for your shoulders first. they are large and rough, they elicit goosebumps across your skin as he trails them down to caress your arms.
he pulls you into him, the hardness of his chest meeting your back. his arms surround your body and you tense at the feeling of his heated cock brushing your skin. his dexterous fingers remove the pins from your hair, he undoes the bun to allow the strands to cascade down your back. he brushes it over your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your nape.
you are shocked by the softness of them. he trails more kisses down the upper part of your spine. it is mind muddling.
"i can tell you haven't fucked before." you jolt at the sound of his gruff voice. his warm breath meets your skin and you shiver. his forearm comes around your front to keep you flush against him.
"spread your legs, let me see your cunt." he speaks without any shame. you hesitate and his displeasure is evident because his palm connects with the flesh of your thigh so hard that you shriek. your skin stings.
you have no choice but to open your legs for him. he slips his hands between them, his wide palm cupping your cunt.
you cannot breathe. it is all so overwhelming. you notice the evident veins on his lower arm as his hand covers your sex completely. it dawns on you that you have never had this intimacy before. you have never even touched where he would be.
he clicks his tongue, his presence makes you anxious. everything he does makes you tense.
he grimaces, you are not wet. not in the slightest.
naoya removes his hand to spit into his fingers, the fluid is pressed to your clit as he strokes it. he does not like the way you bite down on your lip to muffle your sounds. he hates it.
he rolls the bundle of nerves, pinching it before he slowly trails his fingers down your slit. the tip of his finger prods your entrance, gliding along it though he does not enter.
your smaller hands grip his forearm and for some reason it makes him hug your body tighter.
you breathe shakily in anticipation of his next move. it is a foreign feeling to be caressed but you can hardly complain. it is the furthest thing from unpleasant. it annoys you how good it feels.
"i'm shoving my cock in here." he huffs. the length of his finger coaxing through your lips has you writhing.
"going to stick my dick in this little hole and make you my bitch." his words are vulgar. the obscenity of his remarks have you furrowing your brows.
"it sounds good, right? having your pussy filled to the brim. i'll even fuck my cum into you." his jaw presses into your temple and you unsurely blink. he is so big, you feel like you are tucked into him.
he pinches your clit and you choose to focus on that rather than what he is saying. it feels good, enough to make you squirm. each time he does it, your cunt leaks with liquid. his entire palm strokes up and down, smearing sticky liquid over your cunt.
"naoya." you mewl. he has you spread open on his lap as he strokes your dripping pussy. he knows one thing for certain, your pretty voice forming his name is the greatest thing he has ever heard. he loves the sounds you make because of him.
you are so wet now, you are drenched and leaking. the sticky liquid trails out of your slit endlessly. his fingers steadily collect it and your lips part when he pulls away. your eyes follow his hand as he brings the sodden liquid digits near his mouth.
it is dirty. it is gross, it must be. somehow, you find yourself entranced. his tongue slips out to lave over his drenched palm.
"so fucking messy." he grits his teeth, he tilts his head to you. his wet hand grips your jaw, "you always taste so good." he presses his mouths to yours.
you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he aggressively kisses you. despite your inexperience you try to replicate him.
his expression looks irritated as he wetly separates from you. he forces you onto your back, leaning over you. his eyes glimpse at your cunt and they trail up your body.
you are on display for his prying eyes. he gropes your breasts, kissing and licking down your sternum. you are delirious as he sucks on your skin. he kisses all the way up to your jaw before he covers your mouth with his.
he licks into your mouth until you are a breathless mess.
"i'm not prepping you. m'not." he squeezes your jaw. "the first thing i'm stuffing in your pussy is my cock and it's gonna hurt. it'll hurt a lot but you deserve it." he airily speaks, his eyes dark.
you stare in confusion, panic sets in your chest. what wrong did you do? you wonder what warranted having your virginity stripped with no compassion.
you were more than aware he did not care for you.
as far as you know, you are suppose to pride yourself in your virginity. you were to save it for your husband and no one else. the man between your legs is a stranger, the man telling you such nasty things is nothing to you.
you swallow hard as you stare at his intimidating size. the head of his cock is purplish and dripping pre cum. his shaft is thick and it seems to go on forever. you wonder how it is suppose to fit inside you.
naoya grasps his aching cock to tap the head on your clit. you try to move away, you really do but he is so strong. he is completely unmoving. he coats his tip in your slick before pressing into your hole.
despite how tight you are, despite how big and thick he is. you shove at his abdomen, his abs flexing under your palms. "naoya please." tears stream down your cheeks but he relents. he cups your thighs to bring them over his and spread you open.
his rough fingers find your perked clit, rubbing it in aggressive circles. you hate to admit it but it feels too good. your hands clamp down on your mouth to mute the moans escaping you.
you gush on him with no fanfare. this entire circumstance makes you feel like an easy slut. he presses more into you, reaching the ridge where his cock and shaft meet. your legs jolt the further his girth fills you.
your insides squeeze and clamp down trying to deny his intrusion, you make naoya crazy. "fucking stop." he hisses. you are like a vice around his pulsing cock.
he says what you should be saying. you should be telling him to stop but you do not. you should be screaming and crying, telling him to get off of you but that is the last thing in your head.
it feels good. more of him is pressed into you and your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. it is an unfamiliar feeling but the pressure in your abdomen is more pleasurable than painful. you find yourself adjusting, you are still so tight that naoya loses his mind.
he presses down on your clit an inch accompanying the motion and you shriek at the feeling. he continually rocks his hips, slowly coaxing over your bundle of nerves. your hands find purchase in the sheets, panting while you try to gather your bearings.
the stimulation has you fidgeting, it has you moaning his name endlessly. your thighs tremble on either side of him and your expression is contorted at the feeling. he looks down at your body, tongue slipping out to coat his lips and you find yourself wishing it was in your mouth, on your skin. anywhere you wanted him.
he leans down, his muscles rippling and the flesh along his abs bunching in little rolls, his biceps are almost as big as your head. you feel like he was strong enough to lift you with one finger. he seemed that way, strong and mighty in all that he did.
his hips shallowly move to thrust the portion of his length he has managed to shove into you. "you're fucking me." you stutter, your voice barely audible. you have never spoken those words, have never even conjured them up.
naoya's eyes flash, his large hand spanning over your stomach, trailing between your breasts and then gripping your throat. "m'not. but i can, i can fuck you so deep you feel it here." he squeezes the sides of your neck, eyes glancing to your leaking cunt that soaks him even though he has not gotten to the hilt.
the warmth and tightness of you makes him ache to have his entire cock deep in your pussy but you are little and you are looking at him with the sweetest eyes.
he wants to hurt you, he wants to make you cry but you are so adorable. "i can fuck you and have your belly bulging every. single. time. i shove my cock in your dripping cunt."
you have never had someone speak to you like that. you never heard those words strung together nor spoken in such a depraved tone.
you wonder how he could be this handsome. you wonder what led him here, with you.
"i'll make this pussy mine whether you want it or not but you want it, don't you? you want me to fuck you, you want me to have you shaped to my cock and mine alone" he pants. you nod your head, you swear there is cotton between your ears, there is empty space perhaps but there is surely not a working brain.
not after he painted such an image of him fucking you like you were his and turned it to mush. "say it. say it all, say you want naoya zenin to fuck you." you whine, he squeezes your throat, his grip so strong you swore he could crush it to dust.
you whine and babble and your hips move to get more of the stimulation as he shallowly fucks you. your hands find his broad shoulders, just barely gripping them and he leans down. no you could never move someone like him, he let you. he conceded because it is you.
his face is so close, he is composed and collected while you are a mess beneath him. "i want naoya zenin to fuck me" your voice is broken by a moan as he forces more of himself into you.
you whine in his face "i want him to claim me, break me. i only want him in my cunt." your voice is a warbled mess and for some reason naoya did not expect you to be so nasty. to tell him those things. claiming you is one thing but breaking you?
he would do more than break you. he would wreck every inch of you, destroy and decimate it all, there would be no way to return you to what you were.
"then loosen up, slut." you cannot mute the scream that escapes you when the thickness of his girth is pushed entirely into your walls. your legs desperately hook on his hips, so tense they feel sore.
it burns, it hurts and stings but it feels unbelievably good, it did not feel like something you could fathom in a real world only in fantasy.
why, why, why? why does it feel so good? you had no expectations of sex. absolutely none.
when the women spoke they did not entertain such topics. was this what they did behind closed doors? did such depravity remain hidden while they portrayed themselves as saints?
he is so hot, you feel him everywhere. he is nestled inside you like he belongs there, he throbs into your gummy walls.
his large palm graces your tummy, gliding to your lower abdomen. he presses down and you sigh in unison. your eyes wildly look down. "look where my cock is in you, you really are too small to take it."
he is not your husband, he should not have stuffed his cock all the way inside you that his head impresses in your stomach. what right did he have to lay claim?
it does not matter, not anymore. he has your cunt wrapped around him and your body does not protest. no, your body welcomes him with endless slick. it yearns and begs for him. it felt like you were just waiting for him to come and take you.
he pulls out until only his leaking head is enclosed by your cunt. his expression is pleased at the sight of red streaks along him. "got your blood all over my cock. y'know what that means?"
your head is too empty to hear, to function. you cannot quite make out his words but the sound of his voice makes you mewl. you are soaking him again and again.
"means you're all mine." you eyes roll as he shallowly pumps into you. you swear you cannot see beyond him.
his hands grope the perimeter of your waist. "i haven't even fucked you yet and you already look like a brain dead whore." he coos but his eyes are dark.
he is caught up in the sight of your dripping slit stretched around the girth of his cock. his strong thighs flex, you shriek when he starts pounding into you.
naoya bullies his cock into your pussy that will not stop pulsing around him. you are so tight he sees stars. your insides are gooey and warm. he wants to be wrapped in you forever.
his abs strain, his cock is coated in your juices. slick strands are covering him. the more he slams into you the nastier sounds your pussy makes.
"shouldn't be this tight or feel this good." he huffs, he uses your body like a sex doll. he holds you down and thrusts into you so hard your skin stings. every loud collision of his flesh with yours hurts.
"you're my slut, fuck, you're the only bitch i want." your entire body shakes with the weigh of his movements. your eyes water and you fist the soaked sheets.
naoya looks too good above you. the sweat on his forehead dampens his hair and his muscles shift every time he sinks back inside you.
you are delirious, he did as he said he would, he makes your stomach bulge over and over again. he turns your brain into useless chum.
your cunt sputters liquid, his movements are flurried and aggressive. your sex loudly squelches. you never thought it would feel this good.
every vein on his cock slides along your gummy insides, you feel like you are about to pass out. "a whore like you doesn't deserve to cum but i need to feel you gripping me. i need to know how tight your pussy gets when you're cumming." his fingers find your buzzing clit.
"m'not a whore."
"you're getting fucked like one."
all you can focus on is him, he rolls your clit with experience. a part of you hates that despite him being nothing to you. your vision is blurred by tears but blinking them away allows you to see him.
his body seems like a sculpture. every muscle is evident for prying eyes. beads of sweat leak down his temple and his jaw is locked. he looks unreal. you wish he was yours although you do not know him. you have no relation but he is stretching out your cunt and making it his.
your hand grips his, head thrown back as you writhe on the sheets. you breathe in exasperation as his much larger fingers intertwine with yours. he is holding your hand. he is holding it while he pummels your insides.
you are too sensitive and too overwhelmed. when you cum, your entire body trembles. your eyes squeeze tightly and you clamp down on him like a vice. you cream on his cock your entire body coated in sweat while you shake.
the sight of you throws him over the edge.
"shit, fuck, no one is as good as you. no one." he grits his teeth, eyes fluttering. his length is soaked in you, strands coating him and the harder he pounds the more frothy cream collects at his base.
"want you like this forever." his body covers you completely. his arms wrap around your waist to hold you tight to him. all his weight is pressed into you, desperately thrusting his hips as he chases his release.
despite how you whine and cry at the excessive stimulation. your nails digging into his flesh and scratching lines down his skin.
you seem to mark another area of his back every time he pounds into you.
his movements have your body jerking and his muscles flexing. your cunt feels like it is forcefully drawing the orgasm from him, his teeth grit and his eyes flicker as they threaten to roll back.
he is so powerful but right now he looks like he is losing it. his mouth roughly presses into yours, his tongue and spit in excess and his hips stutter for a moment before he slams into you so hard your cunt squelches.
his hips rock as he stays flush to you and for the first time you are getting filled up. it is even hotter than his cock, it sears along your walls, endlessly pouring and leaking as he grows soft.
"you take it so well for a virgin." he pants before his lips claim yours in a nasty kiss.
he says that like he has not already stripped that title from you.
his weight crushes you beneath him but somehow it is comforting. somehow you like it. you like that there is no space between you and him.
your arms reach around his neck, tears streaked down your cheeks while your mouth desperately returns his kiss.
he briefly parts before leaning back in. it is unfair that he has everything. he is too pretty and he seems to be good at everything.
you whine when he sits up on his knees, your hands losing their grip on his muscles. his eyes train where his cock still fills you.
you wince while he slowly pulls out, the cum still dripping out of you. you feel empty without him.
he takes in the cum leaking from your used cunt. all he can think about is doing it again and again. without tire or care. a surprisingly gentle touch swipes your hair from your face before he strokes your cheek and leans down.
his soft lips though swollen softly move along yours. he breathes a bit more laboured as his hands touch and squeeze along your body and his kisses make their way from your neck to your sternum and tits.
you are panting while he trails open mouthed kisses on your skin. his eyes do not leave yours and they are so golden you swear they glow.
your body grows tense when he drifts lower than your belly and suddenly he is kissing right above your cum filled slit and your inner thighs.
"you're so soft." you did not expect it. was that a good thing? his breath is so close to your pussy, it is weird to think he was just inside you.
you squeal, a hand covering your mouth as his tongue swipes over your cunt. "naoya, that's dirty." your voice is muffled beneath your palm, all he does is clamp his mouth on your clit and suck.
laughing into your cunt before his tongue is gliding up and down your slit endlessly.
a man of his calibre was between your legs with his mouth in such a place. it did not make sense. his heated muscle slips into your pussy, saliva coating you in excess.
your feet lift onto the tip of your toes while you moan. you moan for naoya like you were made for it, made for him.
his fingers gently caress the back of your thighs, all while he sloppily sucks up your messy cunt.
he does not want to stop, his cum is inside of you, it is in your pussy.
he came there. he came within your silky walls and he will never stop thinking about it, about you. he pulls back, licking his lips and nipping the flesh of your thigh before trailing his tongue along your slit.
his cum is still seeping out despite the amount he lapped up from your hole. there are sticky strands of liquid on his jaw and mouth as he brings his face to yours
"it's not dirty. what's filthy, is that you let me fuck you like a cock hungry slut." his large palms grasp your tits while you are speechless.
"is that what you are, my cockslut?" you find yourself nodding your head, whimpering in agreement.
you just want to be something to him.
his thumb strokes over your lips while he grips your face, you are so much smaller his entire hand seems to hold it. "you think you can suck me off? get me nice and wet in that little mouth and make me cum?"
you stare up at him with the prettiest wide eyes. you were crying for so long. you cry so much it makes him hard. "i can." you softly whisper and naoya cannot help but kiss you sweetly.
he nips your lips, laving his tongue over them before he sits next to you.
you swallow, he helps you up by a firm grip on your upper arm. your head feels light.
you are surprised when his hand cups the back of your head and shoves down. his erect cock presses against your cheek. "c'mon, don't waste time."
your hand unsurely surrounds the base, you cannot believe something like this had managed to fit inside you. naoya sighs at the softness. your tongue clumsily laps at his slit, the taste of his cum and your juices filling your mouth.
your lips enclose just before his shaft, your mouth insanely warm it makes naoya pant. "take more of it, i don't fucking care if it's your first time." he gruffly says. you are perched on your knees with his cock in your mouth.
moments before you had never seen one in your life.
you are so unsure, you lower on him but the second his tip brushes the back of your throat you gag. you lurch, the muscles constricting around him.
you pull back frantically, coughing as you clutch your throat. naoya finds your eyes more teary. "so fuckin dramatic." he tuts.
his tip presses against the seam of your lips and you have no choice but to open up.
you really do try to be good. you try your hardest to take more but it seems never ending. you gag so much desperately trying to get him seated deep in your throat. but you can't.
that tight little throat of yours can hardly get even half of him in on your own.
"you're shit at this." he laughs airily. you are drooling so much it is insanely messy, he never had it like this before.
every bit of him says to bruise the back of your throat, to fist your hair and fuck into your mouth so that every inch of him feels the silky walls of your throat.
he listens.
at first, his fingers gently caress through your hair. it lasts for a second before he is pushing your head down. your throat constricts and he shudders. he cannot tell which liquid that drips onto his skin is your spit or tears.
he is vicious and rough. constantly bobbing your head along his cock regardless of how you choke. the sloppy noises are all he needs to get there. the feeling of your gooey throat objecting his forceful intrusion. your muscles resisting. "fuck you're such a good bitch. little baby throat s'taking it all."
his body tenses, hips stuttering to fuck into your mouth. he does not usually come this fast. he shoves you down until your lips surround his base. he swears he can see your throat bulging from his cock. your hot sticky saliva drip all over him as he shallowly ruts his hips.
naoya grits his teeth, moaning loudly before he spews cum down your throat. you jerk in confusion but he does not release you. your hands scramble. he feels you swallowing around him but it is not enough.
liquid spills past the perimeter of his cock.
he tugs you off, your mouth wetly separating with a sticky pop.
"you look pretty like this." your hair is knotted, tear streaks coat your cheeks, your lips are swollen from sucking his dick and his cum is spewed in your mouth in a sticky web. it drips down your jaw but he still kisses you.
still does it all sweetly and cups your cheeks as if he is a nice man.
you eagerly accept it. you kiss and kiss and his salty cum is messily exchanged. you are a breathless mess when he pulls away with spit still connecting you.
"so stupid." he shoves your forehead with his forefinger. you want to cry. he leaves you sitting while he lies on the sodden sheets.
it hurts to hear. you sniffle, looking at him. you let all this happen. you slept with him. this is not some lucid sex dream, it really occurred. he came in you, he touched you everywhere.
he had you in way a man never did before.
you are crying for a different reason now. when the lust that clouded your brain finally dispels you realise everything is ruined.
"do you have any idea what you've done?" tears are profusely coating your cheeks, you tug the blanket to your chest.
you are hiding your body as though he has not violated every inch of it. as if his desecration has not tainted you in the form of bruises and cum.
naoya breathes, his eyes rolling as he folds his arms under his head. "i fucked a bitch, s'all."
your face contorts in more pain. this was never supposed to be your life. you meant nothing to the man who was just inside you.
you were nothing to him. "i can't get married now."
naoya looks angry. the muscles in his arms flex, eyes flitting over to you.
in a second he sits up, the expanse of his palm covers your throat. it draws a sound of shock from you. his face is all too close and you wince at the flashes of him fucking you as they are forced into your mind.
how can you forget it? especially when he is at this proximity, when his hands were all over your body and now he simply held your neck.
his gaze flits downwards, he is angry without a doubt. it is hard to not see it when his skin is flushed red and his jaw is locked.
he rips the sheet from your body before he roughly shakes you.
your eyes flash in panic as you grip his tightening hand. "you have me and you want to marry some lowlife prick from your shitty clan?" he hisses into your face, his nose brushing yours over the nonexistent distance.
you gasp for air because he holds too tight. "you weren't a good fuck. not at all." his hand slips between your legs to cup your cum filled cunt and you blanch.
"you're just a prissy little virgin but you're pretty. i'll give it to you, you're gorgeous." without any warning his digits slide inside of you.
it is forceful and rough as he repeatedly thrusts his long fingers into the soaked walls of your pussy. you grit your teeth. it should not feel good. it should not but you cannot help the uninhibited movement of your hips.
your legs practically part for him on instinct despite how badly you want him to get away from you. that is what you want, right?
you should not want him and your eyes that are trailing all over his defined muscles should be looking to the heavens for some hope.
they should not be gleaming at his pretty features or his damp hair. "and you'll be one hell of a bitch but you gotta prove it to me before i marry you." marriage.
oh marriage, marriage, marriage.
it had been on your mind since you were a little girl. you have ached and dreamed and wished upon the stars for it to find you.
"how?" his brows tilt at your broken voice. he shoves you down until your head meets the wooden flooring and your back stings at the impact.
he is over you, his shadow casting along your figure. "let me fuck you. submit yourself to me alone. if ever you touch another man, i'll know."
his voice is deep, his expression dark. he is terrifying, you wonder how someone so pretty could look so horrific. you swallow hard.
"i'd kill him and i'd kill you." his eyes do not leave yours for a second. he brings your legs around his narrow waist, the weigh of his erection digging into the flesh of your inner thighs.
"but if you be good, i'll marry you. i'll take you away from this place."
you want so desperately to escape, you want so desperately to be anywhere but here. you want to be with him even if he is awful.
"will you marry me?" your fingers itch with the urge to draw him closer, your voice a warbled mess. your legs tighten around him, you want him close. so close.
it seems he knows because he nears until his body is flush to yours. until you are engulfed by his scent and the hardness of his figure.
"i swear it." his eyes flick to your lips, so close to him that they brush with his words. his admission has you gripping his cheeks and kissing him.
it's an inexperienced and sloppy kiss but you do as best as you can and naoya finds your mouth one of his favourite things.
tears leak from your eyes as he shoves his entire length into you and your body tenses.
for the second time that night he claims you.
---
despite wanting to be angry at him, you cannot. not when he kissed every bruise he left on your skin, not when he pressed his lips to yours like you meant something to him.
not when he tugged you into his side and you find revery in his scent.
something about naoya is so comforting you find yourself falling asleep with no issue.
or maybe it is because he used and exhausted your body.
he has you wrapped in his arms with familiarity. your face mushed to his chest and your leg thrown over his waist.
his thumb coaxes along your back, his face nuzzling your hair. you look adorable, you look too precious. even in your sleep you press into him more.
naoya wants to burn the sight into his brain.
you are his forever.
"my soul always searches for yours but you have never remembered mine. not once." he whispers into the air although you cannot hear it.
although you do not respond.
isn't he so dreamy ^^
#🩷.jjk#san.stories#📁.size kink#📁.virginity kink#📁.dumbification#tw.dubcon#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jjk#naoya smut#jjk naoya#jjk x reader#jjk smut#naoya x you#naoya zenin#naoya x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut
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The problem with the concept that there are trans men who don’t have male privilege is that it seems to imply that there are trans women who DO have it, which is a concept that is widely agreed to be unequivocally transmisogynistic. Any rebuttal for this?
My rebuttal is; I know trans women who have lived in my house and sat on my couch and watched movies and played videogames with me who have told me to my face that they did receive male privilege on a similar incredibly conditional, individual, and situational basis similar to how I am describing for trans men, how it relied on the closet and total stealth, and very aware they had to be of the line they were toeing, and how much worse they are treated now that they are out and transitioning, and how afraid they are to say it because of rabid people online who are looking for any excuse whatsoever to hurt them when they deal with that enough in their everyday lives.
I am forever reminded of this older interview (mid-90s early 2000s I think) of transgender Japanese citizens and this one person who was probably what we would call a trans woman. And, like my butch friend, was trapped in a situation in which there was absolutely zero room to breathe. They were amab, married to a woman with multiple children, working as a businessman to support the family. They said how they always felt like a woman on the inside, and how they knew that could never be a reality for them, so they didn't see much point in pursuing anything because it would break their family apart. The only thing they could do was make various cute needlework girly things during their daily commute to and from work. They had some cover story for their wife that they were buying them from a shop for their daughters or something.
Do you think that this person, who is perceived by everyone around them to be a cis man for several decades, does not benefit from male privilege in any way despite probably not actually being a man? Do you understand what I'm talking about when I say that this is a topic that needs to be discussed with far more delicacy and nuance than "man privilege woman not privilege"?
Do you think that all of the accounts of trans women out there saying "when I came out and started identifying as and passing for a woman, people suddenly started treating me much worse" and "I frequently have to boymode because otherwise my life is too dangerous" aren't discussions of exactly what I'm talking about?
Privilege is a tricky, complicated thing. It's also something bigoted society bestows upon you, and not a moral critique of your own existence. TERFs and MRAs both have poisoned the well, but that's not a reason to completely disregard the much-needed grace that has to be had during these conversations.
Personally I think any trans person's experience with "male privilege" is shakey at best and entirely contingent on a wide number of factors that you can't just point at their gender and say yes or no. I think it's way more complicated than that. And I don't think anyone is lesser for having or not having it, either. Gender is a morally neutral thing. Gender presentation is a morally neutral thing. It is okay to exist. It's okay to have a complicated existence.
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hello! Are you ok?, I hope so ❤️ (by the way, your writing is wonderful)
I would like to make a request for Yandere Slashers with an S/O who is a mermaid, who usually kills people who dare to invade her lakes, and she kills these people by drowning.
(I'm sorry if there are any writing errors, English is not my first language, and I'm writing this using Google translate)
Slashers with Mermaid! Reader
Yandere! Slashers x Reader
Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, & Bo
A/N: I'm doing good, thank you <3 I hope you enjoy!
(Also, I decided I'm going to remove Lester from the Slasher requests. I'm still very much open to writing for him when specified, but I feel like he doesn't quite fit in with all the other Slashers).
Freddy Krueger
Meeting you was quite literally the best thing to ever happen in his undead life
He likes to team up with you, constantly coming up with different ways you both can contribute to someone's death
You pull them under, and they suddenly wake up in Freddy's world
Your dynamic is pretty ideal too
Whenever you sleep, you can visit him
And he has no issues with popping into your waters just to say hi
He does this quite often, in fact
He is very aware you can take care of yourself, but he still gets worried
You're his
He doesn't trust anyone being around you
Even if your only intention is to kill them immediately
He understands that where you are now is your home, but that won't stop him from doing whatever he can to have you live in his world
He can create the perfect environment for you
Miles and miles of nothing but water if your heart desires
Which hopefully it does
Since he isn't willing to wait much longer
Michael Myers
He never thought creatures like you actually existed
But the moment he saw your strength and darkness, he was immediately drawn in against his better judgment
He visits more often then you think
He's always around, watching
You can feel eyes on you almost 90% of the day, but you never really know where it's coming from
He enjoys watching you swim and just relax
But he especially loves seeing you drag poor souls into the tide with you
There's something so twisted and yet magical about watching you kill
But this fascination is also paired with extreme jealousy
He hates seeing you touch other people
And he almost envies the way they get to be so close to you, even if it means their demise
He hopes to find a way to take you home with him for good one of these times
You told him you loved him, so you'd be happy as long as you're by his side
Right?
Jason Voorhees
Out of all places to meet the love of your life, this one seemed especially unfortunate for Jason
But his feelings for you were strong enough to overrule his fear
He'll sit by the shore with you, hearing you talk and sing old tunes he's never heard before
He loves listening to your stories about the world underneath the current
But this always leaves him with such a deep feeling of sadness
He wants a life where you both can live together and share those memories
But he knows that's nearly impossible
He starts spending more time by the water side than the camp, finding that irresponsible teens like to be by the beach even more than the forest
You lure them in with your beauty and your words, and Jason finishes the job
He'll let you kill too if you really wish to, but he doesn't like the idea of those types of people being so close to you
He barely gets to touch you, so why should they get what he so desperately wants instead?
Thomas Hewitt
In this desert like area of Texas, Thomas has to travel quite far to see you
But the one time he accidentally stumbled upon you, he was smitten
And you surprisingly didn't turn him into another victim like all the others
He was kind to you
And now, he brings you food and stops by as often as he possibly can
You've made him little necklaces out of bones and shells
He wears every single one of them
Your bond only gets stronger each time he comes to see you
But Thomas can only take so much
Why can't you be closer?
He knows the family would love you
And he could make you so happy
His bathtub is big enough for you, he's sure of it
He knows that you won't want to leave your own home for his, but he loves you and knows what will be best for you
He's just got to be patient
Bubba Sawyer
His own family had to go on a search for him after he disappeared for a couple days
But he just couldn't help it
You make him so happy, and the more time he spent with you, the more difficult it became to leave your side
He's tried to jump in a few times to be with you, but you always persuade him out of it
He doesn't know how to swim, and you don't want him to end up like everyone else
That's when he decided that the best option would be to create your very own pond in his backyard!
That way, you could be with each other, and he would never have to say goodbye again
He hasn't told you this idea yet, but he's sure you'd be happy with it
This would also keep you from needing to kill anyone else
You're too beautiful to get your hands dirty
And it's unfair that they get to join you in the water when you won't let him do the same
He can make you super happy with his family, he's sure of it
Brahms Heelshire
He hates this dynamic between you two
He wants you at home with him so you can take care of him, and he can keep you away from everyone else
No one should get to touch you or look at you besides him
He's actually tried to drag you out of the water before, but the prospect of accidentally killing you was enough to make him stop
He never knew he could envy a body of water as much as he does
It gets to hold you, touch you, and be with you at all times
He wants that too, so desperately
Because of you, he's gone from house dweller to nature enthusiast in just a matter of days
Even when you think he's at home, he's stalking around, watching you
He insists it's to keep you safe
In fact, you haven't had to drown anyone in quite a while
And you can thank Brahms for that
The moment he sees a single soul in the area, he drags them off and disposes of them before you even have a chance to see them
He wouldn't dare let you touch another being that isn't him
Norman Bates
It honestly took him a really long time to believe that you were even real
He didn't think mermaids or sirens actually existed, so seeing you for the first time made him pinch himself to make sure this wasn't some weird dream
He also took a while to trust you since he didn't want to fall victim to your treacherous waters
But once he realized you were genuine, he dove straight in all at once
He visits you whenever he can for however long he can muster
Someone needs to run the motel, but God he wishes he could be with you 24/7
He's "jokingly" brought up the idea of you staying at the motel in a pool he could install for you
He just wants to keep an eye on you at all times
He constantly dreams of finding a way to make you human so you two can truly be together
Until you have two feet like him, it will never be enough
Billy Loomis
Doesn't tell a single soul about you
Not even Stu
And it's not because he's embarrassed or wants to see other people
He's honestly just scared that others will either think he's insane or try to capture you
Visits you every day and makes sure to pack his swim trunks so he can join you in the water
Constantly admires you and wants to run his hands along your scales
He just thinks you're all around incredible
But he has this hidden level of anger towards the situation
He wants to walk around town with you, show you off
He wants you to join him on his sprees so you can see just how powerful he can be
And he hates the idea of not having eyes on you at all times
He knows you kill anyone who isn't him, but he doesn't want you getting that close to anyone in general
He spends his nights studying ways to get you to live with him
He'll find a way to have you all to himself, even if it ends up being the death of him
Stu Macher
He actually first met you while you were seducing some poor soul to their death
And Stu was immediately enamored
He comes to see you whenever he can
He sometimes spends the weekend camping out along the shore just so he can spend more time with you
He thinks you're beautiful of course, but he can't help but fantasize what it would be like if you were human like him
You two come from very different worlds, but there's nothing that could keep you away from him
He likes to bring up the idea of mermaids and mythical creatures in casual conversations with people
How they react to it will determine whether they make his hit list
He likes to bring you jewelry and pretty objects from his victims, showing you items that you've never seen before
He talks about how one of these days, he's going to have a house built on the shore so he can be with you
And if you argue against it, he will shut down
The pent up frustration of not getting to sleep next to you every night makes his killings more brutal and his fantasies all the more darker
Vincent Sinclair
Every time he comes to see you, he brings a new portrait or wax figure of you that he made
You flood his dreams and his mind 24/7
He honestly thinks he's under some sort of spell
He doesn't mind that you aren't human like him
He's always felt very different from everyone else, so it's nice for him to have someone he relates to
But his jealousy constantly gets the better of him
Anytime you tell him of some poor soul you drowned, he can't help but feel his blood boil
Even if it ends in their death, he hates the idea of you flirting or seducing these people
The only one who should be receiving that attention is him
Barely sleeps at night
He has snuck to the shore countless time without your knowledge, just watching you and making sure your stories line up with what he observes
Is overall obsessed even more than you know
Bo Sinclair
If anyone saw you together, it would be enough to make them blush
The way you two can constantly flirt back and forth without any hesitation is otherworldly
You could have sworn he must have been a creature like you in a past life
He's so touchy when he's with you, not afraid to get his clothes wet in an effort to just be closer to you
He truly makes you feel accepted as you are and with where you live
But little do you know of his darker nature
He stalks the shore and kills off anyone that trespasses before you even have a chance to get to them
He doesn't need you looking at anyone but him
And he's already been renovating an old abandoned pool in Ambrose for you
You're going to finally be living with him like he's always wanted
You don't know this yet, but he's sure you'll be happy with the idea
It will be a great surprise
#slashers x reader#slasher preference#slashers headcanon#slashers preference#slashers#michael myers headcanons#michael myers x reader#michael myers#jason voorhees headcanons#jason voorhees x reader#jason voorhees#thomas hewitt#thomas hewitt x reader#brahms heelshire x reader#brahms heelshire#brahms heelshire headcanon#billy loomis x reader#billy loomis headcanon#billy loomis#stu macher x reader#stu macher#stu macher headcanons#vincent sinclair#bo sinclair x reader#bo sinclair#lester sinclair#freddy krueger#freddy krueger x reader#hannibal lecter#hannibal lecter x reader
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Invisible string (pt. III)
♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader
♡ Synopsis: After so many years of being closed off from the idea of love, you finally allow yourself to feel it freely with Minho.
♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut
♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, swearing
♡ Word count: 16.4k
♡ A/N: A part of this chapter was almost shamelessly inspired by the song that inspired the plot in the first place, Invisible String by Taylor Swift. Also really inspired by my favorite Minho vlog, Lee Know Log 4 🩷
To those who have asked to be tagged in this story: would any of you be interested in being tagged in any new work I post later? Let me know! And thank you for reading and giving me such a great experience posting my writing here for the first time 🩷
← part II ♡ ⟳ part I
You spend the entire flight home processing everything that had happened during the trip; from Minho’s words, to your kisses and touches, to you ultimately acknowledging your own romantic feelings for him. Although it all felt sudden, it had been a long time coming.
As his car stops at the front of your house, Minho steps out and walks with you, your backpack in hand.
“I know you’re scared. I understand that even more now that I know about your past relationships,” he speaks softly as the two of you stop at the front door, “And I want you to know that I’m gonna be patient.”
You nod slowly, although the desire to answer him is still so prevalent in your mind, the words lodged in your throat and yearning to spill out. But you’ve made the mistake of jumping into relationships far too often, always driven by your emotions, and every time, the outcome has been disastrous. You don’t want that to happen with Minho.
So, you settle on a question that has been eating away at you.
“Why do you like me, Minho?”
His face twists into a deep frown before ultimately softening. Carefully placing your backpack on the step leading to the front door, he sighs.
“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” he assures you, his rough hands touching your shoulders before moving down your arms to entwine with your own. “You don’t even realize how fucking amazing you are, do you? I’d move mountains, fight anyone and do anything if it meant I’d have the privilege to see you smile.”
And, just like that, you feel your lips stretch out into a small smile at his words. He grins at you.
“Just like that. I’d do anything to see that,” he says. “And you take care of your friends simply because you love them, never asking for anything in return. You collect plushies like me, you appreciate the criminally underrated flavor of lemon cake, and you worked at the same convenience store as me, and spilled coffee all over my notebook on the day we met. That’s why I like you; because you’re you.”
Tears threaten to well up in your eyes, so you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your shoes. With a nod, you wrap your arms around Minho, taking in his scent and reveling in the comforting warmth of his body. Little did he know, you were just as willing to do whatever it took to keep him near you. He plants a chaste kiss on your forehead as you break away from his embrace.
“I’ll call you later, okay? Thank you for the trip.”
As soon as you step inside your house, Eunha is quick to come running towards you, her hands dirty with flour as she abandons her unbaked cookies on the counter and pulls you into a hug.
“I missed you so much,” she whines, “How will I survive living without you next year?”
You chuckle, watching as her lips turn into a pout.
“I’m sure we’ll suffer equally, if that makes you feel better.”
She fakes a sob, turning on her heels and heading toward the kitchen.
“Oh, Hyunjin is in a crisis, apparently,” she tells you, wiping her hands on her apron. “He called me three times just today to ask if you were back already.”
You let out a sigh. Hyunjin was more often than not either glum or vexed due to his trials and mishaps in finding love. He once joked that you two would end up having to marry each other with how things were going. You dreaded his reaction to the news of Minho soon entering your life in a new way.
“The hotel’s Wi-Fi was a joke, but I honestly didn’t even think to check my phone,” you tell Eunha, who giggles as she cuts her cookies into heart shapes. “What? Why are you giggling like that?” You ask her with a grin, approaching the counter.
She shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t even think to check my phone,” she playfully mimics your voice, looking up at you, “I’m guessing you had fun, then?”
“I did,” you beam, “It was everything I thought it would be and even more.”
She raises an eyebrow at you. “Even more?”
“Even more,” you reiterate. “I had so much fun with Minho. I forgot how good it feels to just let go and allow myself to feel what I want to feel.”
Eunha’s lips curl into a small smile. She hums, lowering her head in a feeble attempt at pretending to focus on the cookies in front of her. “And what did you want to feel this weekend?”
“Like maybe I can finally fall in love again.”
Your friend lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Love?” she exclaims, “You, the girl who has spent every day since I met you talking about how love isn’t important, is wanting to fall in love?”
You chuckle at her reaction, shrugging dismissively. “In my defense, I had my reasons. Plus, some things made me change my mind.”
“More like someone,” Eunha teases, and you roll your eyes at her, but a smile spreads on your lips unwittingly. “I’m happy for you,” she beams, “and I think you should definitely fall in love again — not maybe.”
You sprint across the small kitchen space, circling around the counter to wrap your arms around Eunha and squeezing her as she lightly pushes you away, warning you about flour getting all over your clothes, but you don’t mind.
Because you love her, as you’ve learned this past weekend, and you don’t mind the mess when it comes to someone you love.
It’s only as you enter your room that you check your phone, which is filled with notifications from Hyunjin, much like Eunha had said. After ten missed calls, it seems he resorted to simply texting you.
Hyune: hey I know you’re in japan but can you answer the phone?
Hyune: I promise I’ll be quick. just wanna talk to you
Hyune: hear your voice idk I feel really alone rn and really bad idk lol
Hyune: mingyu has his girlfriend over. can you believe they’re still together?
Hyune: can you believe he has a girlfriend and I can’t even find someone to give me the time of day lol
Hyune: can you believe every date I go to ends with me crying lol
Hyune: sorry I’m being annoying and the messages aren’t even being delivered, you’re clearly having fun sorry
Hyune: sorry
Hyune: guess that’s why nobody can endure me for more than two dates
Hyune: have fun 🤍 I love you
You feel your heart ache as you read his messages, answering with an apology. But before you can hit send on your second message, Hyunjin has already replied.
Hyune: it’s okay. I’m sorry I even sent those in the first place
Me: Stop apologizing
Me: You know I love you and I’ll always be here for you
Me: Where are you?
Hyune: at my dorm
Hyune: staring at the ceiling
Me: I’m coming over
True to his words, Hyunjin is lying on the floor of his dorm’s cramped living room once you open the door. There’s a small canvas propped up against the wall, a myriad of shades of blue forming the shape of a face. Your best friend’s talent never ceases to amaze you, and you have to fight the urge to stand still by the front door for a few seconds simply admiring his new painting.
“Look at this sulking Pisces,” you click your tongue as you approach Hyunjin, who only opens one eye to shoot you a glance.
“I’m in a fragile state and this is how you greet me,” he all but pouts before sitting up as you sit cross-legged beside him on the floor. “How was the trip?”
You shrug. “It was fun. We only had one day to explore the city, so we didn’t do much,” you say simply, tapping your fingers on your thigh.
You don’t want to sit and talk about how much fun you had during a trip when Hyunjin’s puffy, bloodshot eyes are staring directly at you. He was sad, and his sadness was palpable throughout the entire living room — his bitten lips, his painting, his hands covered in dried-up blue paint; everything was dripping in sadness. This was a constant with Hyunjin, but lately it had become even worse. He has an overwhelming desire to love and be loved, but his every attempt at fulfilling this desire is futile for reasons you cannot wrap your head around.
“I like the new painting,” you smile, focusing on the saddened blue face. Hyunjin scoffs beside you.
“It’s fucking terrible,” His hand shoves the canvas face down on the floor. You bite your lip. “Can’t even paint shit I like anymore. Every time I try, it always turns out muddy and sad.”
“What happened?”
He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Well I’m pathetic, so it’s still the same old reason. I had a date with this girl on Saturday, but she canceled at the last minute. Texted me something about me being too clingy after she agreed to go out with me, about how she knows she would feel suffocated if we dated.”
You furrow your brows together, anger bubbling up inside your chest. “What the fuck?”
“Oh, but don’t worry!” Hyunjin gave you a forced smile. “She made sure to remind me that it was her, not me, and that lots of women out there like guys like me. Whatever the fuck that means.”
Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his attention toward his hands before scratching some of the dried paint off. You sigh.
“Hyunjin, she isn’t wrong about that. You know that, right? You’re not the one at fault.”
He scoffs. “Sure seems like it when every date I’ve gone to since starting university has ended up with me being rejected for the same fucking reasons. It’s always me. Too clingy, too sentimental, too emotional,” his voice is almost a whisper as he speaks. He turns to face you again. “Remember how I would stop sleeping with you whenever I liked someone? Wanna know why I stopped doing that? ‘Cause I know it’s not gonna go anywhere anyway, so what’s the point? It never goes anywhere, and then I’m left alone again. Maybe I should just accept it, y’know? Some people are just meant to be alone, and clearly I’m one of them.”
Your anger has now morphed into sadness. You hate the way Hyunjin talks about himself, hate it even more how it seems nobody can appreciate the amazing person he is. Being caring and sentimental is not a flaw, and you pray that he never allows other people’s opinions to sway him into thinking that way. You pray he finds someone who can appreciate these qualities in him the same way you do.
“You’re not alone, Hyune,” you assure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re surrounded by friends who love you so much, and while I know that’s not the type of love you yearn for, it’s still love.”
Hyunjin smiles softly at you before pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. It’s sudden but not entirely unexpected; the way you and Hyunjin dealt with shitty things in life and unpleasant feelings together had always been through sex, and you knew it always made him feel at least a little better afterward. And so you let him, returning the kiss even as part of you felt wrong doing it when your entire being was consumed with thoughts of only Minho.
As soon as he kisses you, he swiftly pushes you down onto the hardwood floor and hovers over you. Hyunjin’s fingers undo the buttons of your cardigan before slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin as his lips trail kisses down your neck. Soon enough, his body is pressed up against your spread thighs, and you know where this is going — but as much as you want to make your best friend feel better, you cannot bring yourself to do it.
“Hyune,” you softly call out, and he hums against your throat. “We can’t do this.”
He chuckles, squeezing your waist. “Mingyu always comes home late when he goes out with his girlfriend. Don’t worry.”
“It’s not that, Hyunjin. I just—”
“Do you not wanna fuck on the floor?” He asks, coming up to look at you. He cocks his head to the side. “We can just do it on the couch then, I really don’t wanna have sex with all those pictures of Mingyu and his friends staring at us in our room.”
“Hyunjin, no—”
“It’s not like we never did it on a couch before, stop being dramatic—”
“I’m in love with Minho.”
It comes out before you can fully comprehend what you’re saying, the word love slipping past your lips effortlessly. Hyunjin stills on top of you, his body rigid and tense.
“Oh,” is all he offers you. You nod slowly, fingers picking at a drop of paint that stained the collar of his shirt.
You whisper, “I really am just as surprised as you are, believe me.”
Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I just— now you’re leaving me, too.”
You shake your head. It’s ludicrous to you that Hyunjin could imagine that you would ever even entertain the thought of leaving him. Running a hand through his messy hair, you pull him in and press a kiss to his nose. Hyunjin hides his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.
“Sorry, that was pathetic. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much. I thought we would…”
You furrow your brows as he trails off his words. You thread your fingers through his long hair. “We would…?”
“End up together somehow,” he speaks slowly, his voice muffled, and your heart drops.
Hyunjin harboring these feelings about you was something you would never have imagined. You were certain he was content being your friend and having sex with you only until he found the right person. He went on several dates, after all. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces upon learning about his hidden desire for the future he used to so often joke about: you two ending up together simply because you were each other’s only choices.
“Hyunjin,” you start carefully, “I love you, too. So much. You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. We don’t have to be together romantically for us to be in love, y’know? I realized that just recently.”
You feel him nod his head, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.
“I’m just sad I won’t have you anymore. I’m gonna miss us so much,” he places a small kiss on your collarbone. “Whenever I felt like I was in a dark pit with no way out, every single time you were there to bring me out of it and make me feel okay again. I love you so much for that.”
And you can only softly smile at his words before your heart shatters all over again as you hear him quietly begin to sob in your skin.
“Hyunjin,” you call out, although you know he won’t reply. “You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My love for you goes beyond us having sex — that wasn’t even important to me in our relationship. It was just something good on top of something already amazing.” With a slow nod, he lifts his head and gazes at you with red, teary eyes, causing your heart to ache even more. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll still answer your four hundred three a.m. texts, still let you hide away in my house, still happily listen to you complain about your days, and still hold you when you cry.”
Hyunjin pouts like a child, and your heart swells with fondness.
“Really?” He asks, and you chuckle with a nod.
“Really,” you assure him. “Me being with someone will never change our friendship, or my love for you. I mean, we won’t have sex anymore, of course, but I’ll still talk shit about your roommate with you so I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”
Hyunjin’s tearful expression vanishes, replaced by a small teasing grin. “I am gonna have to jerk off significantly more, so I don’t know about forgiveness,” he jokes.
You push him off you with a chuckle, sitting up as he tries to regain his balance.
“When did this whole thing with Minho even happen?” Hyunjin asks, setting his painting back against the wall. You shrug, buttoning up your cardigan. He hums. “So, are you already together?”
“Not yet,” you say, “but I’m gonna answer him after our class this week. If he fucking lets me, that is. He says he wants to be patient, but I don’t want to be patient. The only thing I wanna be is with him.”
Hyunjin’s whole body contorts as he groans. “Ew, what the fuck? When did you become such a sap?”
As you shove him back once more, you both burst into laughter while Hyunjin stumbles back and spills a mug filled with dirty paint water all over his floor.
The rest of the day goes by with you and Hyunjin painting together, a much broader array of colors and a much happier end result on the canvas: beautiful flowers painted by him standing alongside clumsily drawn hearts, stars, and other doodles painted by you. After signing your name above his elegant signature, you inform him the painting is leaving with you — it’s hanging up on your wall as soon as you arrive home.
Hyunjin is your best friend; it’s been this way for the last two years, and it’s indisputable to you that this fact will remain no matter what happens. As you watch him hunched over your painting, insisting that his flowers could be more detailed — even after you assured him a thousand times that they were perfect — you curse yourself for not realizing how beautiful this love between you two is. You hope he cherishes this love as well, in spite of his desire for the two of you to be together in the future. You know deep down this idea stemmed from his fear of solitude.
You’re not worried about him at all, though. He’s a precious soul, and anyone who fails to recognize that doesn’t deserve him. He’s simply getting rid of the wrong people in order to find the right person, someone who sees him as you do.
The love you feel for Hyunjin is unchanging, and if you had any say in it, it would be everlasting.
Your next Japanese class with Minho comes too soon, and you find yourself unprepared. Every trace of resolve you had after returning from your trip dissipated bit by bit every time you saw or talked to him. As soon as you saw his figure step into the coffee shop on Monday to pick up his usual order, you realized that every single scenario your mind had conjured up fell flat. Minho was beautiful, amazing, breathtaking — he deserved something grand and earth-shattering, not a simple answer from a girl who wasn’t even half as good as he was.
It certainly did not help that he, always true to his words, respected your time. Not once during his coffee trips or your never-ending talks through the phone did he mention the topic. And it was slowly but surely driving you insane.
You bite your lips so much on your way to university you’re sure your lipstick is gone by the time you enter the building, and you’re surprised your poor bag isn’t riddled with holes in the cloth from your insistent picking. You shouldn’t feel this nervous — Minho is the one waiting for an answer, after all. For all he knows, you could be simply building up the courage to let him down gently. But you are nervous. You’re terrified he will listen to your clumsy words and decide he deserves someone better. Or, worse yet, will only realize how undeserving of his love you are once you’re in a relationship.
And you don’t think you can face another heartbreak where you’re left to mend your gashes all alone.
You enter the building with shaky hands, fiddling with the strap of your bag and walking toward your classroom on autopilot as your mind is too busy running over all the ways in which this could go wrong.
All faded, however, once you saw Minho waiting for you in front of your classroom. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his phone, his body wrapped in a cozy-looking black sweater and sweatpants, a keychain of a cat plushie hanging from his backpack matching his phone case. You stop a few feet away from him. He deserves the world, and that terrifies you. Still, his presence alone melts away every ugly word of doubt and every piece of worry inside your body until the only thing you can feel is the swirling of that familiar pinwheel spinning inside your chest.
You greet him with a long hug, hoping he can’t feel your heart beating through your own sweater.
After class, he walks you to work, enthusiastically telling you about the progress he, Chan and Seungmin have made on their game. You nod and hum along to his words, but you can’t, for the life of you, focus on a word he’s saying. All you want to do is tell him you like him — god, you like him so much — but every time you’re close to doing it, the ugly words return and scream that he deserves more than an underwhelming confession on a gloomy, empty street.
You stop walking as you two reach the bench located just far away enough from the hustle and bustle of students on campus, the one where no one bothered you when you sat here by yourself for three years, the one that had oddly become your favorite bench among all the other identical ones scattered throughout your university.
Because it was here that you and Minho had your first real conversation, it was here where you two laughed and gasped at all the little coincidences between your lives, and it was here where you began to build a friendship with this wonderful guy who would unknowingly change you for the better.
It was the perfect place, and you berated yourself for not realizing that sooner.
Minho’s voice calling out your name pulls you away from your thoughts, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you gently toward his body. You hum before colliding against his chest as he chuckles.
“You just stopped walking,” he says, a lilt of confusion in his voice. “I know you hate work, but I didn’t think it was this serious.”
And when you properly turn to look at him, Minho is smiling so beautifully under the somber sky of winter, as if he is the embodiment of sunshine — always glistening and radiating such a comforting warmth no matter how glum the world around him is. And, at the sight of him, you just can’t stop your words. Never mind how gloomy this campus seems or how lackluster your words are — Minho’s presence alone makes everything become golden.
“I like you because you’re you,” you mirror his words at you, “Because you laughed in my face for spilling coffee all over your notebook when I didn’t even know you, because you love coffee just as much as I hate it, and because you believe in silly myths about riding paddle boats together,” You blurt out, words completely unbidden by your brain. Minho’s eyes widened for a beat before slowly turning into crescent moons as a smile spread across his lips. You take a deep breath before continuing, the words flowing out of you so quickly you’re worried he won’t be able to understand you, “And you opened my eyes to the love I feel for my friends, which I was so fucking stupid and blinded to. But, most importantly, you taught me that love isn’t bad. It can never be bad because you’re love, Minho. You’re full of love, and there’s not an ounce of anything bad in you. And you make me feel deserving of this love, even though I still don’t understand how I can be deserving of something so beautiful.���
Minho’s arms are pulling you into an embrace before you can process everything you said, and by the time you seem to come to your senses, you realize tears have welled up in your eyes. He holds you close to him silently for a while, his left hand delicately massaging your scalp as you clutch onto the fabric of his sweater as if he might be taken away from you if you let go.
“I like you, too,” he whispers against your hair, and you feel your lips contort into a pout.
“You already told me that,” you grumble. “I just word-vomited my feelings to you and this is all you have to say?”
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “What else is there to say? I like you so much I don’t think I can put it into words. I might just say something stupid if I talk about it too much.”
You furrow your brows, pulling away from his embrace to face him. “Something stupid like what?”
“Like saying I love you.”
Your lips part, but no words come out. Yet again, Minho has rendered you speechless. He shakes his head dismissively, a smile still etched onto his lips.
“No need to say anything. I told you it was stupid,” his eyes drift over to the bench beside you two, and his smile grows. “Guess this has to become my favorite bench too.”
You let out a laugh, but it’s cut short by your tears spilling out again. Minho quickly turns to look at you again, his expression shifting into a mixture of happiness and worry for you as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.
And as the sun begins to set, the street lights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow over everything around you. You cup Minho’s face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then to his nose, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into an embrace once again.
“I don’t think I’m ready to love you yet. I’m sorry,” you apologize, both to him and yourself.
Minho simply hums, kissing your cheek. “I told you I’m patient, because love is patient. I would wait an eternity for the privilege of hearing you say you love me.”
You and Minho have officially been together for almost two months by the time winter break arrives. You’ve done everything couples do, except for two things: say I love you and go all the way. You’ve done every other possible thing — well, Minho has done every other possible thing to you, with you discovering that Minho particularly loves eating you out, often laying on your lap on your couch after work and rubbing his head against your thighs like a cat, humming and sighing until he has your attention before all but begging you to let him go down on you. Whenever you offer to do the same to him, in any way, he immediately turns the offer down, saying he’s satisfied just pleasuring you. It always leaves you with a million questions, as you notice him have to adjust himself in his pants or coincidently go to the bathroom, but you don’t question it.
The two of you also found ways to get around the whole L-word situation. I missed you becoming your go-to phrase for when you want to scream out that you love him, but are still unable to, while he usually just makes you swallow both your words and his own that are lingering inside your mouth with a kiss.
You had fallen into a routine quickly, with you visiting Minho most evenings after your shift to just lay on Chan’s stiff leather couch and watch him work. You two always hang out with his co-workers slash friends for a while before leaving for the night — Seungmin becoming like the pestering but loveable little brother you never had — and you head to your house in Minho’s car before you sneak him into your home so Mrs. Choi remains none the wiser.
Her ‘no boyfriends spending over two days at the house’ rule can’t possibly apply if she doesn’t even know Minho is there in the first place.
And so, he’s been basically living alongside you and your housemates. This outcome was almost inevitable since Minho hates his roommates while you love each other’s company.
You’re now packing your things with Hyunjin, who’s been sitting on your bed for the last half-hour rather than helping you as he’d promised. In the past month, he’s been able to come to terms with the fact that his ideal future with you was nothing but a coping mechanism after a month of sulking every time Minho was around. He deleted every shitty dating app on his phone and now focuses on finding love naturally, recently going out with a girl he met in one of his classes. The first time they met was the epitome of a meet-cute, with her accidentally bumping into him and spilling black paint all over his shirt. It brought back memories of when you first met Minho, and you had high hopes that this time things would work out differently for him. But, judging by the scowl on Hyunjin’s face and his nonstop complaining, you were wrong.
“But, be for real, why did it take her six dates to realize she doesn’t think we’ll work out?” He grumbles, spinning one of your necklaces around his finger like it’s a toy. “I paid for every meal, made sure she got at least two orgasms every time we went out, and she just suddenly decides we won’t work out? Fuck off.’’
You chuckle, closing your suitcase after triple-checking that you packed Minho’s Christmas present and walking over to where Hyunjin is sitting, snatching your necklace from his hand.
“Maybe she liked the free food and orgasms too much to let them go.”
Hyunjin scowls. “You’re saying that’s the only reason she went out with me?” He feigns offense, shaking his head. “I hope Minho’s parents hate your guts.”
“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, watching as he bursts out laughing. “Don’t even joke about that. You know how nervous I am.”
“There’s no way they won’t like you,” He assures you, “You’re fucking amazing, not to mention their son loves you. That’s more than enough reason to love you too.”
You clutch the necklace in your hand, humming before turning on your heels to check your drawers for anything you might have missed. Hyunjin using the word love makes you a bit anxious, an unwelcome reminder that you still haven’t been able to overcome this stupid emotional blockage preventing you from telling Minho you love him. The first and only time you’d ever said you loved Minho was that evening at Hyunjin’s dorm, and it hadn’t even been directed at him. Without saying a word, you both understand the love that exists between you — it’s unspoken, but deeply felt — and you’re aware of that, but the fear that one day he’ll grow tired of waiting is painfully tangible inside your mind.
When Minho invited you to spend Christmas with his family, you hesitated at first. Meeting your ex-boyfriends’ families had never been so significant. You were a teenager at the time, the implications were different and the stakes didn’t seem as high. This time, it feels as if getting Minho’s parents to like you is indispensable. How will he go on dating a woman his parents deem unfit for him? Especially with how highly he speaks of his mother, you’re sure her opinion of you will weigh on his mind.
You can only hope they love you half as much as you love their son.
The car ride to Minho’s parents’ house was around half an hour.
Half an hour you spent picking at a loose thread on your skirt and overthinking so much your head ached by the time he parked the car. You hated how nervous you were, but Minho’s parents liking you was a non-negotiable.
After insisting on carrying your own suitcase — just in case his parents might think you’re an overbearing girlfriend if they see Minho carrying your bag for you — the two of you walk up the stairs and into his home. The first thing you notice is how cozy-looking everything is; from the family pictures neatly placed on coffee tables and on the walls, cat furniture and toys mixed in with their actual furniture, down to the fuzzy blankets thrown over the couches.
The second thing that catches your attention is the quietude permeating throughout the house, as well as the fact that the first family member to greet you two is an orange cat.
“Oh, did you miss me this much?” Minho asks in a sweet, singsong voice, similar to how you would speak to a baby. He crouches down to pet the cat, who is now entangling himself between his legs. He introduces you by your name, because Soonie is truly just another family member to him. You chuckle, kneeling next to him and carefully extending your hand toward the orange ball of fur.
“Hello, Soonie,” you speak quietly, afraid you’ll spook him. He eyes you carefully before sniffing your fingers and, ultimately, rubbing his head on your hand. You sigh in relief, petting his fur with a smile.
Minho’s cats liking you was also a non-negotiable.
You place your suitcases in Minho’s childhood bedroom, his parents letting him know they will arrive a little late after going Christmas shopping. Looking around his small room, you smile at all the small things that scream Lee Minho. The pictures of him and his friends back in high school are the first thing you notice, glued to the wall in front of his door lopsided. His thick-rimmed glasses and bowl cut make you smile as you analyze one of the pictures, where he and four other boys hug and smile widely in a karaoke room. Then, of course, his extensive plushie collection sat against a wall to your left — all stacked on top of each other like a mountain — which he proudly shows off to you.
“Y’know, I had to basically fight a little girl at the Sanrio store for this one,” he says, a bit too smugly, while holding a plush of Kuromi dressed in a ladybug costume. “I was sixteen, though, so I think that excuses my behavior. I would never do that nowadays.”
You narrow your eyes, humming skeptically. “Sure you wouldn’t.”
Minho just chuckles, meticulously placing the doll back in its place beside the cherry on top of a rather large Pusheen pudding plushie.
“Oh! You have to see my books.” He takes your hand in his, dragging you toward the wall facing his bed. A bookshelf expanding from the floor to the ceiling makes your mouth drop. You hadn’t noticed it before, with it being hidden away in the corner of the room. The bookshelf is decorated with fairy lights — which Minho promptly switches on — and filled with beautiful books, from intricately designed hard covers to intricate sprayed edges, every single book in his collection has something special about it.
He uses a small metal ladder to reach the top of the shelves before handing you a book so thick your wrist almost bends upon grabbing it. It’s a collection of seven Jane Austen novels, all in a gorgeous blue and golden hardcover. You eye the book like it’s a precious jewel, carefully running your fingers over the details engraved on the cover. Beside you, Minho lets out a breathy laugh, stepping down from the ladder and bumping your shoulder lightly.
“You can open it,” he tells you, but you’re still too mesmerized by the book to look at him. “It’s what books are for, whether they’re pretty or not. You have to open it and read it, otherwise they lose their purpose.”
You nod slowly, but remain unmoving. Minho’s hand suddenly rests on top of yours, and he opens the book for you. The page is entirely annotated, with highlighters and thoughts jotted down on pencil in messy handwriting. Looking up at him, you are met by his smile.
“See? The book is fine, the world didn’t end. I have these special editions because I enjoy collecting pretty things, but I always read them,” he explains, “I like when books reflect the emotions I felt while reading them. I annotate, scribble, highlight — I once threw a special edition Stephen King book across the living room and into a wall. There’s an indentation on it till this day.”
You gasp. “Minho, what the fuck?”
He shrugs dismissively. “I know, I know. All book sins in the eyes of many people. But, like I said, that just reflects the emotions I felt while reading that book. I look through any of these pages and I know exactly what I felt at that time of my life.”
You nod, your lips absentmindedly curling into a smile. Minho truly is something else. You skim the page opened before you, reading some of his annotations and laughing quietly to yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.
As you close the book, he speaks again, “They’re a bit like people, aren’t they? Pretty and put-together on the outside, but once you really dig in, it’s all a mess and cluster of feelings and passion.”
You and Minho spend an hour lounging around the living room, with you meeting his other two cats during that time. Soonie and Doongie’s adoration toward Minho is clear, with both orange cats always rubbing against his leg or tangling themselves in his sneakers by the door as you two cuddle on the couch. Dori, however, remains laid on his cat tree, barely sparing the two of you a glance. Minho jokes that Dori hates him after he left his first mom, even showing you further proof in the form of a video where the gray cat bites his nose while he sleeps.
Upon hearing the key turn on the front door, your heart is quick to jump. Minho’s parents have arrived.
Sitting up on the couch, you gently push Minho away from you. He shoots you a questioning look.
“What? I don’t want them to think we were doing something indecent.”
“Indecent?” Minho repeats with a chuckle. “We were cuddling, not consummating a marriage on this couch.”
You grumble incoherent words under your breath, shrugging. “I know. I just want them to like me.”
“They were more than okay with seeing me cuddle my ex when I was a teen. We’re both adults, I’m pretty sure they won’t think you’re a filthy harlot.”
You gasp, hitting his chest and hissing through your teeth. “A harlot?”
Minho lets out a long, hearty laugh just as his parents walk through the door.
“Oh, there you are!” You hear his mother’s voice call out as soon as she steps inside the living room. You turn to face her and you’re greeted by the same smile you see on Minho’s face every day — they look so similar you have to hold back a gasp. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”
You stand up from the couch and smooth down your long skirt, smiling while she walks toward you. You’re caught off guard when she pulls you into a hug as soon as she’s in front of you, her arms squeezing you as she sighs happily into your hair.
“Mom,” Minho calls out, “You’re scaring her.”
His mom pulls away with a chuckle, her left hand pinching her son’s cheek before resting on your shoulder again. “He’s the one who’s scared I’ll embarrass him,” she refutes. “And, god, you’re so pretty! Minho told me you were beautiful, but I just assumed it was the infatuation speaking.”
You feel your cheeks flush at her words, biting back a smile. Minho had talked to his mother about you — had said you were beautiful. You swear if you died tonight, you would die a happy woman.
As his mother steps away from you and into the kitchen, rambling on about how crowded the shopping mall had been, a man comes into your field of vision. He nods courtly before extending his hand, which you shake a bit awkwardly.
“I’m Minho’s dad,” he simply says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Minho has been very happy on the phone since meeting you.”
And with that, he’s off into the kitchen, following his wife. You’re left a bit dazed. Minho truly was a perfect blend of his mother’s appearance and his father’s calm personality.
Beside you, Minho pulls you into a side hug, his chilly hands caressing your arms. “See? It’s impossible not to love you.”
You freeze for a moment, before relaxing as you realize he’s talking about his parents loving you. You curse yourself inwardly for being so damn emotionally constipated, but let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.
You were worried for so many different reasons — that you wouldn’t measure up to Minho’s first girlfriend, that your personality would be scrutinized until your flaws finally emerged, and that this would be the catalyst for Minho to realize you’re not worth it. Not worth waiting until you can tell him you love him, not worth waiting until you feel like sex isn’t going to just ruin everything between you, not worth the hassle and the chore that is loving someone like you.
But as he walks into the kitchen with you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, like he’s proud to show you off to his parents, the level of reliability he radiates is enough to melt away all the annoying little worries you had inside your head.
Christmas eve comes two days later, and you’re rudely woken up in the morning by the sound of Minho’s voice cursing under his breath as he drops something on the floor by his bed. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and he turns to face you with an apologetic look on his face.
“Sorry,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”
“What time is it?”
“Eight, I think.” His fingers brush your hair away from your face. “I didn’t set an alarm ‘cause I didn’t wanna wake you up, but guess my inability to be quiet did that anyway.”
You chuckle lightly, scrunching up your nose. “Why are you up so early?”
“Gotta start cooking dinner soon,” he explains.
“Already?” You ask, perplexed. You knew he cooked Christmas dinner all by himself every year for his family, but you never conceived just how much work that would be for a single person.
Minho is unyielding despite your best efforts at persuading him to stay and cuddle you for a few more hours, and watching him cook is always oddly attractive to you, so you find yourself joining him in the kitchen, wrapped up in one of his many cat print sweaters.
At first, you simply sit up at one of the counters and watch him, mesmerized and all but drooling at the way he rolls up his sleeves, the prominent veins making his arms look so sexy while doing such a mundane thing like chopping fucking vegetables. Not to mention his hands, so beautiful and big as he rubs the seasoning on something you don’t even care to identify because you’re just too busy thinking about those hands all over your body. Only now do you notice how no real sex for almost two months has really taken a toll on you, what with the way you have to cross your legs just to try and relieve some tension because your mind won’t stop thinking about Minho’s veiny arms caging you against this counter and his big hands—
Minho calls out your name, and you snap out of your fantasies, humming as you reluctantly turn your attention toward his face with a dazed expression. He seems to find it funny, as he chuckles before repeating himself, “I asked if you would like to help. I can teach you some of the easy stuff. Must be boring just sitting there and watching.”
Oh, but it isn’t boring at all.
But you’d never tell him that, so you nod before hopping off the counter and awaiting further instructions. Turns out you’re worse at cooking than you had thought, so you’re relegated to chopping duty, which you hate for two reasons — firstly, chopping vegetables is boring, and secondly, you’re now deprived of your view of Minho as you stand with your back turned to him while he cooks.
It’s around five p.m. when Minho’s mom joins you two in the kitchen, and by that time you’ve done all you could, so you’re back to your spot on the counter. She smiles at you before ruffling Minho’s hair as he closes the oven.
“My baby is such a wonderful cook, isn’t he?” she praises, and he shrugs with a smirk.
“I am very boyfriend material, aren’t I?”
You chuckle as you watch his mom carefully fixing his hair which she had messed up, Minho scrunching up his face as she then fixes his wire-frame glasses on his nose.
“I’m so glad you’re wearing your glasses again,” she comments, cupping his cheeks and squeezing before letting go. “You look so handsome.”
“You should thank her,” Minho smiles, turning to look at you, and you shoot him a puzzling look. “Remember on your birthday, when you told me I looked good wearing glasses?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “That’s why I stopped wearing contacts.”
Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the words to answer him. You can feel your cheeks dusting pink as his mom coos at the two of you, saying something about young love that has you gnawing on your lips to hold back the silly smile you want to let out.
Minho’s mom leaves the kitchen shortly after, his father calling her from the living room. He takes this as his chance to approach where you’re sitting, hands resting on your thighs before he presses his lips against yours.
“I wanted to look handsome for you. It’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” He chuckles against your lips, and you simply shake your head, tangling your fingers in his black hair that has now grown past his eyes.
“It’s actually fucking adorable,” you assure him, pulling him into another kiss, one much deeper than the last.
He quickly uses his hands to spread your thighs apart, pressing his body into yours as you wrap your legs around his waist. The effect this man has on you is mindboggling; the mere slide of his tongue against your lips has you shivering. It certainly doesn’t help that you are now in the exact position from your imagination earlier today.
Minho always tasted like your own personal favorite flavor, always deliciously swirling on your tongue whenever you kissed him. He always renders your mind fuzzy and silly as bliss consumes the entirety of your being. You can only imagine how sex with him will feel like, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your worries be damned. You needed him more than you could handle.
But just as Minho pulls you closer to his body — your core dangerously close to his crotch, and sucking on your tongue in a way that has you mewling against his lips — his mother calls out your names, and you two quickly separate, startled as if you were burned. She informs you his grandmother has arrived and you two walk to the living room to greet her. You silently thank the universe for her not walking into the kitchen; the last thing you want is for Minho’s poor grandmother to catch you two making out on the counter like two teenagers.
She is a sweet lady, certainly not as old as you expected her to be, and she always has a smile etched onto her lips stained with red lipstick. You don’t even have to ask to know she is his mother’s mom, as the three of them share the exact same smile you grew to love so much.
You find yourself even more comfortable today, as you help both women set up the table for dinner — his grandma meticulously placing a beautiful lace cloth over the table while telling you about how this was one of her late husband’s first gifts to her when they first moved in together.
It felt as if you were part of the family.
And as you turn on your heels to grab the fancy silverware from a cabinet, your eyes meet Minho’s gaze. With a smile on his face, he stands by the kitchen door, watching you, and your heart swells with joy.
This was everything you never thought love could be.
Christmas dinner was amazing — as you knew it would be. Minho’s cooking is always fantastic, and pure happiness is written all over his face whenever he was complimented. The way he offers to serve everyone, watching intently as each of you took the first bite before he finally allowed himself to eat as well, his lips upturned into a grin and his ears red as you all hummed and gasped at how tasty everything was. It’s his love language; from the way he carefully and methodically prepares the food, to the way he enjoys watching other people eat more than eating himself. He shows his love through his cooking, you realize, and you smile as you think back to numerous times you woke up in the morning with a beautiful table set with breakfast for you after he spent the night at your house.
You haven’t put it into words yet, but he has unquestionably been showing his love for you through his little actions.
And that’s what you want to do tonight as well.
After watching a cliche Christmas movie with his family, you two are now the only ones awake with you drying off the dishes Minho’s washing. He looks beautiful even now, with his hands clad in neon green dishwashing gloves.
“Minho,” you call out, poking his rib with the plate he just handed you. He squirms with a giggle, warning you to not tickle him. You simply hum, continuing as nonchalantly as you can. “Do you wanna have sex tonight?”
His hand stills, dropping a knife on the sink as his head turns abruptly to look at you, eyes bewildered. “What? What, and you ask me this now? While we’re doing the dishes?” He sputters, and you grin with a shrug.
“It’s not a big deal,” you say, placing the plate on top of the counter. “I just… really wanna do it. Really want you.”
Minho turns off the tap — at least five knives left ignored at the bottom of the sink — removes his gloves and lets out a heavy sigh.
“Okay, not what I expected to happen on Christmas night, but I’ll take it.”
You both stare at each other for a beat, before inexplicably bursting out laughing. Maybe it’s the sheer suddenness of your request, or the absurdity of the situation you were in when it happened, but you can’t help it.
As you both calm down, Minho pulls you into his arms and informs you that he will have to go out and buy condoms, since he truly wasn’t expecting anything to happen. You don’t fault him, the two months you’ve been together were filled with you all but running away from sex. You couldn’t help it, your brain always dragging you back to that night in Japan, and the way he avoided your gaze in the morning. Although you knew it was irrational, and that he was simply shy, your self-sabotaging skills were too great, and your mind insisted that if you had sex with Minho too soon he would think you were nothing but a slut. That’s what you were told most of your life, anyway, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your brain was almost conditioned into assuming the same.
But Minho had proved time and time again that he was not like the awful guys before him, and that all your worrying was unwarranted and foolish. You were depriving yourself of something you wanted badly out of sheer insecurity and attachment to experiences so far in the past it was almost masochistic at this point.
You insist on joining him on his impromptu trip to the convenience store, only throwing one of his sweaters over the dress and tights you wore for Christmas dinner.
Minho holds your hand as you two walk down the empty street, Christmas lights from the houses and stores making everything seem almost like a movie. You spot the familiar logo from across the street, and Minho bumps his shoulder with you while you head toward the convenience store chain where you both once worked.
“This is actually the exact one I used to work at,” He tells you as you look through a fridge hidden away in the back of the store. “I loved working the graveyard shift. I rang up so many couples awkwardly buying condoms like they were buying hard drugs.”
You chuckle, settling for some pudding you two could share later. “Will that be us tonight?”
He shrugs. “We’re adults, it’s normal to buy these things. Unless you want me to act like I’m buying crack cocaine, then I’d be happy to indulge you.”
You stick your tongue out at him with a light shove, turning to look through the rather lacking options on the condom shelf.
“Grape flavor?” Minho makes a face as he eyes one of the boxes. “Who the fuck would want the artificial taste of grapes when fucking?”
You shrug. “Could be worse, imagine banana-flavored condoms. I think I’d throw up all over your dick.”
“That’s sexy,” He jokes, and you let out a loud chuckle, earning you a look from the only other person at the store this time of night on Christmas eve.
Among your other options are a green glow-in-the-dark condom — which would only make you think of Shrek while Minho fucks you — and a strawberry-flavored one. You decide to play it safe, grabbing a box of plain, thin condoms and placing them in the basket Minho’s carrying.
“Let’s just go for the safest option,” you tell him, “We’ll have plenty of time to play around later if you want, though I’ll go on birth control once we’re back home so we won’t even need them anyway.”
You watch as Minho’s eyes widen for a second, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.
“Sure, yeah.”
“Don’t short-circuit now. I need you functioning to fuck me.”
“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll be broken before we even make it back to my house,” he states matter-of-factly, and you chuckle, shaking your head at his words. But Minho’s expression remains unchanged. “I mean it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had proper sex. I’m surprised I didn’t combust the second you said those words to me in the kitchen.”
With a chuckle, you pull him to your side and walk toward the cashier. It’s a poor teenage boy, no older than eighteen, clearly bored out of his mind and wishing to be anywhere but here. As he rings up your items, Minho points to his phone that’s resting on the counter.
“That’s Ahri from League of Legends, right?” He asks, and the boy looks up, his eyes sparking with interest. He nods. “I don’t play, but I’m a game programmer, so I know a little bit about it. What’s your rank?”
“Grandmaster,” the boy answers proudly, his face lighting up with a hint of joy, probably for the first time since his shift started.
“Oohh,” Minho gasps loudly, basically hyping up this random boy at the convenience store. You watch the interaction with a silly smile on your face. “And you’re still young, wouldn’t be surprised to see you at World’s someday.”
The boy shakes his head dismissively as Minho hands him his card, but smiles nonetheless. Once he hands you your things, he speaks again, “Are you from around here, hyung? Let me know when you have a game out, I’d love to try it. See if you’re any good.”
Minho raises his brows at the obvious teasing lilt in his voice, lips upturning into a grin. “How about this? I’ll give you the beta code and you can start your career of testing games for money.”
“You’ll pay me?” The cashier marvels at the words, and Minho simply nods. He jots down a code from his phone into a scrap piece of paper on the counter, the boy’s face now a complete shift from the expression he wore when you first walked in, all because of Minho and his ability to be kind and sweet no matter the person or circumstance.
As you head back to his house, only the two of walk along the shy streets as the clock hands turn past midnight. Among all the bad people in this world, you’re indescribably happy that a man as good as him is the one walking beside you down this street, firmly holding your hand.
You arrive home and quietly head straight into Minho’s room. You thank any higher power that might exist for the fact that his room is the only one on the first floor, as you would have to endure your desperate need and desire for him until you got home if it wasn’t. Any of Minho’s family members walking in or hearing you two have sex would make you want to flee the country and change your name.
He joins you after storing your puddings in the fridge, making you jump with his arms wrapped around your waist while you were blankly staring at the pictures on his wall. You sigh, the realization of what was going to happen only really dawning on you now that you stand in Minho’s bedroom, and your mind starts to wander and doubt everything all over again.
“I kind of ruined the mood by asking to have sex, didn’t I?” You ask as Minho places a chaste kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.
“There was really no mood in the first place,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We were washing the dishes.”
You roll your eyes, once again more annoyed at yourself than at him. You could only hope that your awful propensity of bringing up these irritating thoughts of yours at the worst possible moments didn’t drive Minho away from you. Could only hope you were worth it in the end.
“I know, it’s just…” You trail off with another heavy sigh. “This guy I dated hated that. Said I should just initiate it instead of asking like it was a business transaction.”
You feel Minho shake his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I think that?” He sounds incredulous, and hearing him say it makes you realize just how asinine that thought really was. “We had to buy condoms, anyway. It’s also good that you’re comfortable asking me that. It’s as it should be.”
And you can only smile, biting back a giggle because of course he thinks that. It’s as if Jane Austen came back from the dead simply to write Lee Minho.
His arms tighten around your waist, and you turn your head to look at him. “You should really stop thinking about… them,” He hesitates, “Your exes, I mean. Stop comparing, assuming everything will be the same and have the same sad ending. You need to let go of that in order to truly heal. I hate how every time I’m good to you, or do the bare fucking minimum, your mind spins it into something being your fault. I hate what they did to you so much.”
You feel your breath get caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill much like they do every time you are faced with this topic. But you hold them in. You don’t want to cry, not right now, not when everything is so perfect with Minho. So, instead, you take in his words. He’s undoubtedly right, and you must force yourself to face this uncomfortable truth.
Slowly, you promise yourself. You smile at him, a silent promise to him, and you know he understands you when he smiles back, his lips pressing a kiss to your lips.
He lets go of you and rummages through his drawers, and you look around once more. His plushie mountain, the pictures of his childhood and high school days. You scrunch up your nose.
“Will it be too weird to have sex in your childhood bedroom?”
From where you’re standing, his back turned to you, you can faintly make out the tip of his ears turning red as he runs a finger through his hair.
“Well, not really…” He trails off, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend here all the time when we skipped school together.”
You let out a gasp. “Lee Minho skipped school?”
He chuckles, closing his drawers and immediately wrapping his arms around you. He’s a lot more touchy since you brought this whole topic up, you notice.
“My parents were always at work, though, so this is my first time doing it while they’re right upstairs,” He explains, bringing his finger up to your lips and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “So we’ll have to be quiet.”
You roll your eyes with a smile, nodding. You know all too well you’ll probably be too quiet. Once again your trauma playing a part in this, the words an old boyfriend harshly spilled about you being too loud and vocal have always been present in your head. Now that you think about it, all these moments and words are like post-it notes stuck to your mind, and you skim through like a student cramming for an exam every day in search of one that applies to your current situation. It was excruciating.
Hyunjin tried his best to change this about you, always assuring you he liked to hear you during sex when he noticed your pursed and bitten lips, and that you should be vocal about what you want and like. But you always settled for nods and quiet hums instead.
Minho presses a quick kiss on your forehead then. “I’m gonna shower ‘cause my hands still smell like onions and garlic after washing them a thousand times,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”
As you’re busying yourself looking through Minho’s extensive collection of books, a meow pulls your attention toward the door. It’s Dori, the gray cat you’ve decided is your favorite since it’s the only one you can easily recognize. He stares for a beat before approaching you, and you kneel carefully to stroke his soft fur. You soon find yourself sitting down by the bed with Dori on your lap, purring away as your mind travels to a future in which you and Minho adopt cats of your own, all while living together and making plans for the rest of your lives. It terrifies you slightly to allow yourself to have these thoughts because if things were to go wrong with Minho, this would only be another ‘what if’ that would haunt you.
Another post-it note to your already cluttered-up mind.
But his words from earlier come back to you just as you begin to panic. You have to let go of the past and stop assuming only the worst outcomes are attainable. And so you simply smile at the imagination, letting your mind run wild while Dori falls asleep on your lap, his gray fur all over your red dress.
You and Dori both jump as Minho all but slams the door when he returns, a towel in his hand drying his damp hair. He cringes at the sound, cursing under his breath. Dori leaves your lap, and you stand up with a pout. He definitely is your favorite cat among the three.
“Sorry,” Minho whispers, as if that will compensate for the loud noise. You take in his appearance; a green Christmas sweater and bright red sweatpants. You bite back a smile, because that’s so him.
“Your outfit is doing a great job of seducing me,” you jest, and he shrugs with a cocky grin.
“I know no woman can resist a Christmas sweater.”
He pulls you into him with a hand around your waist, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. You notice he’s more frantic, less careful than he usually is, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as his hands slide up your back. He pulls away, breathless and flushed, and just looks at you for a moment. You can see the shift in his eyes, yearning swimming all over his brown orbs.
Clumsily, he shuts off the lights behind him then switches on the fairy lights adorning his bookshelf, his left hand still firmly clutching your body. Until it suddenly loosens, and you cock your head to the side.
“Okay, you gotta leave,” he says, and you follow his gaze, landing on Dori, who stares up at him almost defiantly. Minho lets out a sigh, opening his door before walking toward the cat and motioning toward the exit as if he will understand him. “Come on, I’ll give you treats later, hm? But you need to leave now, Dori.”
You fail to hold back a chuckle. “Why does the poor baby have to leave? He looks so comfortable snuggled up on the floor.”
“I can’t have sex while Dori watches,” he deadpans as if it were an obvious answer. “It’ll be weird.”
“Minho, it’s a cat. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”
“It’s still weird! And I…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s still facing the door when he blurts out, “I told you, I’m already really fucking nervous ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I might not be the best.”
You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “Minho, that’s not possible.”
“Yes, it is!” He finally turns to face you. “Remember back in Japan? I came too fast, it was embarrassing. That’s why I never let you touch me.”
You jokingly pout at him. “Thought you just liked eating me out.”
“I fucking love eating you out, but I’m not exactly refusing that you do the same because I want to,” he explains, “I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it.”
You furrow your brows. “Bad at… getting a blowjob?”
Minho’s ears are dusted a light pink, and he throws his hands up. “Well, yes! Back in Japan I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what you like, and I haven’t been with anyone else to know what most people like so…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck, I was so nervous that night, you have no idea.”
“You were nervous?” You let out a huff, recalling Minho’s clear shift in demeanor that night. “Looking into my eyes the entire time and pinning me down to the bed, that’s you being nervous?”
His entire face now flushes red, and he returns his gaze toward the door, where Dori paddles out of the room graciously. He promptly shuts the door, locking it this time.
“I was nervous,” He tells you, taking a step toward you. “I kept looking at you ‘cause I couldn’t believe that was actually happening. Felt like you were gonna disappear if I looked away,” His hands cup your face gently, and your lips unknowingly curl into a smile. “And when you looked at me in the morning, all I could think about was how awful I was the night before.”
You have to fight the strong urge to laugh because god, that’s why he was acting shy and avoiding your gaze. You berate yourself for even thinking otherwise, for ever assuming Minho could be like your ex-boyfriends. His words ring even more true than before.
You let out a groan, realizing you two have been putting off having sex for such mindless reasons. When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you simply say, “Minho, we’re both fucking idiots, d’you know that?”
And before he can say anything else or even entertain the idea of overthinking any more, you pull him into a kiss. With a surprised hum, Minho gently pushes you back, and your knees meet the softness of the mattress causing you to fall back into his bed. He climbs on top of you, pulling away from the kiss.
“You still gotta tell me what you like,” he repeats, his lips all but pouting at you. You smile up at him.
“No,” you say simply, pushing his hair back with your fingers as it fell into his eyes. “It’s better if we figure that out together, isn’t it?”
Minho chuckles, promptly pressing his lips to yours, your hand tugging at his hair gently as his tongue glides across your lips, causing a soft whine to slip from your throat before you can stop it.
“I like that,” he says between kisses, “When you make these pretty noises.”
You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and take that as your chance to take the first small step in healing, adding a post-it to your mind, reminding you not to suppress any noise that Minho coaxes out of you tonight.
The atmosphere in his room feels perfect — like heaven, as he would say. The soft yellow glow emanating from his bookshelf made everything seem dreamy; his honey skin looked stunning, and his eyes gleamed like the stars in the sky every time they met yours.
It was undoubtedly so much more intimate and passionate than any other time you had sex before, and you were both still fully clothed.
It was just like what Minho had told you many months ago.
His hands travel through your body until they rest on your back, finding the buttons of your dress, slowly opening each one as his lips trail down your neck, softly sucking on the skin. As he gingerly slides your dress down your torso, you realize that this will be the first time you two see each other naked. Yet, you don’t feel nervous. You want nothing more than to be close to him, with no barriers between you, to finally be tangled with him like the roots on the ground.
Minho unclasps your bra, his gaze unmoving from your chest as he slips the garment off of your skin and drops it on the floor. It’s almost as if you can feel his gaze burning you, your chest tightening and your breath hitching in your throat. He licks his lips, leaning down to wrap them around your nipple, his hand promptly finding your other breast and softly massaging it. You let out a choked gasp, tugging at his hair.
You feel his lips stretch into a smile before he softly bites the bud.
“So you like this,” He mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your nipple. “Duly noted.”
You giggle at his words, your hands tangling in his hair once more. His kisses travel up again, from your chest to your neck, until he’s back to kissing your lips. Both of his hands now massage your breasts, alternating between rolling your nipples between his rough fingers and pinching them lightly, causing a rush to spread across your entire body. You feel your arousal trickle down your slit as you grow more desperate.
“Minho,” you call out between kisses, and he hums against your lips. “Do something,” you all but beg him, yearning for some release as you feel the small, unrelenting pulse between your thighs grow stronger with each stroke of his finger across your chest. Your hands now grasp at his sweater, tugging it over his head, the fabric also discarded somewhere on the floor of his room.
Your hands travel over the expanse of his chest, fingertips taking in every inch of his soft skin. Breaking away from his lips, you push him back softly so you can revel in the sight of him; his delicate collar bones, his strong arms, and soft stomach. He’s beautiful, breathtakingly so, and you don’t know what you did to be deserving of him.
“Enjoying the view?” He jokes, and you breathe out a laugh, your gaze flying up toward his face — his lips swollen, and his cheeks flushed a pretty red.
“Minho, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper absentmindedly, and he smiles at you, softly pressing his lips to yours.
“You should see how you look,” he whispers.
His left hand soon slips underneath your dress skirt, fingertips grazing your skin over your tights. You feel goosebumps trickle along your thighs following his every touch, so eager to feel his hands on your skin you’re sure you’ll rip your tights in half yourself if Minho doesn’t get rid of them soon.
He seems to grow as impatient as you, lifting your hips with a strong grip to slide down your dress, tights, and panties off of you all in one go. In no time, you are now laid bare before him, and Minho is swift to trail kisses down your stomach, sloppy and messy, painting your skin with his saliva as his mouth waters at the mere prospect of tasting you.
With a heavy sigh, he stares at your glistening wetness before promptly wrapping his lips around your clit without a warning and sucking, ardently, vulgar sounds filling his small room much like they do every time he eats you out. Always messy, always eager, humming against your pussy and sighing as his eyes glaze over with pure want.
You squirm like lighting has shocked through your entire body. No matter how often you experience the satisfaction of Minho’s lips on you, it always leaves you trembling like it’s the first time. His right hand slides up the expanse of your stomach until it reaches your breast again, his thumb lazily circling your nipple. You purse your lips as his fingers tentatively trail across your folds, spreading your wetness up to your clit before lapping at it slowly, the small bud swollen and aching.
You’re quick to remember to open your mouth, letting out the heavy sigh that had stuck to your throat as his finger enters you, Minho still licking and sucking your sensitive clit, nipping harshly and making your sigh fade into a whine. Hand tangling in his hair and tugging, you elicit a low groan from his throat, which you feel reverberate through your slick folds.
Your thighs shake as he adds a second finger, and soon a third, thrusting them inside of you and stroking your walls more vigorously than he usually does, as if he somehow also feels your pleasure and needs to lead you to your high as quickly as possible.
Minho’s hand leaves your chest, and you bite back a pout, his fingers now gripping your hips before pushing them up so he can reach deeper. It isn’t long before his fingers drag across the spot inside of you that has your muscles tensing up, a strangled moan falling from your lips at the sensations coupled with the unrelenting feeling of his tongue on your clit. You come undone around his fingers and lips with a harsh tug of his black hair, rutting your hips against his face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you do.
He laps up your juices as you slowly come down from your high, tongue flicking inside of you and sucking hard before he presses a long kiss to your cunt. Your entire body jerks in response to the overstimulation.
His kisses travel toward your inner thigh, your lower stomach and breasts until he reaches your neck, where his teeth nip at the soft skin, sucking harshly before his tongue soothingly licks at the spot. As Minho positions himself between your thighs again, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind goes hazy for a beat as you feel the thick outline of his cock press against your bare core.
“Minho,” you call out again, your voice significantly more whiny this time around, shaky and breathless, “Wanna taste you.”
He groans against your skin, pressing small kisses up your neck until he ultimately stops against your open lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh.
“Really want that, too,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his dark eyes travel across your face. “But I really wanna fuck you. Shit, I need to fuck you so badly you have no idea,” He groans. You feel his length jump at his words as he presses your foreheads together and locks his gaze with you. “That’ll be hard to do if your pretty lips go anywhere near my cock.”
You breathe out a chuckle, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “Then get to it,” you simply say.
Minho’s lips curl into a grin. “Will you remember to be quiet for me this time? My baby sounded so pretty coming around my fingers.”
Your cheeks flush, just how loud you were before only now dawning on you. Fuck. Your words get stuck to your throat, your mouth opening but making no sound, so you settle for a nod.
He chuckles. “Good,” he replies with a kiss to your agape lips.
Minho sits up, detangling himself from your body briefly. He reaches for the box on his bedside table, scrambling with the cardboard before clumsily tearing it open and retrieving a condom. It’s only then you notice how his hands are trembling, from nervousness or pure lust. Either way, you find yourself smiling at the sight.
You reach out to run a hand along his arm soothingly, watching with hungry eyes as he tugs at his drawstrings before freeing his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. Minho hisses as he rolls the rubber over his length, shaky hands stroking himself one, two, three times, all while you eye him, watching greedily as if you were his own personal captive audience.
He lowers himself once again, hand now sliding across the length of your thigh before gripping the flesh, nails digging into your skin as he eyes you with an almost pleading gaze.
“Can I—”
“Please do,” you answer, almost frantically, before he even has the time to assume you might say no. You inch your thighs apart even more so Minho can slot himself perfectly between them.
Your mouth waters as you catch sight of him gripping his cock once more, tapping it against your swollen clit and eliciting a whine from your lips as your hands scramble to find purchase in his strong arms. Minho’s eyes then find yours much like they did back in Japan, and you know you are done for. His dark gaze once again felt all-consuming — desire and adoration swimming along his brown eyes, looking at you as if he were in a daze. Your grip on his arms tightens as he lazily slides his cock up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. Minho’s lips fall open as he continues his movements, the blunt head of his cock gliding along your folds almost painfully slow.
He leans in to close the small gap between your lips, before whispering something you can’t quite understand against them.
“I fucking love you,” he repeats himself more clearly, and finally pushes forward, his girth pushing into you as you gasp, feeling as if all the air has been stolen from you.
You aren’t sure if your reaction is due to his words, or the way his cock is working you open so good, or maybe it was a delicious blend of the two. All you know at the moment is Minho, Minho, Minho, your mind foggy as his name rings inside your head like a mantra.
“Don’t gotta say anything back,” he tells you in a breathy voice, “Just want you to know I love— Fuck,” he groans as he is now fully sheathed inside of you, and you clench at both the feeling and the words spilling from his lips. Of course he would choose now to tell you he loved you. “Love you so much, so much I’d do anything for you. Would wage a war with the world if you asked me to…” He babbles, words slipping past his lips like they were the easiest thing for him to say. Like he meant it so deeply, he didn’t have to put any thought into it. His words only die as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.
Minho pulls his hips back in one swift motion, hands lifting your thighs around his body as he thrusts into you, evoking a rather loud noise from the back of your throat which is smothered by his kiss.
“You take me so well,” he growls against your lips, “We fit perfectly.” He breaks the kiss to look down at where your two bodies are connected. It felt as if you were one, melting into each other little by little the more Minho thrust his cock inside of you. You simply nod, mind even more dizzy with the way he’s already pulling out again before slamming back into you, his pace quickening as he presses you into the mattress.
Your nails dig into his skin, crescent moon shapes blooming over the expanse of his honey skin. His eyes still bore into you, hips now thrusting at an unrelenting pace, his small room filled with a cacophony of wet sounds, whines tumbling from your parted lips and curses that almost silently fell from his.
“Gonna come soon,” Minho chokes out, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I—”
You silence him with a press of your lips, hands now tangling in his messy hair.
“You’re always so good to me,” you tell him, feeling his cock pulse inside of your walls. “Wanna be good to you too, make you feel good.”
And he simply leans down before kissing you reverently. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the creaking of his bed likely much too loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least not at the moment. Not with the way his hand snakes along your hips, rough fingers now rolling delicious circles around your clit while his other palm presses down onto your abdomen, and his cock continuously hits a spot inside of you that has you all but crumbling apart underneath him.
Your mouth falls open, breaking the kiss, his cock twitching inside of you as his body stills on top of you. With furrowed brows and agape lips, Minho comes mere seconds before you reach your high as well, toes curling against his back as you melt onto his cock.
You stay that way for a while — a few seconds, maybe minutes — simply looking at each other as your labored breaths intertwine.
You finally reach up, brushing his dampened hair away from his beautiful eyes that now look at you as if you were the sole reason why the stars sparkle. Minho’s fingers soon find yours, tangling together as he brings your hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.
You smile.
You love him.
It’s not a realization but rather a confirmation of something you’ve already known all too well and for far too long. You still can’t put it into words, but somehow, you are certain that he knows just as well.
Minho accidentally awoke you in the morning with his habit of slamming his door shut, apologizing as you grumbled at him and insisted you would only accept his apology if he let you give him a blowjob. He laughed, simply pulling you closer to him on the bed as he sat up and you finally gave the most beautiful man you had ever met the head he deserved.
Minho’s parents and grandmother had left to eat at a fancy restaurant, and after lying through his teeth and telling his very distraught mother that you were feeling too sick to leave the bed, you two stayed behind. They didn’t have to know the real reason you couldn’t leave the bed — Minho and his apparent insatiable hunger for you. It was as if something had been awoken inside him now that he had a taste of you, and he had to make up for all the lost time.
You two only leave his room late in the afternoon, the sun setting on the pale winter sky outside his bedroom window. His family would arrive soon, and you needed to get ready for their tradition of opening Christmas presents while watching bad holiday movies.
When Minho followed you when you headed toward the bathroom, you thought little of it. It was only when he began undressing alongside you that panic truly set in.
“We literally had sex, why do you sound so horrified?” Was all he offered you when you asked what he was doing before entering the steamy shower with you.
It was your first time showering with someone, and the fact that it made you so nervous felt almost pathetic. Minho was right; you had sex, and you saw each other naked and sweaty and vulnerable. This shouldn’t be any different.
Except it was.
You found yourself too awkward to wash yourself, doing a terrible job at pretending to scrub at your arms as you watched Minho shower like a normal person. He let out a chuckle after rinsing his hair, shaking his head.
“Are you seriously shy? Seriously?” He asked, turning your body around so your back faced him. “The girl who begged to suck my cock just this morning is too shy to shower in front of me?”
You opened your lips to refute him, but your words died in your mouth as you felt Minho’s hand spread shampoo all over your hair. His fingers gently massaged your scalp before placing his hand over your eyes to shield them from the foam as he rinsed your hair. He repeated the process with conditioner, then moved on to wash your body with his almost sickly sweet watermelon body wash. He did it all while humming, making you so relaxed and comfortable that all your silly insecurities dissipated in the air along with the steam from the hot water.
Suffice to say, showering without Minho would now be a sad affair.
You are now sitting on the floor before the television, his family exchanging gifts. Dori purred on your lap, and Soonie bit Minho’s socks, trying his best to remove the fabric from his feet. It’s finally time for you two to exchange gifts, and you’re a bit glad his family seemed to be so immersed in the movie because you know you would combust if you had to explain your gift to them.
“Here,” you hand him an orange box with a black bow. “It’s stupid. Now that I think about it, it’s probably such a fucking dumb gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Eunha even made one for her sister. I almost stole hers ‘cause it turned out much better than mine—”
“My god,” Minho interrupts you with a hearty laugh, taking the box in his hands and inspecting it. “It’s been a while since you word vomited so much. What the hell did you get me that made you so nervous?”
He pulls on the bow, unraveling it before taking the black fabric in his hands and tying it around your head. He laughs once more, and you roll your eyes.
“Minho, just get to it before I snatch this box from you.”
With one last chuckle, he finally opens the box. He stills as he takes in the notebook, sitting on top of far too much wrapping tissue paper. The cat print cardstock paper was a pain to find, but it’s worth it now as you watch Minho’s lips curl into a smile as his fingers gingerly travel through the cover. It was crooked, a bit too small, and still reeked of bookbinding glue, but it reminds you of the day you met Minho, and that was all you thought about when you decided on this gift.
“You fucking bound me a notebook,” he says, still bewildered.
“Took me a while, but I did say I was gonna do it. I’m a woman of my word.”
Minho looks up at you, his smile reaching his eyes and turning them into the pretty crescent moons you love so much. “I love it,” he beams, hands now squeezing your cheeks as he pulls you into a small kiss. “This and that coffee stained notebook are going on my bookshelf back in my dorm, displayed in all their glory.”
Minho pulls away and reaches toward two small boxes on the coffee table. He clears his throat, handing you one box as he settles the other on his lap.
“I thought of you when I saw this on my Instagram feed,” he simply says, fingers toying with the misshaped bow on top of the box — one very similar to the one on your birthday gift many months ago. “Thought about what we talked about in Japan, y’know, about soulmates.”
You raise a brow at him, quickly undoing the bow on your box as curiosity washes over you. You pick up a bracelet made only of red thread, eyeing it curiously.
Minho retrieves the same bracelet from his own box, putting it on before asking, “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”
“That myth that a thread connects two people meant to be together?” You question.
He nods. “Exactly. I feel like that was us,” He explains, taking the red bracelet from your hands and slipping it around your wrist before gently tightening the thread. “Feel like all our little coincidences were little threads tying us together until we met.”
You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t bother trying to hide or stop them this time. Grabbing Minho’s hand that stilled around your wrist, you lace your fingers together, admiring your matching bracelets. It could only be fate. Every small detail that aligned and every road you two crossed to reach the place where you are now could only have come to be because fate wanted it to be that way.
Out of every city you could have lived in, every different university you could have chosen to attend, down to every other seat that could have been empty on the day you met Minho — everything fell into place like a puzzle piece, exactly as if a long, invisible string tied you to him and finally decided it was time to pull you together.
Minho’s gentle touch brushes against your cheek as he silently wipes your tears — no words are needed between you two at that moment as he smiles softly at you while you feel your eyes burn from the cry you had held back for so long. And, as if you’re his mirror, you feel yourself smile as his lips upturn into a grin when his gaze shifts to the open window.
“It’s snowing,” he beams. “It’s the first snow of the year, and our first snow together.”
You stand in front of Minho’s house, the light snow falling softly and covering your heads in white as he kisses you, only stopping to grumble against your lips.
“Your phone’s going crazy in my pocket,” He pouts, and you furrow your brows. You had already sent your family holiday messages, and your friends were all busy with their own Christmas celebrations, so you were clueless about who it could be.
“Can you check it for me?”
Minho nods, untangling himself from your embrace just enough to reach into his pocket and grab your phone to unlock it.
“There’s like fifty new messages from a group chat. Best Fucking Five?” He chuckles lightly at the name, his chilly breath tickling your cheek.
You, on the other hand, immediately frowned as you heard the name. It’s a long-forgotten group chat with your old friend group from high school. You had all stopped talking a little before graduation, with you especially distancing yourself from them upon realizing their toxic words and reactions to your relationships only served to make you feel worse about yourself. No one bothered to leave or delete the group since it quietly died and had stayed that way for over three years now.
Minho hands you the phone, and you click another notification that pops up as soon as you unlock the device.
The conversation began with your former friend sending a screenshot of one of your ex-boyfriend’s newest Instagram post. You skim through the caption and blanch at the words accompanied by a sonogram picture. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he’s over the moon about it.
And you, for some reason, find yourself laughing so much you have to clutch onto Minho’s shoulder as your stomach starts to hurt.
He shoots you an understandably puzzled look, but you can’t stop the giggles that spill from your lips, so you settle on showing him the screenshot.
“I got the best Christmas gift tonight,” Minho reads from the screen. “I'm going to be a dad, and the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known is the mother,” he trails off with a questioning lilt, brows furrowing as that had only confused him more.
“It’s one of my exes,” you manage to tell him after catching your breath.
Minho hums, taking your hands and shoving them in his overcoat pocket along with your phone.
“And why did that make you lose your mind laughing?” He asks with a small smile.
“I guess it was the shock, really. It also made me realize just how little I care about him now. All of them, actually. Every time I was broken up with or had my heart broken in some way, it honestly felt like the end of the world,” you explain, “Like my heart would never recover and like I would hate them for the rest of my life. For years I had such a strong ax to grind with them, and that hatred and grudge only caused me harm. It made me hate love, and it made me blame myself.”
Minho nods, pressing his forehead to yours. Around you two, the snow got thicker, and only the distant sounds of children laughing from neighboring houses could be heard throughout the quiet street.
“But it’s different now?”
You smile up at him. “It’s different now, and I only just realized that. These people are no longer people I hate. They’re simply their words and their actions toward me, but they, as people, mean nothing to me.”
Minho smiles and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. This realization makes you feel lighter, like a small part of the weight of healing has been removed from the equation. It’s only you and yourself now; none of them has any power over your emotions anymore.
“Maybe we should send the baby a present,” you joke, and Minho buries his head in the crook of your neck with a chuckle, and you jump as his cold nose brushes against your skin.
“Maybe we should.”
At that moment, in the arms of this amazing man who has helped you more than he will ever know, you realize that love truly isn’t bad. People can be bad, circumstances can be catastrophic, and wrong timing can destroy nearly everything. But love is, at the core of it all, good.
“Minho,” you call out, feeling him hum against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. “I love you,” you say simply.
His smile rivals every pretty thing around you. The first snow, the gleaming Christmas decorations, and even the moon herself pale in comparison to the smile that Minho gives you.
“I love you, too,” he replies, a tangible sense of bliss in his voice, as if he has yearned for a lifetime to finally be able to say those words to you.
You wrap your arms tighter around Minho, and your fingers brush against the red thread that adorns your wrist. It truly feels as if fate had led you to Minho, leaving little clues along the way to make sure you both knew when you finally met. His journey to you had been relatively easy, while yours had been heart-wrenching, but in the end, it had brought you heaven.
If soulmates really are a thing, there is not an ounce of doubt in your being that Minho is yours. More than anything, he taught you that love is present in everything around you. Love is being kind to others like Minho is kind to his family and strangers in convenience stores at midnight. Love is staying up with your best friend while she cries on the couch, not expecting anything in return. Love is the laughter of little kids on Christmas night echoing throughout a neighborhood. Love is also going out on your own, doing something simply because it will make you happy, and being kind to yourself. All this time, you held onto the belief that love is destructive and only leads to sadness, oblivious to the fact that it has surrounded you every step of the way.
Love is everywhere and in everything.
In the end, Minho had always been right.
Love is the most amazing thing in life.
♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1, @malunar28replies, @jazziwritesthings, @finchyyy, @bloom-ings, @linocz, @minhochaos, @lastgreatamericandynasty1, @missminhoe, @jungkookies1002, @meanergreener
#stray kids#stray kids fic#skz smut#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz fic#lee know fluff#lee know#lee know smut#lee know scenarios#stray kids x you#skz#fanfic#lee know x you#lee know x reader#lee know imagines#lee minho#lee minho x reader#lee minho x you#stray kids scenarios#stray kids smut
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Paring: jeonghan x you
Genre: fluff, 70's au, little to no angst
warnings: none, maybe a few swear words here and there
summary: jeonghan might be a cocky bastard but when it comes to you he will turn the world upside down, or so he claims.
words: 2k
a/n: I request each and every one of you to comment on this fic don't be a silent reader it helps me as an author to understand my readers and i would love to communicate with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcomed by me so do talk about this fic or send me an ask. Plus if you loved it enough don't forget to reblog, it will help me reach a larger audience.
a/n 2: i heard a podcast and it made me want to write this fic because the love story of the two hosts was sooo damn cutee.
You knew Jeonghan from when you were literally a kid.
His father had moved to your city after a presentation from little Jeonghan on how to make a pocketknife using ice cream sticks that he learnt from his local friends, his mother mortified that her little sweet child would grow up to become a goon forced his father to change cities to go as far away from the place they physically could.
It was during his fathers pursuit for a stable Korean community in Canada’s ever-growing cities did he come across the name of your grandfather’s in the phonebook that sounded very much similar to his. Your grandfather being the trusting and kind man he was invited his father for a dinner in his house the following day and this event kickstarted a relationship between the two families wherein, his father bought a house six minutes away from yours in the small part of your city inhabited by mostly Asians.
You both had met when he was seven and you were only three, he still remembers babysitting you when you were in middle school as your parents trusted no one more than him. So, when he broke the beautiful glass table in your living room, he had skillfully blamed you resulting in a three-hour long lecture from your parents about taking care of ones possessions.
You hated Jeonghan then, you really did, so you refused to talk to him for the next almost five years.
Until you both found yourselves in a duet dance opposite to each other because it was the neighborhood talent show and it was mandatory for the kids to participate. Typical Asian parents.
To no ones surprise your dance number got a tad bit too much hype from the watchers and it kickstarted another full year of you both not talking to each other at all because of the teasing glances and suggestive remarks from adults and children alike.
The time you both talked to each other again was when it was you senior year prom at high school and your father being the overprotective man he was, did not allow you to go because according to him ‘prom is how American kids end up getting pregnant.’
He was wrong of course; kids get pregnant due to having sex but you being the soft-spoken kid you were did not have the gal to inform him that. You would rather spend the night being sad and watching Simpsons and crying about how unfair it is for your parents to not let you go and experience the night considered to rank number one in peak American high school experience.
This was the first time you saw Jeonghan as your lord and savior, which you obviously will never tell him because it will do nothing but fuel his over-the-top ego. But that day he had stepped in and talked to you father.
“It’s an experience and everyone should be able to experience it, I think you are wrong sir to take away this from your daughter,” he had oh so righteously said.
“Son, I would let her only if you take her, as I don’t trust anyone but you with my daughter.”
“So, I shall then.”
Now did this conversation shock you? Yes, it did especially your father’s response to Jeonghan, but you were not going to stir up any feminist conversation with your father right now, not when you just got the pass to go to prom.
That night was something you barely remember; it has been twenty years since then and you barely care about the overly hyped kids and the future alcoholics that you encountered that night. Now that you are wise and older, you understand your parents concern. Suzy from you class had become a mother at the prime age of eighteen, nine months later. You are thankful that your father made the wise choice for you that day.
That night from what you remember was just plain boring, you had come back at 11 to a quite house, had talked to the boy for the entirety of the night, watched the sunrise with him and at the end had hugged him thanking him for taking you to prom.
After that incident, you both had again gone onto your own ways and had not talked to each other for another year till the next family function, where you both were the only kids of the same age present as all your other friends were out of the country for college.
That weekend had sparked a friendship between you both, as you always stuck to each other’s side seeking comfort from one another as talking to anyone else somehow always circled back to your marriage and their extreme concern for your depleting eggs.
The friendship you both wove lasted a long while, throughout your college. Till one day you come back from a trip to Daegu, and he was there standing at the airport ready to rush you away from your family to the nearest Starbucks because he had some news for you.
Once in the café he informed you that he had landed the job he had been trying for right after finishing college. You were elated for him, so happy that you almost forgot to tell him about the potential marriage partner your parents had whipped up during your two-week-long stay there.
Jeonghan being the man he was asked you up front to marry him, confessing his hidden feeling for you and how the weight of them might have just decreased his height. Dramatic bitch.
You being brough back to reality told him no and stated the reason to be man you could have potentially married. He obviously told you to say no to this unknown ‘son of a bitch’ and accept his proposal.
So being the bigger person, because Jeonghan obviously refused to, you reminded him that you had never dated anyone let alone him and you will not marry a man you have not dated.
This conversation then ignited your relationship the first step of which was turning down the said ‘son of a bitch’ while telling your father you wanted to focus on your career more, which you really did. Fast forward six months and while keeping up the long-distance relation with frequent phone calls late at night because your parents might pick up the landline and eavesdrop if its during the day, while at the same time trying to search for a job near Boston went on.
On one late Sunday afternoon as you were sitting on the kitchen island sipping on coffee you got an email from on of the companies, you had given an interview to, informing you had gotten an onsite job that would require you to move to Cambridge, and you were over the moon.
So, the preparations began for your send off and again Jeonghan stepped in like the messiah he is. He is absolutely not one, you refuse to accept. The man went ahead and told your conservative father he will give up his life to take care of you, till this date you claim it will be the opposite if a situation like that befalls you both. After packing your bags, you were on your merry way to live with the man.
It took you both some time to adjust to the new settings he would be over at your place during the weekends and sometimes you would be at his. This continued for another year or so before one night as you both were laying on the bed together when Jeonghan suddenly piped up.
“I think you should see other people.”
Not understanding what he meant you turned towards the guy and asked, “what do you mean?”
“I know we will end up marrying each other, so I want you to experience dating other men too, so you don’t get to ever claim I was the only guy in your life,” he explained to you.
You had yet to get a taste of exactly how much of a cocky motherfucker you are dating, said innocently.
“But Jeonghan you are the only guy I ever dated.”
That was the end of that conversation that night before you both went to sleep, but his urging never stopped. It went on for a few days till one day your exhausted and a tad bit insecure self, lashed out at him claiming he wanted to cheat on you, and he wanted a break. So, you gave one to him.
Five years later during your sister’s wedding in Singapore was when his proposal was finally accepted. You had just arrived at the airport and yet again the man had swooped in and taken you away from your family under the guise of some kind of sound check that was needed to be done in the wedding venue.
That entire year you had a flower bouquet delivered early morning to your house with an apology letter, although the apologies lasted only for a month before you forgave the terrified man, who apologized profusely after you accepted to talk to him. Even though you did feel a bit bad after seeing him, the guy looked like he was living during the great depression.
After that all was smooth sailing and he never ever tried to upset you at all, but his playful nature persisted anyways, not like you minded that.
Your clueless self agreed to go with him and without a second thought he took you to the cables to take you to an island that was nowhere close to the wedding venue. As you were getting increasingly confused, you kept asking him where exactly you both were going. He kept deflecting the topic, so you ultimately gave up and, as another family came up on the cable car, you started talking about your flight that you took with your family. The poor man did not hear one word, he was sweating bullocks and was essentially confused why another family was in the cable car that he had fully booked for you both.
As the family got down at the end, he stopped you from doing so too claiming it is not the stop, even though it was the last one. It was then the nervous wreck of a man got down on one knee in front of asking for your hand in marriage once again, and you being so in love with him accepted to spend the rest of your life with the man.
The rest of it was history, you both had to tell your parents none of whom were shocked at all, rather relieved that you both had at last agreed to get married and be together forever.
Now ten years later and with your two children, you are perfectly content with your life. Waking up with Jeonghan beside you everyday sounds like a dream and you are happy it came true for you.
As you tossed around the bed you saw Jeonghan eyeing you in his half-awake state.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“Us,” you answer snuggling closer to him.
“What about us, huh?”
“The way you forced me to date some other guy because you wanted me to have more experience in dating,” you laughed at the memory.
“Don’t tell me about that it still haunts me till this day” he retorts with a shudder.
“Why did you do it anyways?” you ask.
“I knew I was going to marry you so I wanted you to have some more experience with dating others so whenever you have an argument I could say ‘hey remember that looser you dated!’”, he answers with laugh.
With a laugh you slapped his shoulder exclaiming, “I sometimes forget how cocky you can get!”
"How else do you think I got the permission to propose you in someone else's marriage!" he states sassily.
With that Jeonghan snuggles closer to you some more, its Sundays anyways the kids are with their grandparents and you both have all the time in the world to just bask in each other’s presence and not do anything at all.
#svt#fluff#jeonghan#f2l#s2l#seventeen x you#svt imagines#svt fanfic#svt x reader#seventeen#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#seventeen fluff#seventeen scenarios#seventeen jeonghan#seventeen x y/n#seventeen x oc#jeonghan fluff#jeonghan x reader#jeonghan imagines#jeonghan scenarios#jeonghan x you#jeonghan x y/n#jeonghan x oc#excalibur fics
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EVERY YOU EVERY ME: Issue #2
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader
Summary: Your streak of bad luck continues as you find that the universe is not done putting you in harm's way. Luckily, you have grouchy Spider-man to save you.
Word count: 3,500 words.
Content: Slowest of the burn, near death experiences, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara being a rude bastard and a total softie.
Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist
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According to an article that ran in the New York Times: one out of every 40 New Yorkers will have a run in with a Superhero in the time they live here.
That might not sound like much, but considering that nearly 8.5 million people live in this city, it adds up to a lot of people. In fact, most in your friends circle have their own anecdotal story to tell.
I ran into Tony Stark at the Brandy Library and he asked me for my phone number. Bit of a sleaze but he bought our whole table a round of drinks.
Captain America landed on my Fiat on Manhattan Bridge. He dented the roof, but he was very polite about it.
Daredevil was hanging out at the fire escape ladder above the Meatball shop. Gave me tips on what to order.
It's nothing short of a miracle that having lived in this city for as many years as you have that this is the first time you've had a Supes encounter.
It'll be a great story to tell at parties. You fell out of the Chrysler building and were rescued mid-air. It blows all the other stories out of the water. Though, you'll probably leave out the part where he wished he'd left you to die.
You stare blindly at your computer screen. There are endless rows of cells on your excel sheet no matter how far you scroll. Uninterrupted numbers and reference codes for insurance claims that are waiting for your attention. But the numbers and letters all blend into an indecipherable sludge soup. All you can focus on is: 'I should've let you fall.'
Heat prickles your cheek, as you replay his words in your head.
What the hell.
That was entirely unnecessary.
You didn't deserve that.
Over the course of the last 24 hours, you've played the scene on an endless loop in your head, until the memory is worn and scratched like a used up VHS tape.
Did you do something wrong? You must've. Who has ever heard of a Superhero treating a civilian in this manner? You’re just a hapless innocent bystander who fell out of a building due to a supervillain battle they started. To blame it on you and then call it a mistake. Isn't that something a supervillain would do?
Gritting your teeth, you feel yourself seething of the memory of the windows next to you breaking and shattering out of nowhere as a bird-person villain with mechanical wings tumbled past you. Next thing you knew you were tumbling out the window.
And then he saved you.
Did he mean to save someone else? Is that why he was so annoyed? But, you didn't see any other people falling from the building on your way down.
You replay the memory. Again.
The looming silhouette of his towering frame over yours as he sneered down at you.
He looked at you like he knew you. Like you had offended him with your mere existence. But you don't understand how. You've never met him before. Never met anyone who looked even remotely like him. You would've remembered a man with red eyes, they're not exactly common. Plus, you don't think you've ever met someone quite so tall. Your neck hurt with the angle you had to crane just to look at his face.
What could you possibly have done in your lifetime to piss off a Superhero you've never met before?
For that matter what Superhero is he anyway? You think back at the dark navy suit clinging onto every inch of skin, embellished by that bright angry red in the emblem of a spider.
Spider-man...
Except Spider-man is known to be a swell guy with a great sense of humor. Not a rude asshole.
Aren't his colors inverted too? You pull up the browser on your screen and google "spiderman outfit". There's over 800 million hits. In all of them Spiderman's suit is primarily red with blue embellishment.
Whoever the guy is, you don't think he's your friendly neighborhood Spiderman that every New Yorker knows and loves.
With a hapless sigh, you click aimlessly on your screen, trying to look busy at work for the next twenty minutes until you can go on your lunch break. You go through the motions of your soul sucking tasks. Tagging each insurance claim into one of the following categories: approved/rejected/further missing information required.
Peering over your cubicle wall to the wall of windows, you spy the section that has been zoned off since yesterday. The broken window you were knocked out of has already been replaced, but there's still shattered glass and debris nearby.
Your stomach drops, the phantom sensation of the ground beneath you giving way. For a brief second you swear you can feel the weightlessness of soaring through the skies without anything catching your fall.
You stand up from your desk, solid ground meeting the soles of your feet to remind you where you are.
The office.
There's a monotone drone of workers all around you grumbling and sighing just as unhappily. The quiet tip-tapping of keyboards of the working masses.
Is this the life you managed to escape death for?
Is this it?
It's kind of sad isn't it? You nearly died and lived to tell the tale, only to return to a life so unremarkable your brain didn't deign it necessary to provide you with any highlights (cause there are none).
The most exciting thing that has happened to you the whole of this year was being insulted by a grumpy superhero. The most you've wanted to live was during that span of ten seconds when you were falling out of a building to your death.
You glance at your clock, still 15 minutes before noon. You log out of your desktop anyway.
You barely make it across the street from your office. The light is green as you cross Lexington Avenue when the screeching noise of tires tears down the street and rips through your eardrums.
A yellow taxi hurtles towards you at full speed. Through the car window separating you, the cab driver is staring up at you with wide-eyed horror. In that fraction of a second before the hard metal is going to collide and shatter every bone in your body, you only have one thought: Oh god, this is going to hurt.
Life doesn't flash before your eyes. All you see is the familiar blur of shiny blue and red.
Go figure that's the only moment extraordinary enough for your brain to think it's worth replaying before you die.
There's a blunt and forceful shove to the side of your ribs. Softer than you would've imagined a two tonne vehicle slamming into you would be. It doesn't hurt. It reminds you of that time you played football with your cousin and he body slammed you to the lawn. You've heard about this phenomena, the brain will try to protect itself by going unconscious if the pain is too extreme.
But there's no bright light, when you open your eyes all you see is the familiar shiny blue fabric.
A firm weight wraps around your shoulders, and you recognize this, the feeling of being held as you're pulled into their solid chest. There's not enough time for you to look up, you're slammed onto the ground, the solid warmth wrapped around you, absorbing the fall.
The pressure wrapped around you shifts then lifts away entirely. When you open your eyes for a second time, there’s no one there holding you.
There's no one else there with you. Just the standstill traffic of cars and pedestrians gawking at you.
A concerned woman runs over to you, bending down to help you up on your feet. "Are you okay? That car came out of nowhere."
Your legs feel unsteady, wobbling as you put weight on it to stand up.
“I’m fine, I think,” you respond, and look down on yourself. There are no scrapes, just a bit of dust on your work-attire from traffic.
"You're so lucky, Spiderman was there to save you."
You blink up at the woman in dazed confusion and it takes your brain a few seconds to process what she's telling you.
Spider-man...
In your mind's eye the flashes of blue and a vivid red invades your vision. It wasn't just your life flashing you by. Not just a figment of your imagination.
He was here. He saved you. (Probably not) Spider-man saved you (again).
A wave of gratitude washes over you. You take back every unflattering thought you had about the man not five minutes ago. Rude? Would a rude man save you, not once but twice in one day? No, of course not, you probably just misunderstood him, or misheard. After all, if he truly regretted saving you, he wouldn't have done it a second time... right?
--
When you get back at your desk, there's a post-it tacked to your computer screen, with an angry scrawl of a handwriting.
'Look BOTH ways before crossing!!!!!'
You stare at the note, and the way the word "both" is capitalized and aggressively underlined.
Rude.
The universe is out to kill you. You're sure of it.
They say that death comes in threes after all. So no one can blame you for being a little bit on the edge after you've gone two for two within the time span of 24 hours.
You stay away from windows in tall buildings. You look both ways, twice, before crossing the street. You try to go straight home from work the minute you clock out from work, turning down any and all initiations with friends to go out after out of precaution. It's just not worth the risk.
And for a while it seems to work. For a while, there are no more incidents. A week goes by and your nerves start to settle and you are lulled into a temporary sense of security before it all goes to shits.
A ceramic flower pot on a windowsill tumbling off the sixth floor of a brown house by Chelsea that would have dropped on your head and split your skull if someone hadn't bumped into you from behind that you weren’t able to catch sight of.
A piece of scaffolding that comes loose and falls from a construction site in West Village as you happened to walk past, and would have been crushed under if you weren’t tackled away at the last second by someone who fled the scene before you could thank them.
A hot dog cart runs amok, hurtling downhill towards you between 184th and 190th street in Manhattan when the cart suddenly out of nowhere, against the very laws of physics like it’s being pulled by an invisible force and changes direction mere inches in front of you, hurtling through the air and crashing into the windows of a bodega instead.
Each and every incident leaves you with an ever growing sense of paranoia that this cannot be explained away by being merely pure bad luck. There are cosmic forces at force that clearly want you dead.
On Thursday, there are leftover cupcakes from a client conference. Mary, the secretary in your team, boxes up four of them for you and tells you to take them with you, because, "you've had a rough week, toots."
It’s not a flattering assessment of you, but when you see your own reflection in the mirrors of the office toilets, you can’t help but think it’s an accurate one. You look rough. Eyes bloodshot with deep furrowed lines underneath. Your face is gaunter than you remember seeing it too.
You take the cupcakes.
It's the first good thing that has happened to you all week, and as small of a comfort it is, you take it as a win.
You eye the box from your desk the rest of the day, squirreled away in your tiny cubicle. You are determined not to eat one while at work. Because you'll be damned if Matt from accounting catches a whiff of your cupcakes and asks you to share one with him. You want to properly savor them in the comfort of your home at the end of the day.
But as often is the case when you have something to look forward to, the seconds, minutes and hours tick away with a reluctant drag as if time itself knew you wanted the day to end faster and decided it'd be fun to flip yet another cosmic middle finger in your direction.
When it's finally time to end work, you get off your chair so forcefully it knocks it to the floor. You are practically jogging through the lanes of cubicles to get to the elevator, and nearly smack the security guard on the other side with how hard you swing open the front door.
It's pouring outside, which, of course it is. You take off your jacket and cover your cupcake box with it, because you're not going to let the universe ruin the one good thing you've got going for you this week, as you run towards the station.
The moment you step into the damp and sticky station any remaining sense of joy in you evaporates. There's a hoard of tourists swarming the subway paying no attention to their surroundings. Tourists wearing their caps and backpacks and wheelies knocking over a 'Caution Wet Floor ' sign as they gather in a throng in front of the subway map, blocking the way as you hear the train approach.
It's not that big of a deal. A train comes every two to five minutes, and if you miss this one, you'll just get on the next one. It's not the end of the world. Logically, you know that. Emotionally and spiritually however, the world around you has just taken a little bit too much from you for you to concede to this minor little loss.
You are going to make this goddamned train.
Taking a determined step forward, you shoulder and push your way through the throng of people to fight your way to the front of the track.
You push a little too hard. Your feet skid across the slippery tiles, leg buckling from your own weight and you lose control, tumbling forward.
In your peripheral view there's a blinding light approaching. There's wind beating the sides of your face, and you can hear the screeching metal of the train right next to you. Your foot drops into empty space and you are falling into the tracks.
Oh god why...
Why?
You just want to live.
The cupcake box flies out of your grip, splattered somewhere across the front pane of the train. There's a hard tug on your shirt as an invisible force you cannot see yanks you back, hard.
Your head whips back and for a fraction of a second, there are crimson eyes staring back down at you, you blink and then it's gone.
You land on your ass with a bruising force to your tailbone with a bone-breaking thud. The subway whizzes by with a demonic roar past you, inches from where you're sprawled on your ass on the dirty tiles of the subway station.
In front of your feet, there's a long streak of white frosting trailing down from your feet to the tracks of what looks like a crime scene.
Maybe it's the stress. Maybe you've just had a bad night of sleep (after many successive bad nights with little to no sleep). But something in you breaks at the sight of the frosting smeared across the dirty subway tiles.
Your eyes sting with exhaustion. Chest drawing in tight with a crumbling ache that makes you want to curl up on the cold tiles. You're just so tired.
There are people around you staring at you. No one in their right mind who lives in New York would sit on the floor of the subway.
But your legs are heavy and numb. You can’t move from the spot. Everything tastes like bile. You try to swallow and force it back down but it's no use, your throat has swollen shut. Your cheeks run wet and you press your palms to your eyes to make it stop but that only seems to make it worse. Snot runs down your nose and drips down your wrist. You're crying and you don't know how to stop.
Is this the rest of your life?
In the morning, you wake in your bed with a sore ache that gnaws at your bones. Swollen eyes and a soreness that scratches the lining of your throat.
Your back hurts, and as you try to turn to your side to get out of bed a sharp pain surges up along your entire spine.
Fuck.
It's too bright. The sunlight is offensive. It stings your eyes and makes you sick to your stomach. You only have vague memories of how you made it back home. Feet shuffling through the subway in a daze like the walking dead.
God is that what you are? A dead man woman walking?
You crane your head and catch a glimpse of your clock on the bedside table. 9.13 You're late for work. But that's mind as well, you don't have it in you to make it in.
What's the point anyhow? You hate that place.
Besides, if the subway on the way over doesn't finish off the job this time around, then eventually a taxi will. Failing that the universe is probably going to send over a ninja assassin rat from the subway to come after your life.
There's a soft breeze coming in from the open window that grazes the back of your neck and you turn your head towards it. All you can see from your window is the brick wall of the neighboring building. Even though your apartment is on the sixth floor, you can't see a speck of the New York skyline.
Still the breeze is nice, though you don't remember opening the window last night. You never usually do. It is silly and paranoid. No human robber could possibly climb up your six storey building just to climb into your window and rob you. If they could, they’d find that there isn’t much to rob in your apartment, the most valuable thing you own is a complete Le Creuset Cookware set.
Your eyes glaze over your work tote bag on the floor next to the window, drifting upwards and spot the pink box sat on the window sill and you stop.
You didn’t put that there.
You sit upright in your bed, setting your feet to the floor and force yourself to leave your bed as you pad over to the open window.
It's a fancy looking thing. Baby pink, and chiffon ribbon on its side. Wrapping your pinkie around it, you tug it loose. You perch your thumb against the corner of the lid when you stop.
It's not another one of the universe's assassination attempts is it? You're not going to open it to find a bomb ticking down are you?
You hesitate for another moment, taking a deep calming breath before you gather the courage to finally lift the lid. Inside, there is a gorgeous display of cupcakes adorned with white and pink frosting, topped with strawberries, chocolate shavings and on two of them there's mini macarons.
Way fancier than the day old Costco cupcakes you'd lost yesterday.
Picking up one, you take a bite. The frosting is light and zesty. The refreshing lemon melts on the tip of your tongue as the buttery cream floods your mouth with the rich flavor. It's the best thing you've ever tasted.
Lifting the box, you check the sides of it to see if there's any note left behind, but there's none.
Gladis Bakery. It's from a bakery you've never heard of before. When you google the name the place is outside of New Jersey, 58 minutes away and you would need to take a subway then switch to a tram.
There's no note attached, but you don't need one. The list of candidates who would be physically able to climb up six floors up the bricks of your apartment building to leave cupcakes on your window isn’t a long one.
Something warm blooms in your chest at the thought, and your fingers linger on the top of the box, savoring the taste of lemon and sugar still lingering on your tongue.
You put your head out the window, not sure what you're expecting to find but find yourself disappointed all the same when there's nothing there. No people in the quiet street below, and nothing unusual above.
"Thank you for uhm... saving me,” you say into the silence with nothing but the traffic noise below to answer you.
“And the cupcakes," you add.
There's no reply.
~ To be continued.
I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!
#miguel o'hara fic#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spider man: across the spider verse#marvel#miguel ohara x reader#oscar isaac#spiderverse fanfiction#across the spiderverse fanfiction#miguel ohara#miguel ohara x you
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An essay rebutting the “bad writing” claims of s2 ofmd. Spoilers herein.
I’ll preface this with saying you’re obviously allowed to like and dislike whatever you want. I am in no way opposing that. And your reasons are your reasons. Have at. (Also - this is a collection of observations from the past few days, I’m not calling anyone out)
I AM going to rebut the idea that season two was poorly written and lost the spirit of what the show is about.
My favourite movie of all time is Empire Strikes Back. It’s been my favourite movie since I was four. I’m pretty sure it’s a fave of David Jenkins, too. He and Taika have made absolutely no attempt to hide their love of all things 80’s - Prince, the Princess Bride, Kate Bush, Star Wars, etc.
I have ancient video tapes (that I can’t play because who has a vcr) where Lucas is interviewed by Leonard Maltin? Malkin? I dunno. Who cares. Maltin asks him about the Star Wars (original trilogy) story arc. Lucas says “in act I, you introduce all the characters. In act II, you put them in a situation they can’t get out of, and in act III, they get out of it.”
That’s how it works. This is how stories and literary structures work.
Of course you’re not satisfied with season two. You’re not supposed to be.
The arguments I have read on why s2 loses the spirit of s1 is because no one heals. No one learns anything. No one moves forward properly. The person who makes the biggest move towards healing dies. The two main characters end the show doing the exact fucking thing they had promised themselves and each other they wouldn’t do. Our romantic lead still doesn’t understand his value or make any headway on addressing his tragic flaw. It makes no goddamn sense.
My gremlins in weird: it’s not supposed to. In Act 2, EVERYONE LOSES. This is how it goes.
I’ve read a lot of people saying “but this felt like a series finale, not a season finale.” We all know that outside politics play a part here, the strikes make everything precarious. I remember the last writers strike. It destroyed tv for fifteen years. Anyone remember Pushing Daisies? Some of y’all have never had your fave show cancelled with zero resolution for the characters and it shows.
Daddy J did us a kindness. He softened the blow of a tough season. After the brutal cliffhanger of s1, he gave us a little softness and hope. All those things you’re mad aren’t resolved? It’s because THE STORY ISN’T OVER.
No one on earth thinks “stuff all your trauma into a box and ignore it” is good advice. A way to actually live. This show did not have enough screen time to throw out dialogue for no reason. There was foreshadowing in s1 for s2, and there is foreshadowing for s3 in s2. This is a well-crafted story by very smart people who care very much for these characters. There is zero chance Frenchie explained the box in his head for no reason. The reason people have not resolved their trauma and growth is because they haven’t done it *yet*.
And friends - it’s not thinly veiled. They straight up fucking tell us what they’re doing.
Luke Skywalker spends the first two movies fucking up and desperately trying to prove himself and just generally being an idiot. Sound familiar? He ignores the lessons he is supposed to be learning to go off and do what he feels like doing, and loses fucking badly. At the end of Empire, Han is gone, Luke and Leia wave goodbye to the Falcon that has Lando and Chewy - the rest of their crew - aboard. Everyone has lost everything they care about. Vader is undefeated. Yoda is pissed. Nothing is resolved.
You see where I’m going?
If you think I’m stretching this too far, welp, when Ed tells Stede he loves him - the climax of the finale - Stede quotes Han fucking Solo. Like - *it’s right there*. The story structure. The reason everything is unresolved.
So yeah. They wave goodbye to their ship because they have wounds to heal (like Luke’s hand). The people aboard the ship have things to find. Ed and Stede have *not* learned their lesson about whims and how not to be like Anne and Mary. It’s not stupid that they’re doing the same thing, and it’s not pointless that we were shown Anne and Mary. It’s all relevant.
The resolution comes in Act 3. None of these people are done. The story is far, far from over. And just in case the studios want to be dicks about it, David Jenkins was lovely enough to not repeat my enduring heartbreak over Pushing Daisies.
Thank you, @davidjenks 🖤
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Controlling Tom Riddle
Honestly idk what to classify this as, but it’s kinda like idk.. deranged? maybe not but I have more like this up my sleeve if it does well (TW: manipulation, unspoken gaslighting, extremely controlling, idk what else to add)
You loved Tom. You truly, truly did. But he tended to take the term "I just want to lock you up" a little too seriously.
I mean, it wasn’t much at first, barely even noticeable in fact. Simple things such as suggesting what you should wear, insisting the more modest options were much more flattering on you; “It brings out your eyes, doll.”
He would remind you of your favorite foods, and when to and when not to eat them.. “Not now, it’s far too late for late night snacks. However, I have something I think might suffice for you.”
Overtime the helpful things became him controlling everything you wore, no shirts were allowed to be low enough cut for anyone to see down- tall people included. You wanted to comfortably wear your uniform? Absolutely not. It had to be perfect, and to show just how much of a “good girl” you are for him, you get cute bows in your hair every morning; special spell from him.
His behavior didn’t bother you, how could it? Yes you couldn’t wear certain things, but everything you got in return was amazing. Nobody understands him the way you do, they don’t know him like you do. That’s what you’re constantly telling your friends. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s romantic.”
Romance? It really is funny how blurry the lines get between romance and control, dress up per se? Once again with the dressing you- believe me, he spoils your beyond belief. Though, most of it is “My eyes only.” Slowly your closet went from things you’ve gotten from friends, shirts you once loved, to everything Tom approved.
It didn’t matter though, because he still spoils you.
Being in class was an entirely different story. In the beginning you simply couldn’t speak to any other guys, you understood, not wanting him interacting with girls either it seemed fair. Until you couldn’t sit with any of them, problem being, its not like you can just chose where you sit everytime. That doesn’t matter to Tom though, “You seemed to betray me today hun.” Nice name, yet the tone anything but.
It was pretty sudden when Tom just happened to to become your seating partner in every single class, and yes, that somehow included ones he once hadn’t attended. But this was a good thing. You got to be with your boyfriend all day long, that’s so exciting. Watching your every move, telling you what you did wrong on your work “Can’t have a dumb girl, can I doll?”
It was sweet. He was being helpful, you always had help. Just don’t ask for too much, then that makes you stupid, idiotic, dense. That’s according to him though, and yes his words. “Honestly, I don’t know what you’d do without me, you’re just so mindless most of the time. It’s infuriating”
But no matter what it’s always okay because, “You know I never mean what I say, Love. I’ll take you out, even buy you something new”
You see, none of this happened quickly. It was like one moment you controlled your life, the next moment you didn’t. You lived in his dorm, once again don’t ask how, Tom Riddle has his ways. He chose your outfits the days no uniforms were needed, but of course only because “I just love picking out what my girl wears, you love it too, don’t you, hm?”
Now here you are, unable to speak to anyone really, no boys, no friends because well, they only attract unwanted male attention of course. It was crazy to think you’d leave your friends behind for a boy, not just your friends really more like your entire old life, but Tom wasn’t just any boy. No, he had full control over you and you both knew it. You loved it.
I know im saying idk a lot but idk how i feel about this 😭😭
once again i hope you all enjoy <33
#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter smut#slytherin boys#fanfic#harry potter reader insert#harrypotterboys#smut#draco malfoy#tom riddle#tom riddle x you#tom riddle x y/n#professor tom riddle#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle smut#tom marvolo riddle#tom riddle imagine#slytherin boys x reader#slytherin boys smut#slytherin#slytherpride#slytherin boys react#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo smut#enzo berkshire x you#lorenzo berkshire x you#draco x y/n#draco smut
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sorry if you've already answered this but i just read your post about whipping girl and found it so so so insightful!! i was wondering if you have any other recommendations for books/articles/etc. about transmisogyny and the lives of tma people. thank you in advance!!
I'm glad it was helpful! this is the second ask on the subject I've let pile up, because I want to do my best with it but I'm also far from an expert. I think half the work of answering "transmisogyny syllabus" questions is explaining why it's so hard to do so in the first place.
one of the tools of hegemony is the epistemic violence it works against its subjects; this is essential to transmisogyny, thru which we have historically been rendered unable to so much as record our existence, let alone theorize from it. it is incredibly difficult for a tma person to access the institutional devices of knowledge-making, most of all the university. even when we do it is typically for the institutions we work under to shoehorn our work into the hegemonic model, stymieing actual progress. so theories and histories of transmisogyny have had to progress in a patchwork, often informal fashion, upstream and at personal risk. I am not going to be able to give you books that I would recommend without criticism, because the epistemic violence of transmisogyny has made it virtually impossible to write such a book. but with that said, here are some recommendations:
- this post multiplied my understanding of transmisogyny manifold, and was one of the most clarifying things I've read on the subject
- hands off our lives, our stories, and our bodies, is imo essential to anyone interested in a theory of transmisogyny that actually engages with its manifestations in the global south
- I enjoyed My Words to Victor Frankenstein above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage by Susan Stryker for the vibes
- two historical excavations of transmisogyny: Trans Misogyny in the Colonial Archive: Re-Membering Trans Feminine Life and Death in New Spain, 1604–1821 by Jamey Jesperson and ‘Selective Historians’: The Construction of Cisness in Byzantine and Byzantinist Texts by Ilya Maude
- Romancing the Transgender Native is good for learning the trappings of ahistorical and idealist "third gender" attributions
- especially (but not exclusively) if you are yourself a trans woman/transfem/tma, consider reading Serious Weakness by Porpentine Charity Heartscape. just make sure you look up CWs first
- Jules Gill-Peterson's A Short History of Trans Misogyny is great for some case studies in global transmisogyny, and a decent materialist approach. but I think she makes the same mistake serano made re: equivocation of transmisogyny with the oppression of femininity, and she would have done well to read the second article on this list. I've heard her histories of the transgender child is also good—but I can't say for sure until I read it
- follow @ bloomfilters on twitter
if this looks like a hodgepodge that's because it is on account of what I said in the first two paragraphs. I am really not an expert and I am sure there are others who could give you much more. but to echo a friend, you may be just as likely to get something out of a game or a song written by a tma person as you are an essay. every medium can be an opportunity to plunge the roots of our theorizing deeper.
#ask answer#transmisogyny#just finished a short history today maybe i will post a short review at some point#when my makes you sleepy meds stop making me sleepy
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HIII ELLA!! ❤️🔥
You’re my favourite loa blog, thank you for all the understanding, information and help you provide. Have a flower you beautiful soul🌷🌷
Success story? The loa has completely changed my life for the absolute better, I’ve become a master manifestor and have manifested everything different about my life, getting away from my abusers, moving into a new place, money, relationships and friendships, clear skin, desired body, books, shifting, everything literally ALWAYS working in my favor etc etc etc. you name it i’ve manifested it. I feel so balanced and in unity with who I am and where I came from (a different world) I’ve done all I need to do in this reality I was forced in and now it’s time to go to my true home (this reality, despite how I’ve manifested a better life, was never for me) aka shift to my intended reality, as a master shifter and manifestor I can do that. To anyone reading this in any need of advice, the truth is it really all does work out in the end, stay true in your imagination, it will all work out. I’m living proof of that. It’s all going to be okay I promise. Circumstances truly do not matter, no matter what anyone tells you even if the 3D is supposedly telling you the complete opposite of what you KNOW you have, persist. I promise it really all does work out, be proud of yourself and how far you’ve come and the places you’ll go. Consciously make decisions in alignment with the person you wish to become🌷it’s YOUR life, no one can live it for you, YOU are in full control and can manifest anything instantly.
And although I can’t remember ever sending an ask here, as a silent supporter, thanks for everything Ella, I love you, in every reality❤️🔥❤️🔥
- Aelia.
AAAAAAAARRRGGHHHHGGGH
THAT'S SO AMAZING!!!!! i started reading your message and the things you have manifested AND IT JUST KEPT GOING 😭😭
congratulations aelia! i‘m so so so happy to hear that i could (even if it’s just a bit) guide you on your journey ♡
#success story#loa success#law of assumption#loassumption#loa#manifestation#manifesting#manifest#manifest it#manifesting it#master manifestor#neville goddard#edward art#the law of assumption#loa blog#loassblog#loablr#spirituality#spiritual#successstory#manifestation success#manifestation success story
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Hello. I'm sorry if this is sudden but I was wondering if you took story requests and if you do, could you make a platonic Dan heng IL story with the reader being the child of his previous incarnation Dan feng, the reader is great at telling stories and they would use the power they inherited from their mother to change the shape of pieces of paper into different people and monsters. (I was pretty inspired by the movie Kubo and the two strings) Jing Yuan is the one to tell Dan Heng about the reader even though he doesn't know them very well, but Jing Yuan felt like Dan Heng had the right to know about the reader especially after the reader had an encounter with Blade. (If this is too much that's completely understandable and I wish you a good day/afternoon and or night😊)
A/N - These 2 requests are kinda similar in a way. So I thought to mix them together in the one fic!! I hope that's alright to the two anons who requested
(づ ◕‿◕ )づ This isn't my best work, love-hate relationship with it, leaning more towards hate but I hope youse enjoy this anyways (hopefully lol)
W.C: 1149
Warnings: Wrongful imprisonment, reader was forced to stop aging with a potion, hints at abuse/torture but not said.
Extra: Reader is a child and there for shorter then most characters, Reader has horns and a tail (Vidyadhara)
“Dan Heng, there you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere”
Dan Heng looked up from the book he was reading and stared at the white haired male.
“General?”
“Please, we’re far past formalities. In any case, there’s someone I think you should meet”
The raven haired male closed his book before it away and stood up, raising a small eyebrow at the General, crossing his arms, he spoke, inquiring more about what he meant.
“Who? I don’t think I was invited to anything”
“Your kid…well more specifically Dan Feng's kid”
Dan Hengs eyes widen just the slightest fraction, slightly taken aback by the information, but he agrees to go meet the child of his previous incarnation.
Jing Yuan offers to walk with him to where they were staying, while also providing information about them to make the “reunion” a bit more bearable in a way. Their name is [Name], although not technically biologically his, they did have his genes, Dan Heng wasn’t gonna question that.
[Name] was stuck in the Shackling Prisons for a while now. Ever since Dan Feng had been banished from the Loufu, some cloud knights thought it wasn’t enough and decided to imprison his kid as well, it wasn’t until Dan Heng came back and got the banishment lifted that they came clean.
Dan Hengs eyes grow concerned, looking at Jing Yuan.
“And the cloud knights?”
“Punished, they didn’t get any permission to send anyone to the prison. I released [Name] already, so all there is left is for you to meet them…don’t feel pressured to take them in as your kid though…I know you don’t wanna be tied to your past incarnation”
Dan Heng nodded a bit slowly, continuing to follow Jing Yuan by his side as the two continued walking. It wasn’t a long walk but Dan Heng still thought hard about what he’d do.
Eventually the sounds of kids clapping and cheering reached his ears, he looked up and caught sight of a shorter Vidyadhara talking to some of the younger Foxians. Their hands folded some paper, creating a paper crane before they clasped it fully around their hand, and out came an actual bird.
“And the bird flew away to meet with their family! Then they lived happily ever after”
The Vidyadhara chirped with a smile as the kids around them clapped, urging them to tell another one. Another story.
“[Name]! There you are, I brought over your fath- I mean…your fathers reincarnation”
The small Vidyadhara turns their head and looks curiously at the General before their eyes landed on Dan Heng. Their eyes widened a bit before they slowly walked over. And koala hugged his leg. Dan Heng was taken aback by this action but did not push the kid off, instead slowly leaning down and patting their head awkwardly. He was frozen in place due to the sudden hug.
Jing Yuan chuckled at the sight, before turning to leave.
“I’ll leave youse two it then, if you need help. You know where to find me”
“Papa?”
Before Dan Heng could even reply, the kid spoke one word that made him freeze a bit more. He never did like when people connected him to his past. Always telling people he wasn’t ‘Dan Feng’
“I’m not him…sorry…I’m Dan Heng”
“Papa!”
The kid pouted at him, eyes looking at him with puppy eyes, Dan Heng averted his gaze and tried to change the subject.
“Let’s…explore the Loufu together”
.
.
.
“Papa look! It’s a dragon plushie, can I have it please”
[Name] begged their father, looking up at him as they tugged his shirt.
“Again…not your papa but…sure, any particular reason why you want it?”
“I want to be able to cuddle you at night if you’re not there”
Dan Hengs eyes widened a bit as he looked away with an embarrassed blush. He wasn’t even in his Vidyadhara form but then again, the kid seemed to adamantly believe that he was their father.
Still, without a second thought he took out his wallet.
.
.
.
“Bellybog?”
“Belobog, like bell-o-bog”
Dan Heng speaks, guilding [Name] on how to pronounce the place. He didn’t know how it happened, but one minute he brought the kid on the express, the next March insisted they bring them to Belobog to see the snow.
“They’ve been stuck in that yucky prison for who knows how long, they gotta see the snow…oh! And build a snowman, we should have a snowball fight as well and-”
March proceeded to talk about the possible games and things they could do once they landed. So here he was helping [Name] with building a snowman.
“We should give it horns!”
“Horns?”
“Like you Papa”
He stiffened a bit at being called ‘Papa’ once more, sighing out. He takes two sticks and sticks them on the snowman's head to resemble horns.
“I’m not Dan Feng”
.
.
.
“Sooo, you have a kid now?”
Came a teasing voice, Dan Heng sighed and turned his head to Himeko who was helping to feed the kid some new things. Pom Pom wanted to see what the kid would like to eat, so Himeko was helping.
“Not mine…”
“But they see you as their father, you don’t see them as your kid?”
Dan Heng was quick to shush Himeko as the shorter Vidydhara looked curiously up at the two. He thanked the aeons they were still learning a few things due to the isolation, though…he did feel bad about it still.
Himeko could only laugh softly…until a crash was heard on the other side of the train. She muttered under her breath, something about March and the Trailblazer being irresponsible and prone to cause accidents, yet a smile was still painted on her face.
“Here Dan Heng, little [Name] here just needs to try one more things, you feed it to them”
She said, gently pushing the chair the child was sitting on to Dan Heng, he made no objections, simply sighed and fed the kid.
“Papa?”
“Hm?”
“I love you, I’m happy you’re back”
Dan Heng froze his movements at his kids' words, which in fact gave the kid some time to climb onto his lap and cuddle themselves in it, wrapping their tail around their body. They slowly fell to sleep with a smile on their face.
Dan Heng took a bit to process everything but sighed, carefully standing up and bringing the kid to his room so they could have a better sleep.
.
.
.
.
.
.
“Dan Heng, you left your-”
The red haired woman's voice died down as she saw the scene in front of her, with a knowing smile, she slowly closed the door and walked away, shushing the other passengers.
What lay in the archives was a small Vidydhara resting with their eyes closed, sleeping peacefully. Their bed? A taller Vidyadhara with his arms around the kid, cradling the kid as his tail rested around him as well.
OEDNIOFBS, the more I read this the more I hate it help :sob:
For anyone who has requested before this post, apologies for taking so long but I'll be working on it soon don't worry!!
#HSR#Honkai Star Rail#Honkai StarRail#dan heng x you#dan heng x reader#platonic dan heng x you#platonic dan heng x reader#platonic#Dan Heng#hsr dan heng#express family#astral express family#🎭 masked fools
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I was typing a big long thing about the changes I've experienced in a year on testosterone and how it's affected me and all that and then tumblr ate it and I really don't feel like retyping that whole thing but I am kinda salty about it so tldr:
Starting testosterone has been the best thing for my health that I've done. Ever. Better than getting a service dog. Better than restructuring my life to cater to my disabilities. Better than any procedure or medication or otherwise that I've tried. Simply rubbing a pack of gel on my arm once a day has done more for me than anything else.
When I went to my endo to start T, I went with a suspicion that I am intersex. She confirmed it via blood test and told me that with my variation I could try two different things: estrogen to control my high levels of natural androgens, or testosterone to lower my estrogen further and make it stop arguing with my androgens about whether I'm supposed to be a boy or a girl, as it's that argument that was causing a significant portion of my health problems. Estrogen has been tried in the past and only made things worse. She told me it was my choice, and only I could choose my path forward, as I knew my body the best.
When TERFs have a fit about gender affirming care, they usually leave out people like me, or they brush my story aside by saying that I'm just an anomaly, or they claim for me and my demographic that we don't want to be part of this discussion. But I don't fit their definition of a woman- I have a testicle, and my natural testosterone was within normal range on the low end for a cisgender, perisex man, and enough male sexual partners have commented on what's in my pants to tell me that it's far from the picturesque womanly pussy, especially considering I can- and have- use it to penetrate with the help of devices designed for cis men who are a little lacking in length.
When TERFs have a fit about gender affirming care, they scaremonger about side effects and changes. But, I was already hairy. I was already growing facial hair. I already had atrophied- and by 30 to the point that it's not really possible to fix without significant medical intervention. I was already infertile. I already had an adam's apple and a deep voice. I already had belly fat and blood pressure problems. My menstrual cycle was already hellish and had interfered with my school and work schedules. A popped ovarian cyst sent me to the ER.
I'd tried no treatment. I'd tried estrogen-based solutions. These not only did not work but actively made things worse. I was fainting at school. I was calling out of work. I couldn't drive without my service dog. I couldn't go out and have fun with my friends. I spent days at a time laying in bed in too much pain to move.
TERFs say, gender affirming care turns you into a forever patient.
I already was one of those. I almost died when I was a baby strictly because of lack of access to care that accepts children who are born who are both and also neither from the womb, before anyone has a chance to develop a personality or understand the difference between a boy and a girl.
Testosterone has turned me into a "once every 3 months" patient instead of a "twice a month minimum" patient. I pay less than $15/month for my prescription and it's mailed to my house in three-month increments. Stopping my wildly irregular and incredibly painful menstrual cycle has increased my quality of life so much. My body doesn't ache for no reason anymore. I don't faint anymore. I can go out and do things and not be punished for it for days on end by fevers and chills and vertigo.
Don't let a handful of transphobic assholes scare you. If this is your way forward, then live your life to its fullest.
My only regret is that I didn't have the chance to do this sooner.
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Can I ask somthing? You can totally ignore this if you're not comfortable!! Can you write somthing like reader has been SA'ed before and az or cass or Rhys(your choice who) doesn't know this and tries to take things to 3rd base but reader gets really uncomfortable and tells them what she's been through so the bat boy comforts her saying he'll wait however long he has to for her, holding her and then goes all angry psycho on the person who SA'ed her.
(I was SA'ed a few years ago and the 'date' is coming closer that's why I just need somthing to keep my mind distracted. Plzzzz ignore this if you aren't comfortable with it!! I totally understand!)
Finally Safe
Summary: Reader is the youngest of the Vanserra's, but like Lucien, is the daughter of Helion. She has a pretty dark past that she doesn't even want to think about, and so, no one other than she herself knows about it.
When her mate tries to take things further in their relationship, everything she has kept inside herself comes spilling out.
•○●⛦●○•
A/n: Hi my love! I am soo glad that you sent this ask, it makes me so happy (this one is the first fic request I've received! I also feel extremely honored that you chose me for writing such a sensitive topic).
Also, I'm soo sorry that you had to go through that! I've never had any experience with SA or anyone who went through it, so I'm not sure if I can write something that really captures the depth of the situation, but I did listen to a few SA stories and podcasts ('Rotten Mango' podcasts, if any of you wanted to know) and I'll try my best with this.
Also, I've had this story idea for like a year now since I finished reading acosf, so I'm going with Azriel for this one.
Aaand I tried to make it as long as possible, hope it what you wanted to read.
Hope you like it! Enjoy!
Tw: mentions of SA, not graphic torture scene under '•○●⛦●○•', none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.
•○🌑○•
Everywher her eyes went, there was darkness.
All she could hear, laughter, grunts and disgusting words spewed from equally disgusting mouths.
All she could smell was sweat, her own tears, and things she didn't want to think about.
All she could feel was the nauseating touches of a male she didn't know and the cool ground under her back.
All she could taste was the bile climbing up her throat.
She just wanted it to be over. She just wanted them to leave so she could curl up into a ball and cry herself to sleep.
Why?
She kept asking herself.
Why me?
She would probably never get the answer to it. And even if she did, she'd never understand how someone could do something as horrible as this.
Then she started screaming. As she always did.
•○🌑○•
Y/n jerked up, her chest heaving. She sat up, scooting back towards the headboard and pressing herself against it, tugging the blankets to cover herself as her eyes frantically searched around for any sign of movement in her chambers.
Of course, there was no one, but the fear never went away. Probably never would.
Long moments went by as she tried to calm herself, telling herself that she was safe. That she wasn't in that dungeon anymore. That she was far from it, she was in Day Court.
Her actual father's domain, apparently.
Soon after Amarantha had trapped everyone Under the Mountain, her mother had broken the news to her. That she wasn't Beron's daughter, but Helion's. And then, secretly, over the decades, Helion and Y/n had started to spend more time together. Her father was guilty that he hadn't been there for her when she was a kid, and so the two of them tried to make up for the time they had lost.
Y/n shook her head, laying down again and deciding to atleast try to get some sleep. There was going to be an important meeting in a few hours, and all the High Lords were going to arrive for the meeting. For planning the course of the war against Hybern.
She needed all the sleep she could get as it would be very stressful and she was supposed to be present as her father's Second in Command.
Still, she could not sleep. Knowing she would not be able to sleep anytime soon, she finally stood and made her way to the washing chamber when the watery rays of sunlight filtered in through the window.
She scrubbed herself raw in scalding hot water in hopes of washing away all the phantom stickiness she still felt on her body. After that, she got dressed in a white and golden flowy gown, the colours of Day.
Being the second of command of Helion wasn't the only reason she wrote this colours.
It would also be making a statement. That she had chosen Day Court over Autumn Court.
Beron knew she wasn't his daughter. He also thought that she was picked up from a dumpster. That's what Lady of Autumn had told him.
When she was pregnant with Y/n, she had stayed away from Beron for months, and when she returned, she returned with a newborn, saying she found the baby on the side of a road near a dumping ground. Beron didn't care as long as he was not concerned in the child's upbringing.
After Feyre had ended Amarantha's reign, Y/n had left the Autumn Court, making the excuse that she wanted to settle somewhere else.
And that's how she had ended up in Day. She had tried her best to convince Helion not to do this, as it could put relations between the two courts in jeopardy, especially as Beron would see it as a sign of betrayal. But he didn't care.
Y/n just prayed to the cauldron that the meeting would go without anyone dying.
•○🌑○•
She stepped into the airy meeting area, her dress fluttering around her feet.
The guards outside had informed her that the High Lords from Dawn and Summer Court had arrived quite some time ago, and Night Court had just come just moments before she did.
All eyes went to her, and all the Lords' eyes lit with recognition. She just gave a then a polite smile, before grinning at Rhys, who grinned back and pulled her into a hug.
"She was a friend Under the Mountain." He told his Inner Circle, pulling back from her. She nodded at the members that were present before her eyes landed on an Illyrian standing near a doorway, his eyes alert and on the High Lords.
As if sensing her gaze, he glanced at her. And when he did, everything in the world stopped. At least for Y/n.
Snap.
Her body locked up, her eyes widening. She stared and stared at him. She vaguely heard her name being called, but she couldn't process it.
"Y/n?" Her father touched her arm and she jerked back, gasping. She looked up at him, her eyes frantic. He had a confused smile on his face. She took a deep breath, pulling an indifferent mask on.
"Yes?"
"Are you okay? You look alarmed." She swallowed, glancing at the winged male to see if he had felt it too. By the confusion lacing his featured, he hadn't. She tried not to let her disapointment show.
"Yes. I'm fine."
Her father nodded, unconvinced as he gave her a look that said we'll talk about this.
Then she felt a tap on her mental shields. She opened a pathway and let Rhys in.
What is it? He questioned.
She thought for a moment before answering. Mate.
His eyes lit up and he smiled. That's amazing.
She nodded and walked to her seat, plopping down on it.
As everyone waited for others to arrive, Y/n couldn't help but keep glancing at the male.
Beautiful. He was beautiful.
As the meeting progressed, she kept chiming in with her suggesting but not really paying attention, completely avoiding looking at Beron. She also learned that the male's –her mate's– name was Azriel. She knew she had heard the name before, but couldn't place where.
But she would, soon enough.
•○🌑○•
"My dear, what happened back there?" Helion asked as soon as he and his daughter were alone.
She turned to him helplessly. "He–he was–is, my mate."
His brows furrowed. "Azriel?" When she nodded, a smile as bright as the Court he ruled over spread across his face. "You found your mate! You must tell him! Oh Mother, I'll hold a ball in your honor. I–"
"Dad. Who is he?" She would've called him father if not for his very pouty request that she call him dad. Father sounded too formal, according to him.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. How could I forget! He's the Spymaster of the Night Court."
Her jaw dropped. "The feared Spymaster of Night Court?" He nodded happily. "Then should we not be scared? Doesn't he have... quite the reputation?"
"That he does, but from what I've gleaned from my centuries, he's a sweetheart with people he cares about. Atleast, that's what Rhysand has been telling me. If he's lying, I'll be very sad."
Y/n couldn't believe it. One of the most feared male in all of Prythian was her mate. Her gods darned mate.
She didn't know how she would tell him, considering she had never had an interaction with him. Still, she'll have to figure it out.
Because, feared or not, he deserved to know.
•○🌑○•
After the war.
She had realised that any one of them could die at any moment after the war, and then she'll feel guilt for not telling her mate about the bond. And so, she wanted to get to know him first. She had no idea how she'd do that, but her father did.
The war was over, but that didn't mean that everything was fine. And so, under the excuse of strengthening ties with the Night Court, her father had sent Y/n to help in Velaris. Of course, when she had called his bluff, he had acted innocent and declared he didn't know what she was talking about.
So now, it had been a week off her staying in Velaris, and she hadn't had any sort of conversation with Azriel except for a few polite smiles here and there.
She was in a room right next to Azriel, which Rhys claimed had nothing to do with their bond.
She huffed and turned onto her side, trying to fall asleep.
That was when she felt a panicked tug on the bond. She practically flew out of her bed and into Azriel's room to find him writhing on the bed. It was pitch dark, his shadows frantic.
She quickly made her way towards the bed, realising he was having a nightmare. She gently placed her hand on his bare shoulder, tying to wake him up because she didn't know what else to do.
She shook him slowly so as not to startle him, but when he didn't wake up, she put a little more force into it.
Which was, she realised a little too late, was the wrong thing to do.
One second, she was kneeling on his bed trying to wake him up. The next, she was pinned on the mattress, Azriel snarling in her face, one of his hands wrapped around her throat, the other clutching her hands above her head. But that wasn't what caused her breathing to grow shallow or her instincts to scream at her to flee.
No. It was the fact that she was helpless as she was pressed into the mattress.
Dark dungeons.
Beron's Second in Command sneering at her.
Her screams.
She couldn't breathe she couldn't breathe she—
Suddenly, the weight was lifted from her body, her hands free and the grip around her throat vanishing. She gasped, scrambling to sit up and scoot away from Azriel, who was kneeling in front of her with a horrified expression.
"I– I'm so sorry. I didn't mean–"
Y/n shook her head, trying to find her voice. "It's okay." She rasped.
"Did I hurt you?" She shook her head. He seemed to think for a moment. "Did I scream?" When she shook her head again, his eyes narrowed. "Then how did you know I was having a nightmare?"
She paled. "I just thought you– I didn't..." She knew lying to him would be futile, he was a damned Spymaster for a reason. So she swallowed and told him the truth. "I felt it."
She did not meet his eyes, though he stared at her. "How?"
She stayed silent. A few moments passed before she sighed and tugged on the bond. Gently at first. When he gave no reaction, she tugged harder.
He gasped, leaning forward and clutching his chest, staring at her with wide eyes. It felt like eternity had passed before he finally spoke.
"How–how long have you known?"
She looked at him as she cleared her throat. "Since the High Lords' meeting. Before the war."
"That's why you kept staring at me. Why didn't you say anything?"
"I wanted to get to know you first. I was scared."
He seemed to have regained his composure as he nodded. He stayed quiet for a moment. "Do you– do you want the bond? It's okay if you don't want it. Want me. I know my reputation isn't... the best."
"I want this Azriel. I just want to get to know you more before we accept the bond."
A smile stretched across his face, stealing Y/n's breath away.
"Then... how do you feel about getting dinner tomorrow?"
She smiled. "I would like that. Very much."
•○🌑○•
It had been a few months since that night, and Azriel and Y/n had been courting each other traditionally, like they would have if they weren't mates.
They took it slowly. Just last month they had shared their first kiss.
They had told each other everything about their pasts. She knew all about Azriel and he knew all about her. Except that one thing that not even her father knew. It wasn't as if she didn't want to tell him. She just didn't know how to.
As she knocked on the door to his new home, she wondered if she should tell him today. Better late then never, right?
He opened the door, an instant grin spreading on his face as he opened the door wide.
"Welcome home love." He mumbled, kissing her temple as she passed by him. She smiled and set the box in her hands on the corner where the other boxes were. "Dinner's ready."
He had recently bought this house for the two of them. His stuff was already here, and the box Y/n had been carrying was the last of her belongings.
When she had insisted that she could bring her stuff herself and didn't need him, he had declared that he'd be cooking dinner then.
They sat in comfortable silence as they ate. After the plates had been cleared away, he forced her to sit and relax while he did the dishes.
So as she sat on the kitchen counter, she told him of the new book she'd been reading. Soon enough, he had finished his work and was standing between her knees, leaning on his hands on either side of her hips, listening diligently as she finished her story.
"And that, my love, is how they got their happy ending." She flicked his nose.
He sighed. "I wonder if I'll get my happy ending tonight."
She giggled. "And what do you think your happy ending will be?"
"Just a few sweet kisses from my sweet sweet mate."
She laughed and kissed him. He smiled into the kiss.
It was amazing and dreamy, like she had always imagined and wanted her life with her mate to be like.
But the dreaminess of the moment soon started summoning her nightmares as Azriel's hand started to inch higher on her thigh, his other hand tugging her towards the edge of the counter.
Panic flared in her as she placed her hand on his chest, trying to push him away gently.
But then his hand brushed the waistband of her pants, and she pulled away with a gasp, her chest heaving. "No."
His brows furrowed as he searched her eyes. "What happened, darling?"
Tears formed in her eyes as those memories started creeping up on her. "No– not yet Azriel. I–I can't–"
Seeing those tears, his face softened with understanding. "Hey, its okay. We can wait. There's no hurry. Can you tell me what the matter is? Is it something I did?"
She shook her head, taking a deep breath. "A century ago, I was still living in Autumn Court. Beron's Second in Command hated me, for no other reason that I existed, apparently. He was always trying to get me executed or imprisoned. One time, he succeeded. He convinced Beron to throw me in the dungeon because I was being rebellious, according to him. A few days in the dungeon would discipline me. And–and that he would personally look over my imprisonment." As her voice broke on the last part, Azriel's hands clutched her own and squeezed.
She swallowed. "He... he did overlook my imprisonment. Quite personally too."
He searched her eyes, his face hard. "The guards? They did nothing?"
She laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "They enjoyed watching him... discipline me." She wiped her face with her sleeves. "I'm so sorry, you have to wait because of me–"
He shushed her. "One thing I always want you to remember is that it wasn't ever your fault. It was his. Never apologise for someone else's mistakes." She sniffled as he pulled her into his arms, her head resting on his shoulders as she wound her hands around the back of his shoulders. He clasped the back of her neck as his other hand rubbed her back. He then carried her to their new bedroom, while she clung to him like a child, all the while murmuring about how it wasn't her fault.
He sat her down on the bed, helped her change into her night clothes before laying her down and settling down next to her. She lay her head n his chest, breathing in his calming scent.
"Can you tell me his name, love?"
"Orvyn."
She could feel him nod. She wondered why he asked, but couldn't think straight as sleep started creeping in.
She would ask him tomorrow, she decided.
•○🌑○•
Azriel's pov.
He was alert as the footsteps became louder and louder, until that bastard came into view. Azriel wanted to gut him like a fish, but that would not calm his rage. So he calmly stepped out of his shadows, only enough that he could be heard without having to shout.
"Orvyn?" He questioned. The blonde male turned, squinting to make out who had called his name. "Are you the Second in Command?"
Azriel watched as his chest puffed at the mention of his title. "Yes. That's me. Who might you be?"
Then Azriel stepped completely away from the darkness concealing him and smirked. He prowled closer, noticing how fear entered Orvyn's eyes, and how he refused to back down.
But while he was busy staring at the Spymaster, he failed to notice the shadows winding around his legs and arms. When Azriel was close enough to him, he whispered. "Your death."
Orvyn's eyes widened as he opened his mouth to scream, but before he could even take a breath, Azriel had winnowed the both of them away to the dungeons. The place where his mate had been kept.
•○●⛦●○•
As the darkness cleared from his vision, he found that his shadows had already bound Orvyn to the wall, keeping him standing. Some of them held his hand next to his head while some had bound his mouth so he couldn't scream. And some had already gone to keep an eye on anyone who might be coming near, sealing the ears of the guards nearby.
Azriel smiled at Orvyn as he whispered. "Where shall we start?" He pulled out Truth–Teller and placed it near his fingers. "Here? I think that's a good idea."
And then, as slowly as he could, he cut off the bastard's fingers. The stench of piss hit the air. "What is this? I thought you were supposed to be very brave and powerful. What happened now? If you're crying and pissing yourself now, I wonder what you'll do when I carve your dick out. I'll do that, then maybe even take your eyes as souvenirs. What do you say? Oh, and also, I want you to know that I'm not doing this because I'm being paid for it or anything. I just found out you assaulted my mate. Remember? Her name was Y/n."
His eyes were wide in recognition as tears started streaming down his face and Azriel clicked his tongue. He pulled out another ordinary dagger from his array of weapons and stabbed it in his thigh.
Then he placed Truth–Teller on his face and set to work.
•○🌑○•
Y/n's pov.
She groaned as she blinked the sleep from her eyes and stretched her hand out in search of her mate's warm body. But all she came across were cold sheets.
She was confused as she sat up and looked around for any indication of where he might be. He would have left a note if he was going for work. Maybe he was in the kitchen.
So she got up and waddled down the stairs, hunting for her mate. But she couldn't find him anywhere in their home.
Where was he?
Just then, she heard the front door opening and she rushed to meet Azriel. She had already expected him to be out, and he had returned now. Maybe he'd been running some errands.
What she hadn't expected was for him to be covered in blood.
"Cauldron boil me! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" She asked, trying to usher him into the bathing room.
"What makes you think I'm hurt?" He raised an eyebrow.
She faltered. "Well, first of all, you look like you just took a swim in a pool of blood. Forgive me for expecting the worst." She began turning on faucets and filling the tub for him, adding oils into it before turning to him. Hurt or not, he would want to take a bath.
"I could have been doing my Spymaster things." He said, stripping and stepping into the water, sighing.
"Whenever you leave for work, you leave a note. Where were you, Azzie?"
"Just having some fun." When she continued to glare at him, he finally told her. "Hunting down bastards." She raised a brow. "Second in Command. Orvyn."
Her eyes widened. "What did you do to him?" He ignored her. "What did you do Azriel?"
So he told her everything in detail, so much so that she wanted to gag even as pride surged in her for her amazing mate. When he finished, he stood and toweled off, coming to stand in front of her.
She sighed. "Don't you think this could strain the already fragile relations between Night and Autumn? Beron could decide to attack–"
He grasped her jaw and tilted her head back as he leaned closer. "Y/n, I do not care about any of that."
"Are you sure? I remember you saying that you would do anything for this Court."
"Night Court is important for me, but not as much as you and your happiness. The whole of Prythian could go to hell if it meant you would be happy. Just say the word and I'd set the world on fire for you, my love."
Wetness gathered in her eyes and she furiously swiped at them. He pulled her hands away, smiling softly. "I don't want to cry." She choked out. He laughed and pulled her in for a hug. She wrapped her arms around him so tight she wondered if he would choke.
But he didn't do anything other than hug her back just as fiercely.
And finally, after all these years, Y/n felt like she was safe. Nothing could hurt her as long as she had her mate.
And she couldn't ask for anything more.
•○🌑○•
Taglist: @eos-princess
#acotar#azriel x reader#azriel acotar#azriel spymaster#azriel shadowsinger#shadowsinger x reader#Acotar fanfic#rhysand#mating bond#a court of thorns and roses#azriel fluff#acotar fandom#acotar series#Shadowsinger#spymaster#fluff#azriel fic#azriel fanfic#sarah j maas#acotar headcanon#acotar smut#Acotar writing#acotar fluff#acotar x reader#reader insert#tw sa mention#tw trauma#tw assault#tw sa#tw sa implied
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