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agent-cupcake · 1 year ago

Text

Amen

Pairing: Suguru Geto x f! Reader

Synopsis: No matter the severity of your actions, Suguru would never actually hurt a member of his sorcerer family. Luckily, there are other ways he can think of to punish you. It's for your own good.

Warnings: Explicit smut, dubcon, possessive behavior, manipulation

Tags: Punishment, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, dirty talk, vibrators, bondage, orgasm torture, cunnilingus, humiliation

Word Count: 10.4k

Notes: This story is for @laurenzel. I think this can be almost seen as a companion to my previous Gojo story since there's similar toxic motives and means used by the men, but a difference in method.

“Would you care to join me tonight?” was what Geto said to you, smiling so sweetly, so gently. He said it like an offer, or a question, but you both knew the answer. It was the same as it had been since the very first time he asked, since the first time he kissed you, since the first night you spent together.

And you, finally given direction in the big, confusing world, couldn’t even conceive of saying no to Geto. You didn’t have to do, say, or think anything on your own—just follow him. And you did. Happily, you did, thinking nothing of the offer other than how pleased you were that he asked.

Chills prickled over your bare arms and legs when you walked into his room. The air felt a few degrees too cool, especially when you were accustomed to the August heat. Everything about his room seemed cold. It was furnished in stark contrast to the simple, traditional temple façade the rest of the complex maintained outwardly. Black painted walls, a hard floor, and ebony furniture upholstered with dark leathers and suedes. There was a flat, modern utilitarianism to the room despite its luxury, all at once inviting and off putting. The silky black sheets and dusky saturation of velvety vanilla and citrus lent a sex appeal to the room that you inextricably associated with Geto.

“Will you help me with this?” he asked, gesturing to his clothes.

“Yes, of course,” you said, rushing to his side to help him undress. Even though the vestments Geto wore were for show, the articles were genuine and required careful handling. A perfect costume needed to be authentic. You unfastened the kasaya first, hanging it up.

“I think,” he said while your hands were busy, “we need to talk about what you did.”

You paused, turning to him with your brow furrowed, your stomach dropping in response to the accusatory tone of his voice. “What did I do?”

“You killed Kurokawa.”

Your frown deepened, your chest tightening with a harsh burst of guilt. “How do you know that?”

Geto raised an eyebrow. That was the wrong thing to ask, it made you look more guilty than you were. Besides, the answer was obvious. He knew everything. You shook your head fast, trying to come up with an explanation that didn’t sound like an excuse.

“I… I thought you would be happy I took care of him,” you said. “He was causing trouble. He was a bad man.”

“If you thought I would be pleased, why didn’t you tell me right away?”

There were reasons, weren’t there? Good ones, explanations that could help you smooth this over. Beneath the weight of his gaze, you couldn’t think of any of them. “I… I don’t, um… I was going to, but I didn’t want to distract you or anything. I’m not… I didn’t mean-”

“No. You didn’t tell me because you knew you were wrong,” Geto stated, telling you so directly that you couldn’t help but believe it.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

“To be clear, I’m not concerned with his death,” Geto told you. “I’m worried about you. About what you might do without my intervention. I have been for a while.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you said. That was probably the most true thing you could say, the sentiment that defined your existence. You did not understand.

“I like to think that you’ve grown since you joined the family, but sometimes I don’t know if I can trust you to act with a clear head. Kurokawa was a doctor, wasn’t he?”

You bristled at the reminder, mentally pushing back on the idea that you did it for such a personal reason. “He was… he was dangerous,” you argued. “He wanted to get the police involved.”

“That isn’t my point,” Geto explained. “You acted out on your own. I knew Kurokawa was causing problems, but I didn't ask you to kill him. He still had value to me, in his own way." He paused, considering you with pursed lips. "If you told me what you did immediately, maybe I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, but as it is, all this proves is that you haven’t moved beyond your past experiences. I can’t trust you."

You bit your lip, swaying back as if those words had been a physical blow, only becoming more confused. Completely and utterly confused about how killing somebody who was a bad man, killing a hateful monkey upset Geto. You did it for him. You did it because the man was evil, and because he said terrible things, and because he was a hideous embodiment of the type of person who would see you locked up tight in another drug dispensing, mind-numbing, monkey hospital.

All you could understand was that you had disappointed Geto, and the cutting violence of his doubt cut deep into your chest as physically as a knife.

“I’m sorry,” you said again.

“Are you going to finish this?” Geto asked rather than acknowledge your apology, pulling at his collar. You nodded, rushing back to his side to untie the obi sash and fold it, helping him shrug off his black yukata to hang that up as well.

Left in a tight undershirt, a pair of loose pants, and socks he was quick to peel off and toss aside, Geto-sama emerged from his costume looking a decade younger and twice as dangerous. Like this, he was Suguru. You weren’t equals, but you were more than a little familiar. Although, you weren’t sure if you would dare to be so friendly with him now that you understood you were in trouble.

Before, you assumed you were here because he desired you. Now that felt presumptuous and silly.

You averted your eyes and stepped back, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The silence physically hurt. Apologies built up like a dam in your head, stopping any other sort of thought from getting through as guilt brewed and boiled in your stomach. Worse, you couldn’t say he was wrong. Maybe you had knowingly acted against Geto, against the family, because of what Kurokawa represented to you. Maybe you couldn’t be trusted. And, if that was true, maybe you deserved his anger and all of the terrible things that followed anger.

“Are you nervous?” Suguru asked.

“No,” you said quickly.

“Liar. I can hear it. Your heart is racing. You’re scared. Is it me?” He nudged your chin up with the side of his hand, forcing you to meet his eyes and the little smile he wore. “Are you frightened of me?”

“You’re angry,” you said, shrinking back. “Angry with me.”

“Oh,” Suguru hummed thoughtfully, “so you’re scared that I’m going to punish you. Is that it?”

Hesitantly, you nodded.

“You’re right, I am.”

Your breath caught before you shook your head fast, panicking. “No, you… I’m really sorry. I mean it, I was just trying to… He deserved to die.”

“I understand,” Suguru said, “and I appreciate what you say you were trying to do. The problem is that I don’t believe that was your motive. That is why I’m upset.” He ran his fingers through his hair, putting into a messy bun. “Do you understand the distinction?”

You blinked fast, feeling the horrible bite of tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now… what do you think would be a fitting punishment?”

You looked up at him in stark shock, hoping desperately that you misunderstood him. He didn’t clarify anything, simply waiting for you to answer. You shook your head again, your mouth opening and closing before you managed a meek, “I don’t know.”

“But you agree, don’t you?” he asked, going over to his chest of drawers. Suguru looked at you over his shoulder, eying you up and down, drinking your awkward nerves. “You deserve to be punished for your disobedience.”

You exhaled sharply, conflicted about what kind of answer to give. More importantly, what kind of answer he wanted. If you were smarter, you would be able to talk your way out of this situation. If you were better attuned to Suguru’s needs, you would be able to give him what he wanted. If you were loyal, he wouldn’t have been mad in the first place. Those thoughts weren’t helpful, all you could do was stare and try to solve the puzzle of his mood. You had seen that little smirk on his face when he teased Nanako, but also when he killed non-jujutsu sorcerers that had outlived their usefulness.

“You’re really asking me?” you finally got out, the only response you could muster.

His back was turned to you now as he looked through the drawer, but you saw his shoulder raise in a casual shrug. “I’m curious.”

Your gut instinct was to deny that you deserved punishment to try and spare yourself, but you held that impulse. You had already agreed that you did something wrong, so denying that you deserved punishment could make things worse. Then again, if you agreed, then maybe he would take that as permission to do even worse. Either one could potentially upset him too, because it would prove that you didn’t know what he wanted. Suguru did nothing to alleviate your nervous indecision as he turned around, holding an unmarked red box, watching you with that enigmatic smirk.

“If you think I do,” you said carefully, “then-”

“No,” he said, cutting you off. “I am asking if you acknowledge that you deserve punishment for what you have done.”

“I won’t do it again,” you told him, your voice soft. “I promise.”

Suguru frowned. “That’s not what I asked.”

“I know, but it’s true,” you insisted. Rather than relent to your distress, his eyes narrowed dangerously, finally giving you some indication about the response he actually wanted. “I do!” You said quickly. “I…” The words were thick like syrup, awkward to get out. “I deserve to be punished.”

Suguru smiled, setting the box on the bed and sitting on the black leather footboard bench, his legs spread wide and comfortable and head slightly tilted.

“Are you going to hurt me?” you asked softly.

“Hurt you?” Suguru asked, raising a thin eyebrow. “I would never hurt you. I don’t think you’re likely to learn from pain anyway, hm? It wasn’t effective for your parents or doctors.”

“But… but you said you were going to punish me?” you asked, looking between him and the box with an increasing amount of anxiety.

“Take off your clothes.”

Your jaw dropped. “I… My… You mean it?”

He raised both eyebrows, daring you to deny him. You clutched at the front of your dress, your shoulders curling in.

“But why?” you asked. He immediately gave you a pointed look, like you were stupid. “This… it’s… You want to…?” You couldn’t even finish the question, the whole thing was so divorced from any coherence you could wrap your head around.

“You're allowed to say no and leave, I won’t stop you,” Suguru told you. He considered that for a moment, his head falling to the side. “If you stay, we’ll switch to your safe word rather than no. You remember it, don’t you?”

Safe word? You remembered him establishing that the first night he allowed you into his bed, but you hadn’t really thought much of it. Why would you ever want him to stop? Now the thought of it made you feel a little cold, and not because of the air conditioner valiantly chugging away in an attempt to keep the August heat at bay. It had taken a few days to come to terms with sleeping with Suguru after it first happened, but this was unreal in an entirely different way. You felt like you were looking down a very long, dark tunnel, like you were hopelessly and utterly lost.

“I do,” you said faintly. “I remember.”

“It’s your choice then.”

You winced, unable to look at him. You weren’t going to leave. That was unthinkable. The idea of undressing in front of him like it was some sort of show wasn’t especially comfortable either, but you understood that you would do it. “That’s… it’s embarrassing.”

“I’ve noticed,” Suguru said. “You don’t want to think of yourself as the type of woman who would strip for a man. But you are, and you will. For me.”

You flushed darker, avoiding his eyes. Trying to keep your breathing from going completely out of control, you nodded. It was easier to obey. You wouldn’t know what you would do if you left his room right now, where you would go, how you would feel. It wasn’t about you, it was about what you had done to disappoint Suguru, and how you would make it right. He wanted to know that you were loyal, that you had left behind the pathetic wretch you used to be.

Humiliating as it was, he was helping you. That was all he had ever done.

“Yes, sir.”

With shaking hands, you unzipped your dress. Considering the summer heat, you were wearing as little as possible. Three articles of clothing separating you from his eyes. You weren’t sure if that was better, making it so the process of undressing wasn’t so drawn out, or worse because it meant you couldn’t stall.

“Keep going,” Suguru said when you hesitated with your thumbs hooked beneath the waistband of your panties. Closing your eyes, you pushed them down. The only positive you could think of was that you had the foresight to shave the night before. Ever since the first night you slept together you’d been taking personal grooming extremely seriously. Removing your bra was the worst of it all, but you dutifully undid the clasps and pushed the straps down your arms. He had seen you naked before, you reasoned. Even if you were disappointing, he still had asked to see you. It was fine.

If Suguru wanted it, it was fine.

“You’re too pretty to be so self-conscious,” he told you in a very calm, matter-of-fact way.

You tried not to shuffle awkwardly, clasping your hands in front of your stomach to hide their shaking. “Thank you,” you said softly, unable to meet his eyes even if you could feel them heavily on your flushing skin.

“Come here,” Suguru ordered. In your peripheral, you saw his hand raise, a single finger curling to draw you towards him.

You obeyed on awkward feet, glad to close the distance. He sat up to meet you face to face, having to look up at you for once and pulling you closer. You automatically parted your lips to kiss him. That was something you knew how to do. But his parted lips only brushed the corner of your mouth. When you tried to tilt your head to catch him, Suguru pulled back. Your eyes fluttered open—when had you closed them?—to see him smirking at the little trick.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, releasing you.

Nerves knotted and tangled in your stomach. There was something hot about his detached control, but you weren’t sure you liked it either. Vulnerability was discomfort. And still, you knew better than to argue or question. Trying to preserve as much of your modesty as was possible, you got onto his bed. It was easier to comply. Better to be obedient like he wanted. You didn’t want to disappoint him again.

“These are for you,” Suguru said, finally revealing the contents of the red box by lifting the glossy lid.

You stared into the box with curiosity, and then with a sharp pang of recognition. After that, nerves. Dread. Excitement. Blinking over and over didn’t change what you saw, there was no mistake about what lay inside. A lot of leather. Some chains. Scarf-like ties. You were pretty sure the wand-shaped item was a vibrator.

Suguru choked you last time you had sex, and he pinned your wrists down and pulled your hair and left marks on your thighs and chest, but this was different. Dangerous. This was scary.

“Geto-sama…” you said nervously, sticking to the formal address in the hopes that he would understand the sincerity of your doubt. “I’m not…”

“As I said, you’re allowed to stop this at any time,” he said, dropping the lid back onto the box with a crisp snap. “I would never force you into anything. If you truly feel bad for what you have done and want to prove yourself to me, I shouldn’t need to coerce you.”

Guilt and nerves writhed in your stomach. And excitement, always excitement for the simple reason that it was Suguru. You would do anything for him, wouldn’t you? He had saved you. You disappointed him, it was only right that you did as you were told. You pushed the lid off again, forcing a sort of resolve. Your heart beat like a frantic war drum in your chest, and you were flushing so hotly it felt like a fever.

“What’s this all for?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

“You won’t be able to hold still on your own,” he replied simply. “Besides, I think you’ll look sexy like this. I was waiting for an opportunity to try it.”

The bottom of your stomach gave way to anxious lust. You licked your lips, trying to calm yourself down.

“Okay,” you said softly.

“Put them on for me,” Suguru said, pulling out four of the leather cuffs. Your eyes widened, your lips parting to argue that as a step too far. It would be so much easier for you if he did it himself, if you didn’t have to actively engage with putting yourself in a literal bind.

Although maybe that was the point. This was punishment.

Prove your loyalty. You could do that for him.

Despite your forced mental affirmation, the whole task seemed too daunting for a moment, you had a nervously suffocating sense like drowning, but you forced that down. You would do anything for Suguru. That’s what this was about. Proving to him that you were loyal, that you would do as he said. That you were devoted.

You did the wrist cuffs first, slipping the first over your left hand and tightening the strap with your right. There was only one size; they would fit snugly. Thick chains hung from both cuffs. Although they weren’t as bad as pure metal bracelets, the leather wouldn’t be kind to your skin if you resisted too much. Tightening the strap on the right cuff was even worse since you were working with your non-dominant hand.

“Do you need help?” Suguru asked, laughing at your frustrated attempts to get the tongue through the buckle.

“Don’t laugh, please,” you begged, talking very softly to hide your increasingly unstable emotions. “I’m trying.”

“Here,” he said indulgently, “let me.” Suguru held out his hands for you to let him finish securing the cuff. “Do you need help with your ankles?”

“No, I… Thank you,” you said, unable to look at his expression. You could do this. You had to do this.

Still, your hands trembled unsteadily. When you nervously fumbled with the leather strap around your ankle, he laughed again.

“Don’t look,” you mumbled. The chains hanging from your wrists playfully clinked against the chains on your ankles.

“I have to make sure you do it properly. You could hurt yourself.”

“It’s embarrassing,” you whispered, more petulant than anything.

“I know,” Suguru told you sweetly, “but you’ve been such a good girl so far.”

Your breath caught at the praise. At the very least, he looked away to pull off his shirt. You used the distraction to get your ankles secured, watching him remove his pants with your hands between your legs to retain some modesty. Suguru, stripped to his boxers, surveyed your handiwork, a little smile growing on his face.

“What?” you asked nervously.

“Given how shy you are, I thought it would take more than this to convince you to do this for me. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or impressed.”

You frowned with a twisting sense of betrayal, but he cut off your displeasure by grabbing your legs to yank you towards him, leaning over the bed so he could kiss you.

Before Suguru, you hadn’t really understood what the point of kissing was. It was an act of affection you mirrored with others because it was what people did. When Suguru licked your lips open for himself, you understood. Any touch of his body against yours had a potent effect, but the openly intimate domination of his tongue against yours, his fingers slipping up your hair to tilt your head, the hand on your bare waist, it was enough to clear your mind all over again. Igniting the purest type of motivation—lust.

You wanted to show him your devotion. You wanted him to know you were sorry. You clung to his shoulders, hoping he could feel it.

All too soon, Suguru pulled back, his lips hovering inches from your own. You tried to follow, but he held you in place by your hair.

“I’m impressed,” he said, answering his comment from before. “I admire your dedication. I only wish it extended to your actions. I can’t trust you until I know you obey me.”

“I do,” you said. “I…I will.”

“Not yet.” Suguru didn’t wait for your response, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips, your cheek, and then tilting your head to whisper in your ear. “Move back. I’ll take care of the rest,” he told you, his husky voice making you shudder.

“Yes, sir,” you muttered so softly you wondered if he heard you. When Suguru pulled away, you scooted back to sit in the center of his bed, waiting and watching with equal parts nerves and anticipation. He picked through the red box again, pulling out another set of leather cuffs and a bundle of those silky scarves.

“Open your legs,” he ordered in a business-like voice as he joined you on the bed, crawling up to you and readying one of the leather straps. The sudden shift of tone surprised you, throwing you off all over again.

“What’s that?” you asked nervously. He gave you a sharp look and you relented, opening your legs. Being exposed so brazenly made your skin crawl, but he paid no attention to your naked body, wrapping the strap around your thigh and fastening it, repeating the process on your other leg.

“What is it that the monkey said to upset you?” Suguru asked casually as he tested the straps for give, deeming them satisfactory. The conversational tone burst your bubble of rose tinged intimacy, sending your thoughts back to unpleasant places. “I assume something set you off.”

“I… um…” As if revealing a magic trick, he unwound a length of the red scarf-like fabric, distracting you from a question you hadn’t really understood in the first place.

“Or did he try to attack you?” Suguru pushed, neatly doubling the scarf and pulling it around your back. He had to sit close as he blindly tied the knot and the cashmeran twilight scent of his skin filled your senses, you held your breath when he pulled away just to keep it close for a moment longer.

“Have you done this before?” you asked as he wound the scarf around your chest and shoulders with a practiced hand, searching for a distraction from the embarrassment.

“Does it bother you if I have?” Suguru asked.

“No, sir.”

He had to lean forward again to fasten the final knot on your back. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said softly. “What happened?”

You winced. “He called me delusional. He said I’m just a… a bitch in your harem, and that I’d go down with you.”

“I see,” Suguru said, pulling back, his expression impassive.

“I’m really sorry, Geto-sama,” you said.

“Are you worried he’s right?” Suguru asked, his voice so saccharinely sweet it had to be mocking.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You are special to me,” Suguru told you sweetly, petting your hair.

“You’re special to me too,” you said, eager to try and express your adoration. “Very, very special.”

“I’m doing this because you’re so special to me. I can help you grow, and help you move on. I can show you the benefits of an honest life without the petty influence of the weak, but I cannot force your obedience. I need you to choose to listen to me, to obey me.”

“That is my choice,” you said.

“Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘actions speak louder than words’?” Suguru countered, revealing the final trick of his little magic show. The chains on your wrists connected to those on your ankles with a few inches of slack, your ankle cuffs connected to the straps on your thighs, and the loose ends of scarves from the harness he had just finished tying were threaded into the D-rings on your thigh straps. Unable to balance upright, you rolled onto your back, fully exposed and unable to do much of anything about it. “This is your chance to make amends.”

Suguru put his hand on your bare chest, right above your racing heart as it beat against your ribs. “You’re scared again,” he said. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. Do you not believe that?”

“I’m just…” you squirmed uncomfortably, unable to articulate what you felt. You didn’t know what you felt, couldn’t figure out anything beyond the intensely physical embarrassment and the panicked disquiet of being bound and exposed.

“You know what to do to make this stop,” he pointed out, his hand dragging down your chest to your flinching stomach. “Just say the word, and I’ll let you leave.”

Suguru told you that almost like it was a joke. He was daring you to use the safe word and stop him, to show him that you weren’t as devoted as you claimed. His hand reached your pelvis and you whimpered, your hips wiggling in an undecided way. Did you want him to touch you, or were you nervous for that part? You couldn’t tell. The feelings were the same.

He finally dropped over you, both of his hands resting on your ass before brushing up your thighs, pressing them further apart as he kissed you with an open mouth. Suguru’s tongue urgently met yours, teasing enough to invite your active and enthusiastic participation. To show him how much you wanted him. Of course you did.

With a surprising bite on your lower lip, Suguru left your mouth to move down, licking and kissing his way across your jaw, following the line of your neck. He stopped there, sucking hard right above your pulse until you shuddered hard, making a soft, helpless noise. Your hands anxiously jerked, but all that did was snap the chains taut. Taking his time, his hand trailed down your thigh, his fingernails scraping the skin, until he reached your pussy.

When Suguru’s fingers made contact with the sensitive flesh, you yelped, and he bit your neck hard enough to draw that yelp out into a pathetic keen. Your attempt to free your hands so you could push him back served only to pull your legs open wider.

“Was that too much?” Suguru asked, lightly tracing your slit.

“Hurts,” you said, your breathing hard and fast. He chuckled warmly, finding your clit and tracing little circles over it, just teasing. You whimpered.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asked, his lips brushing your skin as he moved down your chest.

You made a choked, conflicted sound in your throat, any coherent response leaving your head the second his mouth closed around your nipple. Electric pulses of pleasure zipped down to your core, made that much more intense by the fingers on your clit. Suguru added more pressure against it, the weight sweetened by the friction of his calloused fingertips. Your hips rolled into the touch, your back arching for every delicious movement of his tongue or teeth on your nipple.

A hoarse wail left your mouth when he released you with a wet pop, moving to do the same to your other nipple. His fingers were truly grinding against your clit at this point. It wasn’t the sweet enticement of pleasure, but a brute force motion that guaranteed you would come fast.

You whined and moaned and shuddered, fighting the restraints. Sweat slicked up your skin, chafing beneath the restraints as you jerked, your body going taut to prepare for the sudden orgasm. You managed a choked, “I can’t, I can’t, I-” And then that tension snapped. It was good, but the rush was too fast and fleeting, fizzling itself out before you could savor the feeling. All it really did was make you want more.

With another lewdly wet pop, Suguru pulled off your nipple and sat up, his hand retreating from between your legs. “How did that feel?” he asked.

You swallowed, nodding fast. “‘s good. Tha-aa-nk you, sir.”

“It’s interesting to me how much more sensitive girls are after coming,” Suguru said, teasing you with his fingers lightly tracing over your slit. “It’s almost obscene. Men need time, but you already want more, don’t you?”

You shuddered, panting and flushed. “Yes. Yes, please.”

He smirked, although you couldn’t say you really understood the joke. Your entire body twitched, the chains clinking, and he licked his lips, looking at your flushed body like he was eying up a meal.

Your eyes squeezed shut when he ran two fingers from your entrance, dragging a smear of slick arousal up to your clit.

“No, don’t close your eyes,” Suguru said, beginning to draw patterns over your swelling clit. “Look at me.”

You nodded, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze despite how overwhelming it was to be watched while he touched you so intimately. You squirmed, inhaling sharply through your teeth, already feeling the tantalizing build.

“What about you?” you asked. “You don’t have to, um… um…” Blinking fast, breathing hard, your words scattered like dust and you felt the same tightening in your core, the sparkling promise of release. At the exact moment you were about to come again, Suguru pressed his hand flat between your legs, denying you that final push over the edge.

Whining and desperate and so, so close, your hips bucked upward, desperate to come again. It was already too late, out of your grasp. “Geto-sama, please, I was-”

“No,” he said simply.

“What?”

“No. I’m not going to let you come again. I’ve already given you one more than you deserve.”

“No,” you whispered, horrified. “You… You can’t.”

“No?” he repeated, his fingers tracing your clit slowly, with the barest amount of pressure. “You remember why I’m doing this, don’t you? I’m punishing you.” He pressed more intently against your clit. Unable to comprehend denial, your body began the process of drawing up tight. “You need to learn to be obedient. You have to learn to take whatever I see fit to give you.”

“I am,” you gasped out. “I do, I-I will, I’m…” Your back arched, your arms and legs falling aside as if to make an offering of your body in the hopes that he would let you come this time. “I’m sorry that I… that I did that,” you babbled, your pussy tightening around nothing as your body got ready to come. “I’m really… really… I’m-”

Suguru stopped just when you were on the precipice again, tapping your folds as if to mock your need. You squinted at him, your chest hitching a heavy breath, tears pricking your eyes. “But I said… Oh…” You didn’t finish what you were saying, too distracted by the slick slide of his fingers inside of you. So good. You swallowed hard, your cunt squeezing his fingers desperately as his fingers curled, dragging against your g-spot as they pulled out before thrusting forward.

“If your words meant anything, you wouldn’t need to be punished in the first place,” Suguru pointed out, although you weren’t paying very close attention, your body awkwardly trying to roll into his fingers as they slowly fucked you. He touched your clit with his other hand, once again ensuring that you would come quickly.

Too quickly, really. The intensity of pleasure shocked you, especially since you were so sensitive, desperate for more. “Please, can I… will you please… Please?” you begged, your animal need curbed slightly by fear.

“You should know that no other man will do this for you,” Suguru said. “No one else will ever care for you the way I do.”

You nodded fast, knowing that was the truth. No other person in the world had ever been as kind or compassionate to you as Suguru. Nobody had ever wanted you, or made you feel important, or given you purpose. You loved him. You felt that affection swell alongside your building orgasm.

He would let you come this time, he wasn’t slowing down. His fingers made a sickening wet schlick as they pumped in and out of your pussy, working in time with the finger on your clit. You were there, your body taut and ready and desperate and-

A wail escaped you when he stopped at the last moment, your entire body jerking in desperation to reclaim your ruined orgasm. As soon as it was gone, he returned to touching you in the same way, vigorously chasing you back to the edge and abandoning you seconds before you could get off.

“Please,” you begged.

“I told you no,” Suguru reminded you, adding a third finger to pump and curl into your pussy as if to punctuate the cruel statement. You were off the edge now, but your body still stupidly strove to take more pleasure. You blinked tears, confused and needy and trembling, your breathing shallow.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. The touch on your clit had you throwing your head back, your nostrils flared and teeth clenched. Chains clicked together when you tried to free your arms, but it was a fruitless struggle. You didn’t want to respond to his touch in the same way, you needed a reprieve, but there was no escape. You were sensitive. Your body remembered coming once, and that was enough of an incentive to try to get more.

“You can always stop me,” Suguru said. “If it becomes too much.”

“It’s…” you told him, although your attempt to seem brave was weakened by your breathy, pathetic voice. “I’m… I can take whatever you give me. I’m…” You sobbed, overwhelmed by the drag of his fingers against your g-spot. He barely had to put any pressure on your clit, it was so swollen beneath his teasing fingers. “Please, sir. I just… Just one, please?”

“I already let you come once,” he reminded you, amused.

You moaned miserably, your head tossing back and forth as you readied yourself for another orgasm. You hoped that maybe if you could just come before he noticed, then that would be enough to soothe the horrible ache, the fearful deprivation he kept stoking to a blaze.

It was there, right at your fingertips, on the tip of your tongue, and Suguru hummed happily when he suddenly pulled his fingers out of you. You shouted, thrashing against your bindings. They all held, keeping you helpless beneath him.

“Please, I… please.”

“No,” Suguru said, slowly pushing just one finger into you. You sobbed when he used it to massage your g-spot. Not giving you any real pressure or weight or friction, just that constant reminder of the pleasure you had been denied.

“I can’t,” you said tearfully, straining to get more out of that single finger like a starving woman being thrown crumbs.

“You can,” Suguru told you. His word was gospel. It didn’t matter what you thought.

He pulled his finger out before you could get too used to it, only to return with three. You choked, your body jerking hard enough against the restraints to hurt, suddenly thrown into high gear as he properly finger-fucked you, bouncing your entire body.

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t touching your clit, you could get off just on this. Your body was thrumming with denied pleasure and you wanted it so bad you could scream.

“Yes, yes, please, yes—No!”

You were properly sobbing this time when he stopped, almost horrified by the intensity of your body’s disappointment when his fingers pulled out. You had no idea how he was getting the timing so perfect, but it was worse than if he was just hurting you. Suguru shoved his fingers into your open mouth while you were still reeling, smearing the taste of your pussy onto your tongue. You didn’t need his instruction to suck on them, hoping that the display of thoughtless obedience would earn you some leniency.

“Good girl,” he cooed, pushing his fingers deeper into your mouth, almost enough to make you choke. When he pulled them out, he didn’t linger, kissing a line down your stomach. Your arms fought the restraints when you realized his intentions because you weren’t sure you could handle feeling his mouth on you like this, not if he was going to keep denying you.

“No,” you whined. “Please, I… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” Suguru said calmly, not even bothering to look up at you.

A heavy, almost guttural moan left your mouth when his tongue licked past your folds, tossing you right back into the abyss of lustful need. All he had to do was brace his forearm across the backs of your thighs and you were unable to do anything, your trapped arms and legs twitching, your feet kicking uselessly into the empty air, the chains connecting them to your wrists clicking.

Suguru was good at this, switching between flat-tongued licks and pointed patterns, closing his lips around your clit until you were choking out these pathetic little chirps, your body reacting in a way entirely out of your control.

And when you were there, right at the very edge, he pressed a kiss to your clit and looked up at you from beneath his dark eyelashes.

You sobbed, throwing your head back in a childish display of disappointment.

“You’re alright. Breathe,” Suguru said.

“Please,” you begged.

Suguru hummed as he lowered his head, shaking it side to side with his tongue flat against your clit. Your toes curled, your hands forming pathetic fists.

It didn’t take much to build you up all over again, your entire body was wired and ready. You didn’t think you had ever felt so aware of yourself. Your skin, your pussy, your heart, your body, everything crackled and blazed. What was he doing, drawing kanji with his tongue? You didn’t know, but it felt amazing. You chased that feeling knowing you shouldn’t, thinking that maybe this time, maybe if you were fast enough. Maybe, maybe, maybe-

“No, please, I just wanna…” Suguru’s tongue stilled and he pulled away, watching you fall apart at yet another denied orgasm. “No!”

He casually pressed two fingers into you, massaging them against that spongy spot with a wet squish that was beyond obscene. “You know what to say to make me stop,” he told you.

“I know,” you said, wishing you could cover your face, wishing for some point of sanity here in this lust-mad haze. “I don’t want… Please, Geto-sama, I just wanna come, please.”

“Oh?” he said, his other hand returning to rest on your pelvic bone to playfully tease your clit. “Do you think you deserve that?”

“I…” You tried desperately to figure out the correct answer by looking at his expression, but you couldn’t tell and his hands kept you distracted. Deserve didn’t matter, all you could think was that you wanted to come. “Yes?” you said, hoping very much that was the correct response, practically praying for the torment to end. His fingers slowed and you let out an embarrassing little keen. “Ah… No, no I…” His expression still didn’t change, leaving you scrambling. Your chest hiccupped with a sob, your confused spiral boiling down to the pit of desperate need. “I don’t know.”

Rather than respond, Suguru’s head lowered between your legs once more to tongue your clit in time with his fingers. You felt a hot rush of hope that you got something right, that he was finally going to let you come. Your entire body surged towards the feeling, going so stiff that it made your trembling muscles ache.

And there, right on the edge, he stopped. You didn’t have it within you to do anything other than cry, openly weeping at this point. If he were only teasing you it would be one thing, but he was purposefully working you right up to the edge and then abandoning you there. It was the feeling of being unable to sneeze amplified to a million, that torturous feeling of almost.

“I’ll do anything, please,” you told him, your voice coming out broken.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t before?” Suguru asked. You opened your mouth to argue, only to realize that it didn’t matter. Nothing you said or did mattered, you were helpless to him. You had already surrendered everything else, the only thing you could do was obey and hope for his mercy.

You understood. He didn’t want you to beg. He wanted you to obey. To be good for him without question.

You could do that.

Suguru pushed his fingers back into you, repeating the whole process of working you up and abandoning you again. And again. And then he added his mouth. There were several times in your life you’d been pushed to the absolute brink of sanity, and right then you were convinced that you were going to go mad. But you grit your teeth and endured it. You had to. This was your punishment, and Suguru would decide when to end your misery.

You had to be good for him.

Had you ever been this wet? Swollen too, all of your blood flowing dangerously hot between your legs. It was disgusting, your pussy was sloppy and red and he barely had to touch your clit at all to build you right up to that edge. And it was just as easy to let you fall, disappointed and unfulfilled and growing increasingly, painfully distraught from the denial.

You beat your fists pathetically against the bed, hitting your head into the pillow like a madman. Air puffed out of your chest fast and hard enough to make your head spin, like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.

Rather than continue the torture, Suguru grabbed your chin, dragging you out of your spiraling haze. His fingers were slick from being inside of you. You met his eyes through a veil of tears. “Have you had enough?” he asked, his voice wavering with a parody of pity. “I’m worried you’re going to hyperventilate.”

You blinked fast, trying to gather the coherence to respond. “I can… I can take it,” you told him with a miserable sort of resolve, your voice thin and breathless.

Suguru smiled. “Really? And if I said I intended to leave you like this, perhaps to go find a way to fix the mess you made?”

The thought was enough to make you sob. His attention was torturously uncomfortable, but being completely denied any resolution, being left bound and soaking wet and electrified with unfulfilled need, you almost would have rathered he hit you.

But you nodded, forcing yourself to accept it. Anything less would be to reject his authority over you, right? It would make you seem less loyal. “Anything,” you whispered.

“Ah, that look in your eyes is wonderful,” he cooed. “You mean it, don’t you?”

You nodded insistently. “I love you,” you told him, speaking without thought, saying it because it was true. “I’ll do… I’ll do anything.”

“Okay, I’ll let you come,” Suguru said, releasing your face so his hand could wander back down between your legs.

You made a weak noise, your body unconsciously jerking, straining towards him.

It was pathetic, he barely had to do anything, simply brushing his flat fingers in light circles over your swollen clit. And that was enough. Fear flooded your insides alongside the same frantic, hot rush of pleasure. All of your muscles contracted in a mass of sore, shaking muscles and bestial desperation because you were afraid he would stop again, afraid that he would deny you and there would be no recourse other than pathetic acceptance.

“Please, please, I-I love you,” you plead, your voice whispery, rough and desperate, borderline incoherent.

And he didn’t stop.

That wet, hot snap of release was one of the best things you had ever felt. You convulsed, chains clicking and leather chafing against your skin and his name spilling from your lips over and over. He worked you right through the orgasm. You were crying again, sobbing and shaking and sticky hot. It felt good. It felt like forgiveness.

“Another?” Suguru asked. Your eyes had been shut, but now they opened to see his smile.

You just shook your head, lacking the capacity to respond.

He didn’t wait, pushing three fingers into you while teasing your clit with his other hand. It forced your body through a surprisingly uncomfortable rubbery mixture of overstimulation and mindless need. It left you feeling like an elastic band being stretched and stretched. In spite of that feeling, a few solid, harsh pumps later and you were coming again, your pussy squeezing his fingers to keep them there while he worked you through it. There was very little drama to it, you were already wrung out. But it was good. Hot and wet and good.

Suguru didn’t stop. You fought the restraints, wanting to move, to writhe, to get more comfortable, to take some control back because you needed a moment to collect yourself.

“I really-” It was hard to speak. Hard to form the words. Hard to get them out. “Oh God, I—ah.”

Almost painfully sensitive, the rough pounding of his fingers against your g-spot started to register as too much. You fought the restraints, a different sort of panic setting in. To keep your body from rejecting the pleasure of his touch, Suguru doubled down against your clit, pressing a little harder. You had been starving, but now you were splitting full from the assault pleasure.

“Too—oo much,” you got out through your teeth, although it probably didn’t seem like it was too much when your back was arching accordingly, your pussy clamping down around his relentless fingers, that coiling buildup of release reaching its apex.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, your fingers and toes clawing helplessly at the sheets as you came, practically choking on the hot feverish intensity of your orgasm.

“No, it’s not,” Suguru told you. His fingers slowed at least, and then pulled out. It wasn’t much of a reprieve, he immediately shuffled down the bed so he could situate his head back between your thighs.

You hissed, tensing up, your arms jerking against the restraints. Your clit was too sensitive for his tongue, he had to understand that. “You… You don’t… Have to,” you got out, your voice unsteady from how hard you were panting. “I don’t need-”

“Don’t worry,” Suguru said sweetly. “I’m not doing this for you.”

The wet, warm patterns he drew on your clit with his tongue sent you into a sort of delirium. No matter how sensitive you thought you were, it was intoxicatingly good. He focused entirely on what made your hips try to jump, what made you moan and whine. When he slipped two fingers into your pussy at the same time, you felt ready to lose it entirely. You were falling apart. Splitting at the seams. You came with a harsh cry, Weeping at the fizzling heat of pleasure.

Suguru didn’t stop. He just hummed and flattened his tongue and kept going, forcing you right past that sickening few seconds of sensory rejection and towards another orgasm. You could do it. You focused on that because even if you weren’t entirely sure you wanted more, you wanted to be good for him. How ungrateful would it be to not come when he was kind enough to eat you out?

Covered in the sickly shine of sweat and shaking so uncontrollably that it felt like the world itself was trembling, you came again.

When he was content you were done, Suguru stopped, pulling his fingers out with a final brush against your g-spot to make you whine, your body mindlessly writhing. He sat up, brushing back strands of sweaty black hair with the back of his hand.

You wilted in place, closing your eyes to focus on your breathing while he messed with something else. It was hard to collect yourself, but you could already tell that you would be sore tomorrow.

Hearing the shift of fabric, you opened your eyes to see Suguru remove his boxers. Despite your messily deteriorated state, the sight of his cock roused enough of your mind to focus. He was hard, the red-flushed head bobbed as he casually stroked himself which might have been for your benefit. Despite the sensory overload, your pussy tightened in anticipation of feeling him inside of you. If he fucked you and you did good enough to make him come, then you would be done. That was, at the very least, an end goal. One more thing you could endure for him, and then he would forgive you.

Suguru looked down at you with a fond smile, an expression that seemed more than a little cruel when he was stroking his dick, when he knew fully well that you were painfully oversensitive and this would make it that much worse.

“Should I make you beg?” he asked warmly, tapping the head against your painfully sensitive folds. You whimpered, squirming. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted this, and he probably knew that, but maybe that was the point. It didn’t matter, you wanted him, you wanted to be good for him, and that superseded every other thing you felt.

“Please, Geto-sama,” you begged, defaulting to the formal address because you needed him to accept it, because he was your lord and master in every way except by name, because you adored him and worshiped him, and you needed him to understand that. “Fuck me, please. I’m yours.”

“So vulgar,” he said, sliding his cock up and down through the wet, sloppy mess he’d made of your pussy. “I wonder what happened to the sweet, innocent girl you used to be.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. “Please.”

“I’m kidding,” Suguru told you, bracing one hand on your thigh to force your hips to curl while lining up his cock. “Aren’t you going to beg?”

“Please-”

“No, no. Look at me.”

You forced your eyes open, forced yourself to look up at him through tear-covered lashes. “Please, Geto-sama. Please, I’m yours.”

It was nothing for him to push in. You were wet and eager and it felt good. The feeling of his cock popping past the initial barrier of muscle and driving deeper into your pussy was one of the most uniquely pleasurable sensations you had ever felt, no matter what the context. It gave you the sort of fullness nothing could replicate, physically grounded you in a way nothing else ever had.

Since you were watching, you got to see his expression slacken into one of pleasure. Your pussy fluttered and squeezed, just making room for him.

You gave up keeping your eyes open as he drove himself even deeper, throwing your head back to just take it, to ignore the discomfort of his cock grinding against what felt like raw nerves. Suguru braced his hands on your thighs as he rocked his hips, taking his time.

“What does it feel like?” he asked.

“Good,” you said quickly, your tongue feeling loose like you were drunk. “So… So good.”

“I want to feel you come again,” he said. “You don’t mind, right?”

Your eyes fluttered open in confusion, shutting when he suddenly snapped his hips forward. “I can’t,” you whined. “Not again.”

“You can,” Suguru told you, grinding his cock as far into as he could, pressing as deep as possible, deep enough to make you whimper and writhe. Could he feel that? Could he feel the way you were shaking all the way down to your bones, feel the way your heart raced and fluttered and skipped?

And then you heard it turn on. When you heard the buzzing, your brain was wildly scattered enough that you thought it was an electric toothbrush which made no sense whatsoever. When he pressed the vibrator directly to your clit, you yelped, trying to buck it off but only serving to grind yourself into his cock.

A few little circles with the thing against your clit was all it took for you to choke, your body seizing up with another orgasm. You were acutely aware of the way it caused your cunt to squeeze and suck his cock, coating it in a fresh wave of arousal as he pulled out, making a horrible wet slap when he thrust back in.

Suguru groaned, keeping the vibrator directly on your clit as he chose a slow, steady pace.

“I can’t,” you tried to tell him, squirming and writhing with renewed vigor as your body started to tense up to come again. You couldn’t stop it and of course it felt good but it was too much, almost burning. You could handle it. If you came again it would hurt, especially coming with his cock grinding so persistently into your overly sensitive cunt.

“I thought you were being good,” Suguru said, rewarding you with a heavy, harsh thrust that made you wail. And another. That sent you over the edge, whimpering and shaking and incoherent with the overwhelming influx of heat and tingling overstimulation. Like the brittle snap when breaking a glow stick, or taking a crisp, juicy bite of an apple. It should have been good, but all you could feel was the wet, helpless violation of something ruined.

Suguru moaned openly, driving himself deep enough for his hips to slap your ass with each heavy thrust. Your head whipped from side to side, the only form of protest left to you. He kept moving the vibrator to make sure you didn’t get too accustomed to any one type of stimulation. It was torture. Horrible torture. You wouldn’t have thought coming could be so agonizing, and yet when you drew up for another sharp, shuddery orgasm you couldn’t recognize it as anything else.

“Is this better or worse than before?” Suguru asked, his words stuttered with each hard thrust.

“I don’t… I can’t…” You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t do anything except convulse and cry and come. Again.

You didn’t understand.

“You don’t know?” he asked, breathy yet amused. “You’ll have to—to tell me later.”

The problem was that you had no place to think. You were too full. Suguru continued fucking you hard and steady. All you could hear was the slick slapping of wet skin and that infernal buzzing. There was so much weight behind every movement, like he was trying to batter his way into your womb. Each thrust was followed by a whimper or moan or cry. And the relentless vibrator against your clit. It hurt. It burned.

“I don’t… don’t…”

“You’re… not done,” Suguru told you, his voice heavy and breaking with exertion. “Come again.”

You weren’t sure if you were actually crying anymore, or just sobbing and panting and so sweaty it felt like you were crying. You couldn't form any coherent words, or even incoherent rejections. So you obeyed, the taste of blood on your tongue and stars dotting your vision, your pussy burning and inner walls pulsing around his cock as you came again. Suguru groaned, his lovely lips parted and eyes closed.

“One more,” he demanded. “Just… Just one… More.” That word was punctuated with a hard thrust and an especially cruel grind of the vibrator against your overstimulated clit. There was no point in saying no, or even believing it wasn’t possible. He knew more than you did. You didn’t know anything.

With a miserable whine, you came again, although at this point it felt like there was just a long, helpless flow of overstimulation marked with waves of overbearing heat, and then your pussy tightened around his cock and it dragged cruelly against your g-spot, and that was all you could manage before you were tossed back into the mindless daze of agonizing excess.

“Even though it hurts, you’re…” He didn’t finish that breathless thought, although his amused smile went away when his hips suddenly stuttered and he fell forward, his forearm resting by your shoulder.

Mercifully, Suguru shut the vibrator off, letting it fall somewhere to the side, bracing his other arm on the bed next to you as he sought his own end. Your arms and legs fell to the side, slack except for when your muscles spasmed or jerked. Every thrust added to the relentless cycle of too much, especially from this angle, you could feel the way your body worked itself up to come again, responding to his pleasure as if it were your own.

“Geto-sama… Suguru please,” you begged and there was a chance he couldn’t make out that you were attempting to form actual words, but even with your sanity fraying at the edges from his torture, you wanted him to come. You wanted to know there was a reason for your complete unraveling, that you had a real, good purpose, some sort of justification to exist.

Suguru forced your knees all the way up to your chest, pushing his cock as deep as possible as he came, working himself through it with shallow thrusts and these intoxicatingly sexy stuttered moans. Distantly, beyond the hellish, sweaty shell of your shaking body, you had the distinct thought that everything was worth it just to hear him moan like that. Just to be rewarded by his pleasure. Because you loved him. Because you belonged to him. Both of you were flushed hot and disturbingly slick with sweat and it hurt for him to be pushing so deep. Out of all the little cruelties he had subjected you to, the fact that you were unable to hold onto him like you wanted was one of the worst.

When Suguru pulled out, that hurt too. Every part of your body hurt. He left you to fall bonelessly limp onto the bed, rolling around to lay next to you.

In the relative quiet, your ears rang with a tinny discordance, paired with the engine roar of rushing blood. Your tongue was sandpaper in your mouth—little wonder, you had no idea how you had any liquid left in your body—and your limbs hurt from being stuck in the bound position for so long, but you couldn’t say you wanted to do anything to fix those things. As soon as the severity of those discomforts occurred to you, so were they carried away by the lapping tide of exhaustion. You felt like a sponge that had been squeezed dry. That’s probably what you looked like too.

“I didn’t expect it to be so… Difficult to contain myself,” Suguru mused softly. You didn’t respond, marveling at his voice. It was very nice. So soothing and smooth. Perfect, just like every other part of him. “It’s wrong, but necessary. You never learned the right way to live, I have to guide you. Otherwise you could hurt yourself. You could hurt our family.” There was more conviction in those words, like he was trying to argue against a point you hadn’t made.

Even if you were to be unbound, you wouldn’t dare close your legs. You couldn’t feel his cum slipping out, maybe you were too swollen. That would explain the painful heat.

“I wish I didn’t have to make my point like this,” Suguru continued. “But I'll do whatever it takes for you to get it.”

Mute confusion was the only thing you had left—you were barely aware enough to listen to what he was saying, let alone divine any meaning from the words. Your body hurt and you were thirsty and sweaty and tired. You didn’t think anything. You couldn’t do anything. You couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t even confusion, it was just pure exhaustion.

“Ah, you’re a mess,” Suguru said, sitting up. You groaned in disapproval when he started messing with the straps around your thighs, taking them off. Without the harness's support, your legs dropped limp onto the bed. Still, you didn’t move. You couldn’t fathom moving. “Hey,” he chided, “don’t go to sleep.”

You grunted unhappily.

“Will you open your eyes?” Suguru asked, touching your fever-hot cheek. After a second, you did, meeting his gaze with your own dazed, blank stare. His expression was tender, you thought. So kind, so sweet, so gentle. “I need you to listen to me now, hm?”

You made a sound to show that you were listening, looking up at his beautiful face with a marveling sort of adoration. Suguru really was beautiful. It was little wonder so many people thought he was a holy man. He undid the chains keeping your hands and ankles connected, letting your arms flop lifelessly into the sweaty sheets.

“I forgive you,” Suguru told you, his eyes scanning your body slowly, taking in the sweat and the reddish flush and the twitching, trembling of your muscles with some kind of affection. “But, and I need you to remember this,” he continued, his eyes returned to yours, “next time you disobey me, it will be worse.”

Worse? You couldn’t imagine worse. The idea of worse made your eyes sting, panic threatening to crawl back out of the abyss of your exhaustion to send you into a fit of tears.

You blinked and swallowed against your dry throat. “I’ll be… be good, I promise,” you said in a voice that was little more than a hoarse croak.

“Shhh,” Suguru shushed softly, brushing your damp hair off of your sweaty forehead. “Don’t be scared. Everything I do, I do because I love you. You are precious to me, you know that, don’t you?”

Those words worked like ether sweet anesthesia through your head and you believed him, loved him, trusted him. He did this because he loved you, and because you needed to learn. Of course. That made sense even if nothing else did.

#geto suguru #jjk geto #jujutsu kaisen geto #geto suguru x reader #jjk geto x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #my writing #tw.dubcon

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reality-detective · 11 months ago

Text

It’s time for me to have another rant! 👇

Buckle up!!! ⚔️🛡️

The State of America:

I am angry. As an American, I am sick and tired of what this country has become. I do probably curse more than I should, but I am pissed off.

Our schools: Children are being indoctrinated by school teachers about sexual activity rather than things they should be learning about. You know, like civics, math, real history and science? What grown ass adult wants to discuss sexual intercourse with a minor? I’ll tell you, a social deviant fucking pervert. That’s who. I will not expose any child to that madness ever.

Our military: Our military is the weakest it has ever been. I have friends that are still in the military and they cannot wait to get out. Not because of their lack of service to this country, but the lack of leadership. The good ones are tired of getting slammed with “woke” PowerPoints on shit that doesn’t even matter to military readiness. It’s dumb. And our adversaries are laughing at us. I can’t even recommend someone to join the military until it is returned to its rightful place as the strongest military in the world.

Our southern border: The southern border is a dumpster fire. More illegal aliens and fentanyl are pouring through the border at record rates. The saddest part about this is the Democrats are wanting ILLEGALS to vote for any and all elections. Democrats only use their party for votes to continue their reign of power, while their own districts are literal shit-holes. Republicans are not safe from this and they really aren't much better. If they wanted the border shut down they would too. Always remember that Americans being murdered was never enough to shut the border down.

Joe Biden: I will never accept the thought that Joe Biden got 81 million votes. You cannot make me believe that the alleged President of the United States of America got the most votes in American history, then was kicked out from running by his own party. Give me a fucking break.

Kamala Harris: This Indian American woman locked up more black men than I have ever seen in my life. She doesn’t care about black people. Never has and never will. She just wants your vote.

Mainstream Media: These retards have been fed so much propaganda that they actually think Donald Trump will incite a civil war if he doesn’t win the 2024 election. You all have an extra chromosome if you truly believe that. There are some that are just gaslighting but a large portion of the population is too stupid to vote if they can’t decipher this.

Speaking of Donald Trump: This man has been given more bullshit to a public servant that I have ever seen in my life. For crying out loud, it has been over 2 weeks since the Deep State almost took his life and no one has been held truly accountable. They are all behind it until proven otherwise. Imagine if that was the other way around. Democrats would want to put the nation on lockdown like they did during COVID.

National debt: As of today the United States is at $35,000,000,000,000.00 in debt. How irresponsible of adults. I will never be gaslit to send money overseas anymore especially since Americans are struggling to put food on their table. How outrageously treasonous.

And to top all of this off. I am a white male that was in the military and now I'm considered a domestic terrorist by some. How unbelievable is this? The same ones that are backing the Military Industrial Complex. The same “elected leaders” that I served, don’t have our backs when we return home. The military are the ones that uphold and defend the Constitution, not them.

This is not what America should be about. This is not the country I served. Not anymore.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!! 🤔

God Bless America. 🇺🇸

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hrizantemy · 6 months ago

Text

Nesta sat on the couch, the soft fabric of the cushions pressing against her as she relaxed into the quiet of her apartment. A book rested in her lap, its pages worn and comforting, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t have to think about anything else. No past regrets, no expectations from her family or herself. Just the story unfolding in her hands. The words, simple and soothing, wrapped around her like a blanket, offering a temporary escape from the complexity of her thoughts.

Taryn was out, as she often was during the day, working at the shop where she sold various herbal remedies and medications. Nesta had grown used to the quiet solitude in their apartment when Taryn was gone, a time she had come to cherish despite the unease that had once followed her everywhere. There was something healing about it now, a sense of peace she hadn’t thought she’d find in a life that had once been filled with so much turmoil. The apartment, now furnished with the little touches that made it feel more like a home, was a reflection of the changes she had made in herself—small steps, but meaningful ones.

The minutes stretched into hours as Nesta found herself lost in the book, the world outside fading away. It was strange, almost too easy, to slip into this feeling of quiet comfort. She didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to hide from anything or anyone. Her fingers traced the edge of the pages absentmindedly, and for once, there were no painful memories lurking at the corners of her mind. Just the soft, rhythmic sound of the pages turning, the hum of the world outside, and the gentle comfort of her own thoughts.

Taryn wouldn’t be back for hours, and Nesta let herself enjoy the rare, peaceful moment. In the silence, she found a space for herself—no more questions about who she was or what she was supposed to be. Just Nesta, with a book in her lap, breathing deeply and letting the calm fill her completely.

Elia had given her the book a few weeks ago, knowing exactly what Nesta liked. It had been a quiet moment, their lunch break, when Elia had pulled the slim paperback from her bag and handed it over with a grin. “I thought you’d like this,” she had said, her eyes gleaming with the kind of warmth that made Nesta feel like she was being seen in a way she hadn’t been in a long time.

The book was a romance—light, heartfelt, with a touch of wit. Elia had known about Nesta’s penchant for the genre, the way she had always gravitated toward stories of love, loss, and the promise of something better. It was something Nesta didn’t often admit out loud, but Elia had picked up on the little things. The way Nesta’s gaze lingered a bit longer on romantic passages, the way she could get lost in a good love story and forget about everything else for a while. Elia, never one to shy away from gifts that matched her friends’ interests, had found this book and thought it would be perfect for her.

Now, as Nesta sat curled up in her chair, her fingers tracing the edges of the book’s cover, she couldn’t help but feel a wave of gratitude for the thoughtfulness behind it. Elia had known what to give her, something small but meaningful. The book had become more than just a story—it was a reminder that she had people in her life who saw her for who she was, who understood the little things that made her smile. Even if Nesta hadn’t said it aloud, the gesture meant more than she could express.

As her eyes moved over the pages, she thought of Elia again. There was something comforting about their friendship, a quiet understanding between them that Nesta had never thought she’d find. Romance had always been a distant dream for her, something to read about rather than live, but in these small, shared moments with Elia, Taryn, and others, she began to see that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as unworthy of love as she had once thought.

The knock on the door startled Nesta, breaking the quiet peace that had settled over her. Her first instinct was to ignore it, to let it fade into the background of her cozy afternoon. But something nagged at her, a small flicker of curiosity. Elia wasn’t coming over, and Taryn never came home this early, so who could it possibly be?

She set the book down carefully on the couch, a lingering thought about how much she was enjoying it fading as her footsteps took her toward the door. She opened it slowly, the familiar creak of the hinges sounding louder than usual. When she looked up, she froze for a moment, taking in the sight of Feyre standing on the threshold.

Feyre, standing in the snow, her coat pulled tight around her, her expression a mix of determination and hesitation, caught Nesta off guard. She hadn’t expected this—not after the last time they had spoken, not after everything that had happened. A moment of silence passed between them, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of time that had come between them. Nesta felt her chest tighten at the sight of her sister, memories of their shared past flickering at the edges of her mind.

Feyre’s eyes were soft but guarded, as though she wasn’t sure how to approach Nesta anymore. “Can we talk?” she asked, her voice hesitant, almost like a question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.

Nesta stood there for a moment longer, taking in the sight of Feyre before her. The room behind her was quiet, and the weight of the silence seemed to stretch out, hanging heavily between them. She couldn’t remember the last time Feyre had looked at her like this—like she was someone she needed to fix, someone she needed to understand. It felt strange, unsettling in a way she couldn’t quite put into words. But she didn’t turn away. Instead, she nodded once, her voice barely above a whisper. “Come in.”

Feyre hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside, her boots leaving faint impressions on the wooden floor as she entered. The warmth of the room enveloped her, and for a moment, it seemed as though time had rewound, and Feyre was simply visiting her sister like she used to, back when everything was easier, back when she knew exactly where she stood with Nesta.

Nesta closed the door behind her with a soft click, the silence creeping back in as she turned toward her. “You didn’t send a letter in advance,” she said, the words coming out a little sharper than she intended. “I would have prepared something if I’d known you were coming.”

Feyre gave a small, tight smile, her eyes flicking around the modest apartment, taking in the surroundings. The faint scent of coffee lingered in the air, and there was a comfortable clutter to the place—a stark contrast to the perfectly polished homes of the courts. “I didn’t think to,” Feyre said softly, her gaze meeting Nesta’s. “I just… I wanted to see you.”

There was a long pause as Feyre seemed to weigh her next words carefully. It was clear she wanted to say something more, to ease into this conversation that had been a long time coming. But there was an awkwardness between them now, a distance that neither of them had been prepared for.

Nesta’s eyes briefly flicked to the couch, then back to her sister. “Well, you’re here now,” she said, her tone softer than before, but still guarded. “Do you want some tea or something?”

Feyre nodded, taking a deep breath, but her gaze lingered on Nesta, studying her in a way that made Nesta feel exposed. She had no idea what her sister wanted from her, what had brought her here after all this time.

But before either of them could speak again, the silence thickened, and the weight of everything left unsaid settled between them.

Nesta moved toward the small kitchen, the quiet clink of porcelain as she set about preparing tea, her hands moving automatically as she reached for the kettle. She wasn’t sure why, but the act of preparing something familiar, something simple, helped to ground her, if only for a moment. Feyre’s presence was unexpected, unsettling in a way she hadn’t anticipated. It had been too long since they’d spoken—since anything felt normal. She busied herself with the task, the silence between them growing heavier with each passing second.

As she carefully measured the tea leaves, Nesta glanced over her shoulder at her sister, noting the way Feyre was fidgeting. Her fingers were twitching, pulling at the hem of her sleeve, as if she couldn’t find a comfortable place for herself in the room. The nervous energy was palpable, and Nesta couldn’t help but feel the irony of it. Feyre, the High Lady of the Night Court, the one who had once stood so strong and unyielding in the face of the horrors they’d both endured, was now unsure in her presence. It was almost laughable, really.

“What brings you here?” Nesta asked, her voice neutral, though the question had a bite to it. “To what pleasure do I owe this visit?”

Feyre’s eyes flicked up to meet her gaze, and for a moment, Nesta could see the hesitation in her sister’s expression. Feyre opened her mouth, closed it, and then seemed to settle on something. She took a slow step forward, crossing the small room until she was standing closer to Nesta.

“I wanted to apologize,” Feyre finally said, her voice quiet but earnest. She looked down at her hands, which were clasped tightly together as though she were trying to keep herself from unraveling. “For not reaching out after the Solstice. It… it’s been complicated, and I should’ve come sooner. You deserve better than that.”

Nesta’s movements faltered slightly as she poured the hot water into the teapot, the steam rising in soft tendrils. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Apologize for what, exactly? Feyre had done what she thought was best for them—what Nesta had even pushed for at times—but still, the words stung. “Complicated?” Nesta echoed, her voice flat, though there was an edge to it that she hadn’t intended. “I think that’s an understatement.”

Feyre winced, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she stepped closer, her gaze unwavering as she met Nesta’s eyes. “I didn’t know how to come to you after everything,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with guilt. “After everything that happened… after you left, after everything you said to me that day. I didn’t know what to say or if you’d even want to talk to me.”

The air between them thickened with tension, and Nesta’s heart twisted. She didn’t know if she wanted to hear this, but she couldn’t stop herself from listening. Feyre was here now, standing before her, trying to bridge the gap that had formed over so many months of silence. And Nesta? She wasn’t sure if she was ready to open the door again. Too much had happened. Too much was left unsaid.

“You should’ve come,” Nesta said quietly, her fingers tightening around the teapot handle. She wasn’t sure if she was talking about that day or the days that had followed, but it felt like the right thing to say. “But I guess it’s too late for that now.”

Feyre’s expression softened, and she took another step forward, her voice low as she spoke. “It’s never too late. I’m here now, Nesta. I don’t want things to be like this between us. I want to fix it.”

Nesta handed Feyre the cup of tea, her movements almost mechanical as she watched her sister take the steaming cup into her hands. The silence hung thick between them, broken only by the soft clink of porcelain as Feyre set the cup down on the small table by the window. The room felt smaller now, as if the distance between them had suddenly shrunk, and yet it seemed like no amount of space could fill the weight of everything left unsaid.

Feyre let out a slow breath, her fingers wrapped tightly around the warm ceramic as she spoke again, her tone hesitant but firm. “Nesta, I need you to understand that it’s not easy. With everything that’s happened, with the way things went… and with Cassian…” She trailed off for a moment, her gaze dropping to the cup, and Nesta couldn’t help but feel a flicker of irritation rise up in her chest.

Cassian. Always Cassian.

“He’s struggling, Nesta,” Feyre continued, her voice quieter now, as if choosing her words carefully. “He’s been having a tough time, and you… you should see him. You should talk to him. I know you’re angry, but he needs you right now.”

Nesta’s stomach twisted at the mention of Cassian’s name, the familiar mix of anger and resentment surging inside her. The thought of him—of his face, of his voice—sent a rush of heat to her cheeks. She hadn’t seen him since the Solstice, since everything had unraveled. Since that moment when everything between them had felt like it was about to break beyond repair.

“And why exactly is that my problem?” Nesta asked, her voice colder than she intended, but she couldn’t seem to stop it. Her grip tightened around the edge of the counter, and she struggled to keep her composure. “Why should I care about Cassian? Why should I go crawling back to him?”

Feyre flinched, the words striking deeper than she likely expected. There was a moment of quiet before Feyre responded, her eyes meeting Nesta’s with a mix of concern and something else, something softer. “It’s not about crawling back. It’s about understanding that he’s not the same person he was before, Nesta. He’s been hurting too, just like you have. I know it’s hard, but maybe… maybe if you talked to him, you could both heal. You’re both going through things that are tearing you apart, and I just—” Feyre paused, her voice breaking slightly. “I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

Nesta stared at her sister, the familiar knot of frustration twisting in her stomach. She wanted to yell, to demand that Feyre stop making excuses for him, for all of them. They had all failed her in one way or another, and now Feyre was asking her to reach out to the one person who had hurt her the most.

“I don’t need your pity,” Nesta snapped, though the words tasted bitter in her mouth. “I don’t need Cassian, and I don’t need you trying to fix everything for me.”

Feyre’s expression softened, and she took a careful step closer, her voice barely a whisper now. “I’m not trying to fix anything, Nesta. I just… I just want you to know that you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself. Not anymore.”

Nesta took a slow sip of her tea, the warmth of the liquid a small comfort against the cold that had settled deep in her chest. She lowered the cup, her gaze fixed on Feyre with a hardness she couldn’t hide. The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything left unsaid, until Nesta finally broke it.

“Did he care if I was having a tough time?” Nesta’s voice was low but sharp, like a knife. “Did he care when he gifted Morrigan lingerie? Not just this last Solstice, but the one before that too—the one I was forced to attend, you know, the one where I had to sit there and pretend everything was fine just to get my rent money? If I remember correctly, Cassian didn’t seem to care about how I felt then.”

The words landed between them like stones, cold and unyielding. Feyre’s face flushed, the color creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks. She opened her mouth, but no words came out at first, her gaze darting around as if searching for an escape. She looked at Nesta, then down at her cup, visibly struggling with what to say next.

“It wasn’t like that,” Feyre finally whispered, but her voice trembled with the weight of the lie. “Cassian and Morrigan—” She paused, clearly uncomfortable, then tried again, her words more forceful this time. “Their relationship, it’s different. It’s not the same. You have to understand that.”

Nesta tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Different?” she repeated, her voice edged with disbelief. “How, exactly, is it different? Because from where I stand, it looks like he was giving her gifts he should’ve been giving me. It looks like I was nothing more than an afterthought to him, nothing but a pawn in his little circle of friends.”

Her voice grew colder, tinged with a bitterness she hadn’t even known she was capable of until now. The memories of that night, of standing there and watching Cassian so easily slip away from her, had never truly left her.

Feyre opened her mouth again, but Nesta held up a hand, cutting her off before she could continue. “Don’t. Don’t try to explain it away, Feyre. I’m not asking for excuses. I’m asking why. Why was I so easily forgotten? Why was Morrigan more important than me, time and time again?”

Nesta’s voice was thick with the weight of everything she had been holding in for so long. She set her cup down, her fingers trembling, though not from fear—anger, maybe, or exhaustion. She took a breath, her eyes narrowing as she stared at Feyre, the hurt in them unmistakable.

“I’m not angry that Morrigan is a priority,” she said slowly, each word carefully chosen, “I’m angry that they all act like I should just accept it. That they all act like I should be fine with it.” She paused, eyes burning into Feyre’s. “Cassian could gift Morrigan lingerie in front of all of you—show the world how much she means to him—but when it came to me, I only ever got his gift in private. And not just that, no. When I left, when I tried to get away… he followed me.”

Her voice cracked, the emotion she had buried for so long spilling out now, raw and unfettered. “He yelled at me, Feyre. Yelled at me and told me that he didn’t know why you all loved me, that maybe, just maybe, if I I could find it in myself to try harder this year. He said that—right after everything I’d already done. All the work, the pain, the trying, and it was still never enough for him. It was never enough.”

The words hung between them like a suffocating fog. Feyre flinched at the truth, but Nesta wasn’t finished. She couldn’t be. Not yet.

“I’ve been nothing but a damn afterthought in that family,” she continued, her voice trembling, though not with the weakness of the past. No, this was the voice of someone who had suffered enough, who had been silenced for too long. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t see it. I’m tired of pretending that I don’t feel how they all look at me—like I’m something they’re obligated to care about, but not something worth fighting for.”

Nesta’s eyes met Feyre’s, and she could see the shame flickering across her sister’s face. It was a moment of quiet vindication, yet it didn’t fill her with any sense of triumph. The weight of everything was still too much to bear, and the silence stretched between them. Finally, Nesta spoke again, her voice laced with both frustration and resignation.

“All they ever seemed to care about was how Cassian felt,” she said, her words slow and deliberate, the bitterness clear in her tone. “Like, I must’ve hurt him. That’s the excuse they always use, right? He’s the one suffering, he’s the one struggling, and I’m just supposed to understand that—just like everyone else does. None of you ever asked me what I was going through. None of you ever stopped to ask how I was feeling. It was always about him.”

She paused for a moment, biting back the bitter edge that threatened to overtake her. “I tried harder this year,” she continued, the words coming more easily now. “Like he asked. Like you all expected. I got a job. I made friends, people who actually see me for who I am—not as a burden, not as a disappointment. I came to Solstice, didn’t I? Even though it made me feel like I was choking on my own anger, I came. I tried, Feyre. I really tried.”

She looked at her sister then, her eyes fierce yet filled with something vulnerable, something softer than the rage she had been carrying.

Feyre opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She blinked a few times, as if trying to process what Nesta had said. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but desperate.

“They just didn’t understand, Nesta. Cassian is my—he’s my family, and he’s always been there for me. I—he’s part of my life, and he cares about you. He really does. He’s just…” Feyre trailed off, looking helpless, as if she couldn’t quite find the right words.

Nesta’s gaze hardened, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “Mate,” she said, the word feeling like acid on her tongue. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the concept, but the idea that she had to live with it, with him, with all of it, still felt so foreign, so forced.

“Why does that matter so much, Feyre?” Nesta’s voice had a touch of disbelief as she asked. “Why should it matter that some entity decided that we should be paired? An entity I don’t even care about. I didn’t ask to be Cassian’s mate. It wasn’t my choice. It wasn’t something I wanted or ever even thought about before, and now it’s like my whole existence is defined by that one thing. My entire life revolves around him and this bond I didn’t ask for. And yet, here we are.”

She set the teacup down, her fingers shaking slightly as she met Feyre’s gaze. “You can’t keep pretending like everything is fine just because of that bond. Because of him.”

Feyre looked startled, her brow furrowing in confusion. “But you’re mates,” she said, her voice small and uncertain, as though trying to convince herself of something she didn’t understand. “It’s meant to be… it’s more than just… it’s love, Nesta. It’s always been more than just the bond.”

Nesta gave a dry laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’ve researched it,” she said. “It wasn’t hard to do. The Mother, or whoever the hell they say decides it, doesn’t guarantee love, Feyre. It never has. Sometimes it’s about creating powerful offspring—nothing more, nothing less. A pair of warriors, strong and matched in that regard. I know what the books say, what the stories tell us. The bond can be about more, but it doesn’t have to be. And I didn’t sign up for that. I don’t want to be some… breeding tool.”

Feyre’s face went pale, and Nesta could see the shock in her sister’s eyes. She had never considered that angle before. That the bond, the mate bond, could just be a means to an end, an arrangement to create power, to ensure that the offspring would be strong. Something so… clinical.

“Do you…” Feyre’s voice faltered. “Do you really think that’s all it is? That… that you and Cassian are just some… pairing for strength, and nothing more?”

Nesta’s gaze softened just a little as she nodded. “I’m not saying it’s all bad, but it’s not love, Feyre. It never was. And maybe it never will be.”

Nesta’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke, but there was a newfound strength in her words, as though she had finally found the courage to say them aloud. “I’m happy now,” she said, her gaze steady as she met Feyre’s eyes. “Not with Cassian. Not anymore.”

She leaned back slightly, as if taking a moment to settle the words in her chest, making sure they were true. “Taryn makes me happy. She doesn’t make me feel like I’m something to be fixed, or something that needs to be conquered. With Cassian, it was always about me being a challenge. A battle. A thing to break down and rebuild. I had to constantly be on guard, watching my every move, always wondering if I was good enough, strong enough, if I could measure up to whatever idea he had of me in his head.”

A small sigh left her lips, and she looked away for a moment, her hand lightly gripping the edge of the table. “With Taryn, I don’t feel that way. There’s no tension, no feeling like I have to fight for my worth. She accepts me, as I am, without needing to change anything. And that… that’s what I’ve always wanted. To be me, not some project or puzzle to solve.”

Her voice softened, a warmth creeping into her words. “I don’t need to be anything more for Taryn. I don’t need to prove myself. I don’t feel like I’m being constantly tested, or that I’m being judged. With her, I feel safe. And for the first time in a long time, I can actually breathe.”

Nesta paused for a beat, watching as Feyre processed her words. She had never truly said this to anyone, not even Taryn. But now, with Feyre in front of her, it felt right to finally speak the truth. “I’m not saying that Cassian doesn’t matter, or that what we had didn’t count. But I’ve realized that what I want, what I deserve… it’s not the way he sees me. It’s not about the bond or the expectations. It’s about being loved for who I am.”

Nesta’s gaze softened, but there was a steely edge to her voice as she spoke again, her words measured, deliberate. “I have no doubt that Cassian could love me, in his way,” she said, her tone thick with complexity. “But not as me. Not as Nesta.”

She leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “He loves Feyre’s sister, a member of this court, his mate—those things. But not me, not as I am. He doesn’t love me for the person I am, not the way Taryn does. He loves the idea of me, the parts of me that fit into his world, the pieces that belong to him. He’s attached to the image of what I should be, what they all expect me to be.”

She paused, her eyes narrowing as the words weighed heavily on her. “But when it’s just me, when it’s just Nesta, he doesn’t see me. He sees someone he has to fix, someone he can mold, someone to make better, someone to claim.” Her voice dropped, quieter now, almost reflective. “And I’m tired of that. Tired of feeling like I’m not enough, no matter what I do or how hard I try to be something that fits in his world.”

Feyre fell quiet for a long moment, her eyes drifting down to the teacup in her hands. It seemed as though she was grappling with something, trying to piece together the weight of Nesta’s words, perhaps realizing the depth of what her sister had been holding back for so long. There was a softness in her expression now, something akin to understanding, but it wasn’t immediate. It took her time before she finally spoke again, her voice hesitant, but genuine.

“Okay,” she said, her voice small but steady. “If that’s what you want… I understand.” She looked up then, meeting Nesta’s gaze with a sincerity that was almost rare between them. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to meet Taryn. Officially, I mean.” Feyre’s words were careful, as though testing the waters, but there was no doubt in the sincerity behind them. “Solstice… it hadn’t been the best, I know. I just didn’t know how to bridge the gap between us.” She paused, taking a deep breath, her voice softer now. “But to be honest, I’ve always wanted you to be happy. And if that’s not with Cassian… then that’s okay.”

Feyre’s gaze softened even more, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. “You’re your own person, Nesta. You’re fully capable of making your own choices. And I trust you to do what’s best for you.” There was no judgment now, no expectations—just acceptance, the kind that Nesta had longed for but hadn’t realized she needed until now.

Nesta blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the weight of Feyre’s words. Her eyes searched Feyre’s face, trying to read the subtle shift in her sister’s demeanor, the change in the way she was looking at her. She hadn’t expected Feyre to say any of this—certainly not with the kind of conviction that was now evident in her voice.

“What about your family?” Nesta asked, her voice quiet, the question carrying a mixture of hope and uncertainty. She had always assumed that family—her family—would be the thing that held everything together. But Feyre’s gaze hardened as she took a deep breath, as if ready to let go of something that had been weighing on her for a long time.

“They don’t get to decide what I do anymore,” Feyre said, her voice firm. “They don’t get to decide what makes me happy, or who I love, or who I choose to be around.” Her words were laced with a bitterness that Nesta had never quite heard from her before. Feyre shifted slightly in her seat, her hands tightening around her teacup. “I want to get to know Taryn, Nesta. I want to understand the person who makes you happy. But I’ve been selfish, trying to fit everything into this neat little box, trying to make you fit what I wanted you to be in our family.”

Feyre’s eyes softened for a moment, as though she were seeing the situation from a new angle. “I wanted to have this picture-perfect family with all of us, but I think… I think I was the one who didn’t see it. I was the one who thought it could be what it used to be, but it never was, not really. And that’s my fault. I didn’t set boundaries, and I let everyone—including myself—interfere with your choices for far too long.” She paused, her expression shifting into one of deep reflection. “And when I first came here, I was angry. So angry at you. At everything that happened—the cabin, the way things turned out between us. I wanted you to feel what I felt, to understand what I had gone through, but I never stopped to think about what you needed.”

Her gaze turned back to Nesta then, softer but filled with a quiet remorse. “I should have listened to you. I should have seen you for who you were, instead of expecting you to be something else. But I’m starting to see now, Nesta. And I’m sorry.”

Nesta didn’t know why the simple words, I’m sorry, hit her harder than she had anticipated. It was just two words, but they carried the weight of everything Feyre had kept buried. Her throat tightened as if something inside of her—something fragile and long dormant—had finally stirred. Maybe she had been waiting for it, for the apology, the acknowledgment that her feelings, her choices, and her pain were real, even if it took this long for it to come.

She felt her chest tighten, but she didn’t fight it. Instead, Nesta took a slow breath and nodded, her gaze softening as she looked at Feyre. “I forgive you,” she said, her voice steady but thick with emotion. It surprised her how much those words meant—how much it mattered to hear herself say them. She realized then how heavy the weight of resentment had been, how long she’d carried it in silence, and how much lighter she felt now that she had let it go.

Feyre’s eyes softened, her expression sincere. “And I forgive you, too,” she said, her voice quieter now. There was something in her gaze that seemed to settle, as if a part of her, too, was letting go of a burden she hadn’t realized she was still carrying. “I’ve been holding onto so much, and sometimes I forget that you’re your own person, with your own journey, just like I am with mine. But we’ll get there, Nesta. We’ll figure it out.”

For a brief moment, the air between them seemed to shift, and a small crack appeared in the wall Nesta had so carefully built around herself. It was a crack that had always been there, a hidden fissure that only needed the right words, the right gesture, to begin to heal.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites @viajandopelomar

#anti acosf #anti acotar #anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #nesta archeron deserves better #pro nesta #anti azriel #anti cassian #anti amren #anti morrigan #anti nessian #sapphic nesta #my tag ideas are running out send inspiration

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ofbreathandflame-archive · 9 months ago

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i think its weird that the story has allll of this time to explore the archeron sister dynamics but never does. there's a good six years of time that goes by before the real rift between the sister starts (when feyre goes hunting). we know that papa archeron favored feyre and elain - why doesn't the story delved into what that may have felt like for nesta to lose her mother and then be placed in a dynamic where she isn't liked anymore. and then to add everything on top, they're poor, they've lost their status, everything that gave nesta value doens't exist anymore. and not only that - she's lost her only source of validation. the kind of cool exploration of jealousy and girlhood. that's a huge shift for all of the girls.

or how does feyre factor into this new dynamic. we can assume that for her formative years, she was neglected or isolated from her sisters. and while that allows freedom, in some sense, it breeds loneliness, and resentment. or even an eagerness to please. exploring how feyre may subconsciously looks for validation through martyrdom would be very interesting. it’s something i felt like was at least present on a surface level. the hunting doesn’t even have to be about love for her sisters, it could have been an aha moment; a moment where feyre realizes how she can establish value for herself in that household. think about it: no one ever saw feyre, no one ever saw her as valuable, it would make sense if the story played into the absurdity of feyre’s hunting. like it makes no sense logically to us as readers, but to feyre as a character it’s the only way she feels she can make her family actually see her. this could even develop into creating the idea that feyre's love language is through acts (which I think is actually something substantiated in the text). if we were to continue onto

and even the 'favoritism' that's shown toward feyre and elain is something to be explored bc its not something the sister's actually 'benefit' from. it just exists. its not like feyre gets extra meals bc papa archeron may like her better, and its not like elain benefits from that dynamic as well. it just obvious he's very offput by nesta - that he viewed nesta oftentimes as a woman instead of a little girl.

and then what happens with nesta, feyre, and elain have to grapple with the ways they’ve been abused.

during feyre’s formative years, she wouldn’t have received the physical abuse and harassment that nesta received from mother and grandmother so her understanding of nesta’s dynamic with their mother would have been more romantic. feyre may associate any type of attention as positive due to the result of her own neglect by her mother. so she would’ve gone on not understanding nesta’s turmoil.

on the flipside nesta would have romanticized feyre’s “freedom.” and grown jealous of the kind of free-spirited person feyre she perceives feyre to be bc of such. there is no fear of not following the rules, of being perfect, of having to sacrifice your happiness for a good match. and while some of this is true for feyre, it’s not necessarily positive. it doesn’t negate that feyre’s neglect was just abuse too. the book could even explore the jealousy nesta feels at not being to be ‘master of her own fate.’ and how her childhood made mental roadblocks that make it hard to just march to the beat of your own drum.

these are conflicts that can (1) still reiterate the theme of abuse and abusive family relationships. (2) this reads into an actual feminist lens in which these women are complex characters dealing with a complex sitituation. the expectation is not that nesta, feyre, and elain remain these morally good paragons of virtuousness.

we have elain - who arguably operates one of the most interesting portions of the sisterly dynamic by being the middle sister. i think that could breed a character that’s much more organically perceptive to the world around her. i even think the story attempts this initially at the end of tar before there was a hard reset in maf. think about it - she’s could be placed in situations that hallmark that gradual loss of self in this dynamic; how does elain feel about the arguments between feyre and nesta? perhaps she follows nesta bc there is jealousy? resentment? or does she envy feyre’s ability to take charge of her own life? i would have it where elain has to grapple with these false perceptions of her sister and how she can find her own spine. we could even argue that maybe the sisters (feyre and nesta) are tangibly holding her back (not just implied) and have the sisters deal with how they contribute to elain's initial lack of a spine.

the story could play it in so many directions. mutual jealousy between all three sisters, all envious of one another bc of how isolated they were to each other. if the story wanted to, it could even still play into the idea of an abusive nesta with this dynamic - flesh out her abuse in ways that still (1) emphasize the tragedy of these women and (2) establish that feyre is a victim in this scenario (see: azula). if the story moved away from moralization and just told a story the existence of an abusive nesta would not be this controversial (considering all of the male leads are kind of abusive). i also think the exploration of a tangibly abusive nesta could factor in a broad thematic discussions around abuse.

#anti sjm #anti sjm: feyre archeron #anti acomaf #anti acosf #anti feyre #anti feysand #anti rhysand #anti sjm: pro nesta #anti sjm: nesta archeron #anti sjm: pro feyre #anti sjm: pro elain archeron #anti acotar #queue0102924

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huellitaa · 9 months ago

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the world is yours, literally 💭🎀🧁

so if you've been on this side of tumblr or any girly self improvement etc. side of social media, there's a high chance you've discovered the statement "you are the creator of your own reality" or "the world is yours" or something along those lines at some point. it sounds so far fetched when you first hear it, without any thought going into its true meaning, but the reason this is used so much is because it is true.

we are our lives. you are the world around you. everything in our lives is intrinsically entwined in ways we can't explain and the biggest connection out of all of them is us and life. it sounds obvious and self explanatory, sure, but when you think of it on a deeper level and dig into the complexity of the notion, like most things, you'll find it holds a lot stronger of a stance in your life.

have you ever noticed how so many metaphors for your life and bettering yourself reference and relate to nature and the world? "treat urself like garbage and the flies will come”, “water your own garden before anyone else’s”, “the darker the night, the brighter the stars”, “needing good roots to grow", they all relate to the sun and the sky and the sea and the world and the ground we stand on. they all relate to earth.

have you ever noticed how when people free themselves from bad situations, their reality and their world around them seems to get better too? how it seems to shift along with them?

because we are our world. every building we've built, every concept we've invented, every life we've created and every life we've lost, everything on this earth down to the last blade of grass was once nothing, but once we began to discover and create and flourish and bloom (see, the analogy still stands even there), the world grew along with us, and still is every day.

in truth, the world is in no set way, shape or form. it is not a singular entity. that's why your life can be remade and reshaped so easily within the blink of an eye (but that's for another time) because the world you know is solely your reality. that's the reason everybody has a different perception of you just as you do them, the reason why we have separate interests, conflicting outlooks, the list goes on.

the more we grow, so does our world, and our reality. you've seen how many people have changed and grown and gotten happier and healthier and only kept on going when they finally began to step up and better themselves, how their world changed along with them. because us and the world are one and the same.

the most important thing i'd like you to ask yourself is how do you treat the world? how do you view the world? and how do you treat and view yourself? are there any particular differences? similarities? anything that stands out? what is the world to you?

all my love... 💬🎀🫶🏻💗

#hello!!!! rant post today!!!!!#i remember having a surge of inspiration and writing this all in one sitting at my desk #and i went back to go and edit it at the time im writing this to finish it up #and i realised i was on such a rampage id already written pretty much everything i needed 😭#inspired bee is a force to be reckoned with guys.#anyway this is just one of my personal beliefs but i think you guys should know ab it too #i think this could potentially be very helpful to people just as a reminder #but i love u #have a good day bb #<3 #it girlism ୨𖹭୧ #girlblogging #it girl #wonyoungism #girlhood #pink pilates princess #girly tumblr #this is what makes us girls #girly stuff #girlcore #girlworld #girl talk #girl therapy #girl code #im just a girl #this is a girlblog #girl thoughts #girl things #hyperfemininity #it girl energy

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ginxyy · 9 months ago

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lollapalooza and Denim

- Denim is always a good idea. Even more so when its on a man called Minghao

The lights dimmed in the vast expanse of the Lollapalooza stage, casting a vibrant ambiance that seemed almost otherworldly. The last notes of the concert echoed in the air, but my heart was still racing, thrumming to the rhythm of every song Minghao and the other members of Seventeen had performed that night. I had come to support Vernon, my boyfriend and Minghao’s longtime friend, but as I watched the dazzling display of talent unfold before me, there was only one person I could see Minghao.

He was a vision on stage, drenched in the glow of the spotlights, his denim ensemble hugging every sculpted curve of his body just right. The way his slicked-back blonde hair caught the light made him look almost ethereal, a celestial being moving effortlessly across the stage. Each fluid dance move, every powerful note sung was a declaration of passion, one that sent shivers down my spine.

But it wasn't just his talent that entranced me; it was the electricity that seemed to pulse between us. Minghao had always held a magnetic allure, one that danced on the edges of our friendship.

A connection that had grown deeper and more complex over time. I could feel it intensifying under the layers of the music and the screams of the adoring crowd, wrapping around us like an invisible thread, pulling us closer together, even as I stood there, hands intertwined with Vernon’s, my heart heavy with a mix of emotion.

As the concert came to an end, the audience erupted into applause, the sound thundering like waves crashing against the shore. My eyes sought out Minghao, and once he caught my gaze, a sly smile broke across his face, igniting a fire deep within me. He beckoned me with a subtle tilt of his head, a silent invitation that sent my heart racing. I knew I shouldn’t respond, that I should remain rooted to the spot beside Vernon, but the allure of Minghao was impossible to resist.

After the final bow, I felt an irresistible pull, and before I knew it, I was slipping away from Vernon’s side. The thumping beat of my heart drowned out the world around me as I navigated through the crowd, my instinct guiding me toward the back exit where I found Minghao waiting, his breath heavy and cheeks flushed from the performance.

“Hey,” he murmured, excitement glimmering in those dark, expressive eyes.

“Hey,” I replied, a shiver crawling up my spine at the intimacy of the moment, the closeness that hung in the air between us.

“You were amazing tonight,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. I was almost entranced by him, caught in a web of emotion that spun thick and sticky around both of us.

His smile widened, the corners of his mouth lifting, revealing a confidence that was both charming and intoxicating. “You always say that, but tonight felt different,” he admitted, stepping slightly closer. There was an urgency in his tone, a kind of desperation that made every nerve in my body sing. I was hyper-aware of the warmth radiating from him, an electric connection sparking between us.

It was a dance of glances, stolen moments, and lingering touches. My heart fluttered with guilt and fire, knowing that I should be thinking of Vernon, yet all I could focus on was the energy that had always been so palpable between Minghao and me. There was an intensity in those moments, a heat that burned bright enough to set the world aflame, and in that instant, I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in him.

“Let's get out of here,” Minghao said suddenly, breaking me from my reverie as he grabbed my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to pull away, to remember who I was with, but my heart raced with rebellion, the draw to Minghao too powerful to ignore. So, I let him lead me.

We found a quiet spot away from the chaos, a small alcove that felt like our own hidden world, away from the watchful eyes of fans and friends. The sound of the music faded into a thrumming background hum as we stood there, close enough that I could feel the heat emanating from him, my stomach twisting with uncontrollable longing. There was an unsaid understanding between us, heavy with the weight of what we both felt but couldn’t fully articulate.

“Minghao…” I started, but the words twisted in my throat, stuck and tangled with the conflicting emotions flooding my mind.

He took a step closer, his face mere inches from mine, the intensity of his gaze pulling me in like a moth to a flame. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about this for so long.” His voice was low and serious, causing a ripple of excitement to run through me. “There’s always been something between us. You know that, right?”

I nodded, my breath catching in my throat. The truth hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. It felt like stepping onto the edge of a cliff, the thrill of the leap overshadowed only by the fear of the fall. Minghao brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and the softness of his touch sent shivers cascading down my spine.

“I don’t want to come between you and Vernon,” he continued, his voice steadying despite the tumult of emotions swirling around us.

“Neither do I,” I confessed, my voice tremulous. “But when I’m with you…” The sentence hung unfinished, as the weight of my feelings pressed against my chest, demanding to be acknowledged.

He closed the distance between us, his breath ghosting over my lips. “But when you’re with me…” he mirrored my thought, and our gazes locked in a moment charged with unsaid possibilities.

In that instant, surrounded by the afterglow of music and the lingering scent of sweat and excitement, the world outside faded to a whisper. All that mattered was the thrum of my heart and the way his eyes searched mine, catching fire with an intensity that begged us to act.

With that small, insistent gravity, everything shifted. Our hands found each other again, fingers intertwining in a desperate embrace as unspoken words exploded between us. Without thinking, I leaned forward, caught in the undertow of our connection, the barrier of guilt falling away like fragile glass.

Our lips met, soft and tentative at first, but then as if all the pent-up longing collapsed into that one moment a fire ignited, fierce and undeniable.

With every brush of Minghao’s lips against mine, I felt the war between my heart and mind fizzle out, consumed by the passion that enveloped us. My heart raced. The world was a blur outside our embrace, the concert fading into a distant memory as I sank into the kiss, wanting only to lose myself entirely in him, at least for this fleeting moment in time.

But even as my body succumbed to the heat of the moment, a quiet voice nagged at the back of my mind. I was still holding onto a thread of reality a life with Vernon and the warmth of his affection. I dreaded what this would mean, the chaos that this moment of passion would bring. But Minghao felt like a different kind of love, uncharted waters that stirred a kind of desire I hadn't known I was searching for.

As we pulled apart, breathless and slightly dazed, I looked into his eyes, a mix of elation and angst swirling within me. I was standing on the precipice of something beautiful and terrifying all at once a moment that buzzed with potential, a dangerous love that beckoned me closer.

The air between us hung thick with tension, the taste of Minghao’s lips still lingering on mine. His eyes bore into me, dark and consuming, pulling me deeper into a vortex of desire and confusion. I had never felt anything like this before this overwhelming attraction that threatened to unravel everything I had built with Vernon. My heart pounded in my chest, an erratic drumbeat that matched the intensity of Minghao’s gaze.

For a moment, neither of us moved, the world outside reduced to a hazy blur as if we were suspended in time, trapped in this secret corner of the universe where nothing else mattered. The sharp scent of sweat and the fading echo of the crowd filled the air, but my senses were entirely attuned to him Minghao. His presence consumed me, like wildfire, spreading through every nerve in my body, burning away any rational thought. The guilt I had felt moments ago flickered like a dying ember, overwhelmed by the raw magnetism between us.

I could still feel the ghost of his lips on mine, soft yet demanding, as though he had been waiting for this moment as long as I had. The electricity that had sparked between us on stage now seemed to hum through the air around us, making it difficult to think of anything other than the way his touch had sent shivers down my spine.

“Minghao…” I whispered again, the weight of his name heavy on my tongue, filled with all the questions I couldn’t bring myself to ask. What were we doing? How could I face Vernon after this? But even as those thoughts tried to take root, I found myself stepping closer to him, pulled by a force I couldn’t resist.

His breath hitched slightly, his eyes flickering with an emotion I couldn’t quite place desire, yes, but also something deeper, something dangerous. His hand, still warm from the stage lights and the intensity of his performance, slid slowly up my arm, tracing a path of fire along my skin. I trembled under his touch, my body betraying me even as my mind screamed at me to stop.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed, his voice low and rough, vibrating with a hunger that matched my own. His words struck me like a bolt of lightning, sending a rush of heat through me. I had always known there was something between us, a connection that went beyond friendship, but hearing him say it aloud made it real in a way I hadn’t been prepared for.

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Minghao… we can’t…” The words felt hollow even as I said them, my voice faltering under the weight of the moment.

“Can’t we?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. His breath was warm against my skin, and every inch of me ached with the need to be closer to him, to feel the full weight of his body pressed against mine. The logic that had been desperately trying to keep me tethered to reality was slipping away, dissolving into the overwhelming sensation of him, of us.

I gasped softly as his hand found the small of my back, pulling me against him, the heat between us flaring like a flame stoked by desire. The soft material of his denim jacket rubbed against my skin, and I could feel every inch of himthe hard lines of his chest, the rapid rise and fall of his breath. My hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, clutching at the fabric as though it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

He tilted his head, his lips grazing my jawline, igniting sparks of pleasure that rippled through me. Every touch, every brush of his skin against mine, made it harder to think, harder to remember why this was wrong. I was losing myself in him, in the way he made me feel alive, electrified, like I was on the edge of something thrilling and dangerous.

His lips moved to my neck, pressing a trail of soft, burning kisses that left me breathless. I let out a soft moan, the sound of it swallowed by the hum of the distant crowd, but Minghao heard it felt it. His grip on me tightened, and I could feel his restraint beginning to fray, unraveling as quickly as my own resolve.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against my skin, his voice a strained plea, as though he was fighting his own battle. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

But I couldn’t. I didn’t want him to stop. My silence spoke louder than words, and he must have heard my unspoken answer because the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine again, fiercer this time, more desperate. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty just raw, unfiltered desire. I kissed him back with the same intensity, pouring everything I felt into that kiss, as though it was the only way to make sense of the chaos swirling inside me.

His hands roamed my body, exploring the curves and planes with a kind of reverence that made my heart race even faster. He pulled me closer, and I could feel the heat of him seeping through his clothes, melding with mine. It was intoxicating the way he touched me, the way he made me feel like I was the only person in the world that mattered in that moment. Every kiss, every caress, made the line between right and wrong blur until it didn’t exist at all.

But then, as if the universe was intent on reminding me of the consequences, a voice broke through the fog of desire.

“Hey… what the hell is going on?”

I froze, my heart dropping into my stomach. Minghao pulled back, his expression shifting from one of pure desire to something darker, more guarded. I turned slowly, dread pooling in my chest, and my breath hitched in my throat when I saw him joshua, standing just a few feet away, his eyes wide with shock and something else… hurt.

His gaze darted between Minghao and me, the confusion clear in his expression. He had seen us. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, the weight of what we had just done crashing down on me with brutal force. My mind raced, a thousand excuses and explanations swirling in a frantic whirlwind, but none of them made it past my lips.

“Joshua…” I stammered, my voice barely audible, but I had no idea what to say. What could I say?

Joshua’s eyes narrowed, a mixture of disbelief and betrayal flashing across his face. “What are you doing? Does Vernon know about this?”

The mention of Vernon’s name felt like a dagger to the heart, twisting painfully as the reality of what I had done began to settle in. I had kissed Minghao. I had let myself get carried away by the pull between us, but Vernon… he was still out there, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind the scenes.

“No, he doesn’t,” Minghao said, his voice calm but edged with something I couldn’t quite place. He took a step forward, his posture protective, as if he was ready to shield me from the fallout. “And it’s better if it stays that way.”

Joshua’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. “Are you serious? Minghao, this is Vernon we’re talking about. He’s your friend.”

“I know that,” Minghao snapped, his tone harsher than I’d ever heard it. “You think I don’t know what this means?”

Joshua shook his head, frustration written all over his face. “Then why are you doing this? Why would you risk everything for… for a moment?”

Minghao’s expression softened, and for a brief second, his gaze flickered to me, filled with the same intensity that had ignited everything between us. “Because it’s not just a moment, Josh. It’s more than that.”

Joshua scoffed, his disbelief palpable. “More? Minghao, you’re playing with fire, and you’re going to get burned. Both of you.”

I stood there, trapped between the two of them, the weight of my guilt and the gravity of the situation pressing down on me like a heavy stone. My mind was spinning, my emotions a tangled mess of regret, desire, and fear. Joshua was right. This was dangerous. What had I done?

“Minghao…” I began, my voice trembling, but I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. I didn’t know what to do.

Minghao’s hand found mine, squeezing gently as if to reassure me, but it only made the knot of anxiety in my chest tighten. I couldn’t ignore the gravity of what had just happened, the implications it had for all of us for me, for Minghao, and especially for Vernon.

Joshua shook his head again, taking a step back as though the sight of us together was too much to bear. “You need to figure this out,” he said, his voice low and filled with disappointment. “But I’m telling you now, this isn’t going to end well.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving us standing there in the aftermath of our impulsive, reckless actions. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of Joshua’s words hanging in the air like an impending storm.

I pulled my hand from Minghao’s, stepping back, my breath shaky as I tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions crashing through me. “This was a mistake,” I whispered, though my heart ached as I said the words.

Minghao’s eyes darkened, hurt flickering across his face, but he didn’t argue. He simply nodded, the tension between us still thick, still simmering just beneath the surface.

But I knew Joshua was right. This wasn’t going to end well.

Minghao’s eyes bore into mine, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the tension thickened between us. Joshua’s departure should have brought clarity, but instead, it ignited something more primal within both of us a shared understanding that this moment, however forbidden, wasn’t over. The gravity of what had just happened hung in the air, but neither of us was ready to acknowledge it. Not yet.

The pulse of our shared desire was undeniable, even with the weight of guilt pressing down on me. I could feel it the way my body was still drawn to him, the fire between us refusing to fizzle out despite the storm of emotions swirling in my mind. My gaze drifted back to Minghao, who was watching me with a look that sent a shiver down my spine, filled with longing and intensity.

His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he took a step toward me, the air crackling with tension. The dim lighting of the alcove cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharpness of his features. His expression was conflicted, but his eyes were dark, hungry, as if he was waging a war between what he knew was right and the undeniable pull he felt toward me. The restraint he had shown earlier was beginning to fray.

“I don’t want this to end,” he said, his voice low and rough, like he was holding himself back by a thread.

My breath hitched, and my heart raced as the weight of his words crashed into me. Every logical thought screamed at me to pull away, to put distance between us, but my body betrayed me. I wanted him, craved the touch of his lips on mine again, needed the way he made me feel like no one else ever had. Even with Joshua’s warning ringing in my ears, I couldn’t stop the flood of emotions coursing through me.

Before I could say anything, Minghao’s hands were on me, gripping my waist firmly as he backed me up against the cold wall of the alcove. The hard surface met my back with a soft thud, sending a jolt through me that only heightened my awareness of how close he was. His body pressed against mine, and I could feel every inch of him solid, warm, and intoxicating. The heat radiating from him was almost unbearable, every nerve in my body on high alert.

“Minghao”.. I started, but my voice broke off as his lips crashed against mine, cutting off any protest I might have had. His kiss was desperate, filled with a kind of raw intensity that took my breath away. There was nothing gentle about it, nothing tentative just pure, unfiltered need. My hands instinctively flew to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if I could anchor myself to him and make sense of the chaos inside me.

His lips moved against mine with a kind of urgency that matched the rapid pounding of my heart, and I could feel the way his body trembled slightly, like he was holding back from completely losing control. But I didn’t want him to hold back. I wanted him, needed him, in a way that both thrilled and terrified me.

I gasped as he broke the kiss, only to trail his lips down my jawline, leaving a burning path in their wake. His breath was hot against my skin, and my head tipped back involuntarily, exposing the column of my neck to him. Minghao didn’t hesitate. His mouth latched onto the sensitive skin just below my ear, and I let out a soft moan as the sensation rippled through me, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.

He sucked gently at first, but then his lips tightened around the delicate skin, the pressure intensifying as he left a mark—his mark. The realization that he was claiming me, branding me as his in that moment, sent a thrill of excitement through me that I couldn’t suppress. My fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him on, silently begging him for more.

“Minghao, please…” I breathed, my voice barely more than a whisper. I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for, but I knew I needed more of him, needed to feel the full weight of his desire for me.

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze dark and smoldering with a mix of emotions I couldn’t fully decipher. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “I’ve wanted this for so long… to feel you like this… to be this close.”

His words sent a shiver through me, my entire body humming with the intensity of the moment. There was something in the way he spoke, in the desperation that laced his voice, that told me this was more than just physical for him. This was something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

I reached up, threading my fingers through his hair, which had become slightly disheveled from the heat of the moment. “I’ve wanted this too,” I confessed, my voice trembling with the weight of the truth. “I’ve tried to deny it, but… I can’t anymore.”

Minghao groaned softly at my admission, and before I could say anything else, his lips were on mine again, kissing me with even more urgency than before. His hands roamed my body, sliding down my waist and over the curve of my hips, pulling me impossibly closer. The rough texture of the wall behind me contrasted sharply with the heat of his body pressed against mine, and it only heightened the sensation, making everything feel even more intense.

His lips left mine again, trailing down the side of my neck, and I felt the unmistakable sting of his teeth grazing my skin. My breath caught in my throat as he bit down gently, leaving another mark, and then soothed the spot with his tongue. The mix of pain and pleasure was intoxicating, sending waves of heat coursing through me. I could feel his need for me in every touch, every kiss, and it matched my own.

“Minghao…” I breathed, my voice shaking with a mixture of desire and anticipation. My hands slid down his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, the heat of his skin seeping through the fabric. I needed to feel more of him, needed to drown in this moment with him.

His mouth moved lower, sucking at the hollow of my throat before trailing down to the exposed skin just above the neckline of my shirt. He kissed and nipped at the sensitive flesh there, his hands gripping my waist as if he was afraid I might slip away. But I wasn’t going anywhere. I was as lost in this as he was, consumed by the fire that had ignited between us.

His hands slid up my sides, brushing against the hem of my shirt, and I gasped as his fingers grazed the bare skin of my stomach. Every touch sent a spark of electricity through me, making it harder to think, harder to focus on anything but the way his hands felt on my body.

“I need you,” he whispered against my skin, his voice low and rough with want. “I need to feel you… all of you.”

The intensity of his words made my heart race even faster, and I couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through me at the thought of what he was asking for. I knew I shouldn’t want this, knew I was crossing a line I couldn’t uncross, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. The need for him was overwhelming, consuming every rational thought until all that was left was the primal desire to be as close to him as possible.

Without thinking, I tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head in one swift motion. Minghao let out a soft grunt as the fabric slid over his skin, and then he was back on me, his lips finding mine again in a kiss that was hot and demanding. His bare chest pressed against mine, the heat of his skin almost too much to bear, but I craved it craved the way his body felt against mine, the way his touch sent shivers of pleasure through me.

His hands roamed my body with newfound urgency, sliding under my shirt and skimming over my bare skin. The feel of his fingers on my flesh was electric, sending waves of heat coursing through me. I gasped against his lips as he tugged my shirt up, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over my head and toss it aside. The cool air hit my exposed skin, but the warmth of his body pressed against mine made up for it, and I shivered at the sensation of his bare chest against me.

Minghao’s lips moved down to my collarbone, kissing and sucking at the skin there, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. Each one sent a thrill of pleasure through me, making me arch into him, desperate for more. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer, and I could feel the hard line of his body pressing against mine, the heat between us almost unbearable.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with need. “I want to taste every inch of you… make you mine.”

His words sent a shiver of anticipation through me, and I moaned softly as his lips continued their path down my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands slid down to my waist, and I could feel his fingers trembling slightly as he hooked them under the waistband of my pants, tugging them down just enough to expose the skin of my hips.

“Minghao,” I gasped, my hands tangling in his hair as I pulled him closer, urging him on. Every touch, every kiss, made it harder to think, harder to remember that there were

Minghao’s hands gripped my hips with a hunger that mirrored the fire burning inside me. His breath was hot against my neck as his lips continued their assault, leaving a trail of heat and desire that made my entire body tremble. The cool surface of the wall pressed against my back, but I barely registered it as Minghao’s body closed in on mine, pushing me harder against the unyielding stone.

His fingers dug into my waist as he pulled me closer, his mouth moving lower, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the curve of my shoulder and down to the soft skin just above my collarbone. I could feel his breath hitch as he kissed me, the tension in his body palpable as if he was fighting to control the overwhelming need that pulsed between us.

I gasped when his teeth grazed my skin, followed by the warm wetness of his tongue as he soothed the bite. The contrast of sensations made me shudder, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him. I was completely lost in the moment, every rational thought drowned out by the intensity of my desire for him.

“Minghao…” I whispered his name, my voice shaky with the weight of everything I was feeling, but I couldn’t find the words to express what was happening inside me. I had never wanted someone so fiercely, so completely, and the way he was looking at me—like I was the only thing that mattered—only made it harder to think about anything else.

His hands slid up my sides, fingers tracing the lines of my ribs before settling just beneath my bra. The heat of his touch seared through me, sending jolts of electricity straight to my core. My breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just above my chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, each word dripping with a kind of raw need that made my heart race. His gaze flickered up to meet mine, dark and intense, and in that moment, I could see everything he was holding back, every ounce of restraint hanging by a thread.

I was powerless against the pull of him, my body responding to his touch with a kind of desperation I had never felt before. I arched into him, my hands sliding down his back, feeling the taut muscles shift beneath his skin as I pulled him closer. The heat between us was overwhelming, making it hard to breathe, but I didn’t care. I wanted him, needed him, more than I had ever needed anything in my life.

His lips found mine again, this time with more urgency, more desperation. The kiss was hot and messy, filled with the kind of longing that had been building between us for far too long. I could feel the tension in his body, the way his hands trembled slightly as they roamed over my skin, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Minghao, please,” I gasped against his lips, my voice barely more than a whisper, but I knew he heard me. My fingers gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, all of him. Every inch of my skin burned with the need for more, my mind racing with the intensity of what was happening.

His hands moved with newfound urgency, sliding beneath the fabric of my bra and palming my breast, his touch sending a shockwave of pleasure through me that made me gasp. His thumb grazed over my hardened nipple, and I arched into him, a soft moan escaping my lips as the sensation rippled through me.

The way he touched me, with such reverence and desire, made my head spin. I had never felt this way before, like every inch of my body was on fire, every nerve ending alive with the need for him. Minghao groaned softly against my neck, his lips trailing down to my chest, kissing and nipping at my skin as his hand continued its slow, torturous exploration of my body.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion as his lips hovered just above my breast. “I can’t stop… I don’t want to stop.”

Neither did I. My hands moved down his back, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my fingers, and I could feel the way his muscles tensed beneath my touch. His body was hard against mine, every inch of him pressed against me in a way that made it impossible to think about anything other than the overwhelming desire coursing through me.

His lips closed around my nipple, and I gasped, my head falling back against the wall as a wave of pleasure washed over me. He sucked gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin in a way that made my knees weak. My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as I arched into him, my body craving every touch, every kiss.

“Minghao…” I moaned, my voice barely more than a whisper, but I knew he could hear the need in my voice, the desperation that matched his own. His hands moved lower, gripping my hips as he pressed his body harder against mine, his lips never leaving my skin.

I could feel the heat of him, the hardness of his desire pressing against me through the fabric of his jeans, and it only made the fire inside me burn hotter. My hands moved down his back, slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans and pulling him closer, needing to feel more of him, to close the distance between us.

He groaned against my skin, the sound vibrating through me and sending another jolt of pleasure straight to my core. His hands gripped my hips tighter, lifting me slightly off the ground as he pressed his body harder against mine. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and the sensation of his body pressing against mine was almost too much to bear.

We were lost in each other, the world outside our hidden alcove fading into nothing as the heat between us consumed everything. His lips found mine again, kissing me with a kind of desperate intensity that made my heart race. Every touch, every kiss, was filled with the kind of passion that had been building between us for so long, and now that it had been unleashed, there was no going back.

His hands moved to the waistband of my pants, his fingers trembling slightly as he fumbled with the button. I could feel the urgency in his touch, the way his breath hitched as he finally managed to undo the button and slide his hand beneath the fabric. His fingers brushed against my skin, and I gasped, my body arching into his touch as a wave of pleasure washed over me.

“Minghao, please,” I moaned, my voice shaky with the weight of everything I was feeling. I needed him, needed to feel him, more than I had ever needed anything in my life.

He didn’t hesitate. His hand slipped lower, his fingers brushing against the wetness between my legs, and I gasped, my entire body trembling with the intensity of the sensation. His touch was gentle at first, teasing, but the desperation in his movements mirrored my own, and soon his fingers were sliding inside me, sending a shockwave of pleasure through me that made me cry out.

“Minghao…” I moaned, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he moved his hand with slow, torturous precision, each movement sending waves of pleasure through me that made it hard to think, hard to breathe.

His lips found mine again, kissing me with a kind of desperate need that made my head spin. Every touch, every kiss, made the fire between us burn hotter, until it felt like we would both be consumed by it. His fingers moved faster, his thumb brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves of pleasure through me, and I was lost, completely and utterly lost in him.

I could feel the tension building inside me, the pressure mounting with every touch, every kiss, until I was teetering on the edge of something that felt like it would shatter me completely. Minghao’s breath was hot against my neck, his lips trailing kisses along my skin as his hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

“I can’t…” I gasped, my body trembling with the intensity of what was happening. “Minghao, I’m going to—”

Before I could finish the sentence, the pressure inside me snapped, and I was falling, free-falling into a wave of pleasure so intense that it took my breath away. My entire body tensed, every nerve ending alive with the sensation as I came apart in his arms, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I clung to him, riding out the waves of pleasure that crashed over me.

Minghao groaned against my neck, his hand still moving inside me, drawing out every last bit of pleasure as I trembled in his arms. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart racing as the intensity of the moment washed over me, leaving me feeling completely and utterly spent.

He pulled back slightly, his fingers slipping from inside me as he looked down at me, his eyes dark and filled with the same need that had driven everything between us. His lips were swollen from our kisses, his chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back, and I could see the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled with the force of his desire.

“I need you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed his forehead against mine. “I need all of you.”

I didn’t hesitate. I reached for him, my hands fumbling with the button of his jeans as I pulled him closer, needing to feel him inside me, needing to lose myself in him completely.

My fingers worked frantically at the button of Minghao’s jeans, the urgency between us mounting as the intensity of the moment consumed everything else. His breath was ragged against my neck, hot and unsteady, and I could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled with restraint as if he was barely holding himself together. I needed him, and judging by the way his hands roamed my body, the heat of his touch searing my skin, he needed me just as desperately.

The button finally gave way, and I tugged at his jeans, slipping my hands beneath the waistband, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingers. His body shuddered as I brushed against him, a low, throaty groan escaping his lips that made my pulse race. I could feel the hardness of him, the sheer need pulsing through him, matching the ache that had been building inside me for what felt like an eternity.

“Minghao…” I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of everything I was feeling. The sound of his name seemed to ground him for a moment, his gaze locking with mine, dark and filled with a hunger that made my knees weak.

His hands slid down my back, pulling me impossibly closer until our bodies were pressed flush against one another. The feeling of his skin on mine, the heat of him, sent shivers down my spine. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him into another heated kiss, pouring every ounce of my longing into it. His lips moved against mine with a fervor that bordered on desperation, his hands gripping my hips, holding me against him as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he breathed against my lips, his voice rough, thick with need. His hands slid beneath my thighs, lifting me effortlessly as he pressed me harder against the wall. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I could feel the length of him pressed between my thighs, the friction sending sparks of electricity shooting through me.

I gasped as his lips moved down to my neck again, biting and kissing the tender skin, leaving marks that were sure to bloom into bruises by morning. But in that moment, I didn’t care. All I could think about was him, the way he made me feel like I was burning from the inside out, consumed by a fire that threatened to swallow us both whole.

“Minghao, please…” I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked at the base of my throat, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that sent a thrill of pleasure straight through me. My body arched into him, my hips grinding against his, and the friction was almost too much to bear. I needed more. I needed all of him.

He groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping me tighter as he shifted, his body pressing harder against mine. The air between us crackled with the kind of raw energy that had been building between us for so long, and now that we were here, there was no going back. Not after this. Not after the way we had finally given in to the inevitable pull between us.

With one swift motion, Minghao pushed down his jeans, and I could feel the heat of him, the weight of his desire pressing against me. My breath hitched in my throat as he adjusted, the anticipation sending my heart racing, my entire body trembling with need. His lips brushed against my ear, and I could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, waiting for my permission.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered, his voice rough, his breath hot against my skin. “Tell me you want me.”

The need in his voice mirrored my own, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. “I want you,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of my confession. “I’ve always wanted you.”

That was all he needed. With a soft groan, he shifted, positioning himself at my entrance, and then, in one slow, deliberate motion, he pushed inside me. The sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and pain that took my breath away. I gasped, my fingers digging into his shoulders as my body adjusted to the fullness of him, the way he filled me completely, like we were made to fit together.

Minghao’s breath came in ragged gasps as he buried himself inside me, his forehead pressed against mine, our eyes locked in a moment of shared intensity. I could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, waiting for me to catch my breath. But I didn’t want him to hold back. I wanted all of him.

“Move,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, but he heard me. He always did.

With a groan, he pulled back, only to thrust into me again, harder this time, and the sensation sent a shockwave of pleasure through me that made my entire body tremble. I clung to him, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he set a rhythm, each thrust pushing me higher, closer to the edge of something that felt like it would shatter me completely.

“Minghao,” I moaned, my voice breathless, and the sound of his name seemed to spur him on. His movements became more urgent, more desperate, and I could feel the tension building inside me with every thrust, the pressure mounting to an unbearable level.

He kissed me again, his lips hot and demanding, his hands gripping my hips as he drove into me, each movement more intense than the last. I could feel the fire building inside me, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust, and I knew I was close so close.

“Minghao, I’m going to—” The words barely made it past my lips before the tension snapped, and I was falling, free-falling into a wave of pleasure so intense that it took my breath away. My entire body tensed, every nerve ending alive with the sensation as I came apart in his arms, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I clung to him, riding out the waves of pleasure that crashed over me.

Minghao wasn’t far behind. With a few more erratic thrusts, he buried himself deep inside me, his body trembling as he reached his release, a low groan escaping his lips as he shuddered against me. His grip on me tightened, his forehead resting against mine as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm, his breath coming in ragged gasps as we both struggled to catch our breath.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, our bodies still tangled together, pressed against the wall in the aftermath of what we had just done. The only sound was the heavy breathing that filled the small alcove, and the distant hum of the crowd still lingering outside.

Reality began to creep back in, the weight of what we had just done settling over me like a heavy blanket. My heart pounded in my chest, not just from the intensity of the moment, but from the realization of what this meant. Vernon… Joshua… the consequences that would come crashing down the moment we stepped out of this hidden corner of the world we had created for ourselves.

Minghao’s breath was warm against my skin as he slowly pulled back, his gaze meeting mine. There was a softness in his eyes now, a tenderness that hadn’t been there before, and it made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t explain. This was more than just desire. It had always been more, but now it was undeniable.

He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he finally pulled away, his hands resting on my hips as he slowly lowered me back to the ground. My legs felt shaky beneath me, my body still trembling from the intensity of the release, but Minghao was there, steadying me, his hands never leaving my body.

“I don’t want this to end,” he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a kind of vulnerability I hadn’t heard from him before. His fingers traced gentle patterns on my skin, and I could see the conflict in his eyes, the weight of everything we had just done hanging heavy between us.

But as much as I wanted to stay in this moment, to pretend that the world outside didn’t exist, I knew we couldn’t. This wasn’t just about the two of us. There were other people involved people we cared about, people we had just betrayed in the heat of the moment.

“I don’t either,” I admitted, my voice barely more than a whisper as I looked up at him, my heart aching with the weight of the truth. “But we can’t stay here forever.”

Minghao’s jaw clenched, and I could see the struggle in his eyes, the same war that was raging inside me. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine, his breath shaky as he whispered, “What are we going to do?”

I didn’t have an answer for him. The truth was, I didn’t know. We had crossed a line we couldn’t uncross, and now we had to face the consequences—no matter how much it hurt.

But as I stood there, still wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, I couldn’t bring myself to regret what had just happened. Minghao had awakened something inside me, something that had been buried for far too long. And even though the future seemed uncertain, even though the consequences loomed large, I knew one thing for sure: I couldn’t let go of this feeling. Not now. Not ever.

For now, in the quiet aftermath of the storm, I allowed myself to hold onto him just a little longer, to savor the way his body felt against mine, to drown in the warmth of his presence before we had to step back into the real world. Because once we did, everything would change.

(Ok well, i got carried away. Lollapalooza Minghao has me all types of fucked up today so I indulged in him) i hope you guys enjoy this. Let me know if you do ˙ᵕ˙ have a great day too

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ninja-muse · 9 months ago

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The Dollmakers by Lynn Buchanan is the most original fantasy novel I've read in a good while. It doesn't follow a familiar plot structure. It's peopled by characters rarely seen but true to life. It tackles its issues, themes, and conundrums without turning them into morals or even necessarily reaching conclusions. The magic has been done before, but also not this way. The world, while familiar in some aspects, also feels fresh and different.

Did I like it? I'm not sure. But I definitely think it's worth picking up.

Because this book is so different, it's hard to encapsulate. The premise of a young woman determined to prove herself and gain the job and status she deserves sounds like it should launch a novel of revenge, of conquest, or of an underdog—but this doesn't. A story about magical dolls designed to fight ravening monsters sounds like it should be about great battles and increasing odds—but this isn't. This also isn't a story about a stranger upending a small town, or mentorship, or political conflicts, or even a mystery. Instead, there are elements of all those things, but this novel is too character-driven to fall neatly into boxes. Shean of Pearl is simply going to do what she thinks best and we're along for the journey.

The complexity of the plot is mirrored in its characters. Shean is capable of kindness and delicacy and righteous anger, but she's also tactless and self-absorbed and unwilling to listen to reason. There are brave characters too afraid to interact with society, kind mentors who fail in their mentorship, sour but welcoming villagers, wandering scholars who hold themselves apart until they don't, rule-abiding citizens who can't value originality, thoughtful people who come to snap judgements, and a host of other people who are flawed and complicated as anyone of us might be in their place. There's nobody I can point to and say, "Here, she relied entirely on a trope."* Buchanan's character work is arguably where this book shines most.

As for the themes and issues, I've grown used to fantasy and science fiction with clear morals, clear good guys, and clear political points. Again, this isn't that sort of book. You have to get well into it before you see what Buchanan's talking about on that level and she's more interested about raising questions and pointing out problems than she is in solving anything. We and her characters are left with things to think about, and with introspection. And no, I won't say more than that. Spoilers!

This isn't to say that this book is without flaw. Mostly, on that front, I found Shean's emotional journey a little sudden and jerky at points, with greater or quicker character growth than her personality led me to expect, and there's one particular moment near the beginning that felt exaggerated for the sake of demonstration rather than being true to character. The rest of my problems, and what's holding me back from saying, "This book was amazing!", I think stem from how different this book is. Is my grumble at that minor character's reaction due to weak writing or because they're so perfectly poised within their world that of course they don't act like a "normal" character? Is this plot line wrapping up too neatly or are we being set up for a sequel? That sort of thing. I should point out this is a debut novel and these are issues I've run into with debut novels before—but at the same time, this is much, much more polished and subtle than a lot of debuts are.

As for the magic and the world, I've run on too long to cover them much, but the doll magic is lovely, the monsters are fascinating, the idea that every nation has its own entirely separate culture and magic is familiar while the details are not, and in general, it's all very strong. Buchanan has a lot to play with and I'd happily read more in this world whether or not there's a direct sequel.

To sum up: this is a very strong, very interesting, very unique debut fantasy. It's a novel to mull over and one I'll be sorting through my feelings for. If you're interested in smaller fantasy stories, fantasies that take their time, or are tired of current fantasy trends and plot types, you should absolutely give this one a look. Buchanan's going to be an author to watch, I think.

* apart from third-tier non-speaking characters, like waiters or shopkeepers

#books #book reviews #fantasy #new releases #booklr #adult booklr #bookblr #read in 2024 #the dollmakers #lynn buchanan #my reviews #my photos

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qoldenskies · 5 days ago

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Do you think wwww!Leo is whumpable?

..........yes. also no. he is probably the angstiest in the au (raph comes very close and they might even be equal, a big part of wwww is about mikey and donnie witnessing and unpacking their respective older brothers' issues to make the family dynamic work) but also i cannot stress enough that this guy is like. a cockroach.

its so hard to imagine him getting beat up to the point of being vulnerable because like. i think he would like it. i think he would ask raph to throw him across the room so he could comically splat against the wall and then he would sproing up like a looney tunes character and go YIPPEE DO IT AGAIN because he'd think its fun. mikey would grab him by the neck and he would just make a loud squeaky toy noise and he would appear visibly unaffected as he gets strangled and violently shaken. he also just doesnt really falter when he's injured and he acts like a loopy giggly drunk when he's severely wounded. donnie stabbed him several times with his own sword when they were kids and he was like. fine. he thinks its funny. every time he gets his ass kicked he's talking shit like he's the one winning

and i think this is just because he has a really high pain threshold (threshold, not tolerance. your pain threshold is your ability to feel it, and your pain tolerance is your ability to endure it. i tend to headcanon leo with both really high, which makes him struggle to recognize when he's injured. i have a fic planned for the bthb that goes over this idea <3) and he also feels like,, kind of obligated to, to some extent. he's still got the "i need to make it not look so bad because someone has to" complex that leo generally has, but i also think a lot of that is earnest. he enjoys fighting and that superiority complex goes CRAZY

although. if you want some angst out of it, i will say that this has kind of caused donnie to see him as like,,, infallible, a little bit. leo is his strong older brother who would comfort him after arguments with draxum, help him along when he was too shy or nervous to do something for himself, cheerlead him when he doubted himself and make everything into a joke he can let him in on, in a good way. mikey's grown up knowing raph is acting out because of the role he's been pushed into (its very apparent here, more than it is in canon, because they've never been granted the security donnie's presence was implied to give them in canon. they're still surviving), but donnie still reveres leo, a little bit. he may seem like the more flat, unemotional, uncaring one, but donnie's the one who struggles to remember leo has feelings, because leo has never seemed fragile. he always seems on top of the world, really. carefree and independent and unconcerned.

(maybe a little too much, because he's the one who goes out and gets into fights with people and comes back bruised and laughing like a madman. he's always the one breaking the rules and trying to force himself out of the bubble draxum created them in. and he doesn't seem afraid of the consequences of that-- he tests their father's patience every day. and donnie still worries, no matter how much leo tells him not to. doesn't he care? about the rules, about the law, about their future?

he learns soon that in the end, that was all leo cared about, and it's everything he fought to preserve. and he learns that the hard way, and he has to be the one to pick up the pieces in the aftermath.)

#ask #where we went wrong

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isalisewrites · 6 months ago

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ive been reading terrible but great since 2021 ive been reading tomarry since i was like 12 reading fates favorite. i dont rly interact bc my main fandom and presence is so far apart that my little circle deeefinitely doesnt gaf abt tomarry or hp and wld in fact be scandalized . so i was really regretting that i dont have anyone to cry to about how spectacular and lifechanging that was and then i guessed i cld jst anon u since thats a thing.

ur a hero. just the exact, perfect, seriously right amount of lead up because if there was more i really wld snap under the pressure of tom being too thick because then it wld just piss me off instead i was spellbound. u provided a genuine .. i swear masterpiece u were providing like a parent oh wow ..... like how people want sweet treats every now and then i never had to go searching. its 1 am for me and ive had sadly late nights this last few weeks since winter break began and it happened the other day that it was 5 am and i had two beautiful long chapters of terrible but great waiting for me when i woke up. and when i tell u oooooooooooh god i sobbed like a fucking baby last night reading that. harrys heartbreak my god. my goodness. this kind of emotional turmoil probably doesnt exist so far at this extent in any other tomarry im following. that doesnt matter i wont need it because wow. truly incredible.

hes finally a bit. understanding of himself. he knows hes in love now. wow . i am a small puddle

oh and how i cried for voldemorts passing. u have no clue like i had snot all down my throat i was under my blanket like i was twelve again or something. seriously i cried because not only did u craft that so excellently but i was as attached to him as harry is . because i care so much for every little thing in this story because ive practically grown a bit with it . wow its 2025 now you know. 47 minutes since the clock went 12. so its been four years of your writing this piece anyway and ive been blessed. so thankyou i cant share my overwhelmed incandescent happiness with anyone else in the world at all sadly tragically its my own fault anyways for not tomarrying right. but its personal for me so i dont mind that im only sharing it with u. thankyou so so much.

and my favorite thing ever in this fic besides their bitchfight and toms revelation that harry is his own personal dr who is probably fleamont potter god bless him may he marry euphemia and harry officiates or at least flowerboys for him. praise the lord and isalise for this fleamont and euphemia.......... they bring me SOOOOO MUCH FUCKING JOY wow. im gonna go reread all the fleamont moments. and then im probably gonna reread the last chapter. and then im Prrooobably gonna get it tattoed on my chest. have a good one isalise u absolute unit

FATE’S FAVOURITE NAME DROP.

Fate’s Favourite and Past’s Player are some of my foundational Tom/Harry stories, even though they’re platonic in this series. There’s a fight in Past’s Player that was the spark of my desire for a huge duel to the death, aka The Twink Fight, for Terrible, But Great. I love the fight in Past’s Player, how Tom drugs Harry for information and the two of them have a feral fight. But my story, I wanted something immense.

After all these years, I still remember my favorite line from Fate’s Favourite.

“You have very pretty eyes… They’d look good in my collection.”

Zevi Prince was the reason I wanted Quintus Prince to exist.

you belong to me (i belong to you) sparked the idea of a more complex relationship between Harry and Death in Terrible, But Great. I adore Harry in this fic so very much.

So many others were foundational fics for me.

DMAY

Of Your Making

A Dangerous Game

No Glory

A Dangerous Game and No Glory were trigger fics, as were Fate’s Favourite and Past’s Player. What I mean by that is they were a catalyst in pushing me to write Terrible, But Great. Let me be EXCEPTIONALLY clear: they are all beautifully written and exactly what they need to be in terms of the story they’re trying to tell. They are S Tier stories and truly beloved.

But they weren’t what I was looking for exactly in a Tomarry story.

They scratched a few itches, but not all of them. (I actually have another idea for a Harry/Voldemort fic that was triggered/inspired by If Paths Diverge, but I'm not writing that idea at this time.) I needed something else. Honestly, these kinds of fics are the best because they’re always the source of creating something else. These types of fics are so vital to fandom life in all other fandoms, too.

I wanted a Harry who was equal to Tom, who challenged him. I wanted a Harry who stood up to Tom. I wanted a Harry who was still a Gryffindor, who was still self sacrificing, but also gave into his shadow side for Tom. As Harry grows a little darker, Tom grows a little lighter. (One of my favorite shounen ai manga does this. No.6) I’d read so many fics where Harry was always giving something up for Tom/Voldemort, while Tom/Voldemort never did. Harry was always sacrificing something and Tom was always taking. The inequality grew to hurt too much. I wanted to see a Tom/Voldemort so very smitten, so very much in love that he would do anything for his Harry.

I got a comment on chapter 52 complaining about TBG Harry losing his spine and conviction, that the two of them didn’t feel like equals anymore.

Chapter 53 completely shows otherwise. Tom is willing to do anything for Harry in return. Tom is willing to sacrifice one of his greatest desires, finding out his heritage in the Chamber of Secrets, for Harry. They are equals. Terrible, But Great is a story of sacrifice, but from both of them.

The emotions of Harry realizing he’d do anything for Tom, even stay at his side while he spirals downward is a scary, sobering realization to have. It’s terrifying. He’d have to watch Tom lose himself. Though he’d stay at Tom’s side, he would inevitably watch Tom spiritually die right before his very eyes.

I was crying a ton while editing chapter 52, especially when I added the sections of Tom’s dialogue from previous chapters. UGH, MY HEART. I’m so glad those emotions carried across to you. That’s truly what I wanted. I wanted heartbreak in the most perfect way, one where it was okay in the end.

Thank you so very much for sharing your love of Terrible, But Great with me. It fills my heart so much. I can’t wait to continue on with Arc Three and beyond, to have you all share in more powerful emotions with me. Those boys still have a lot to learn. And don’t worry, we’ll get to see more of Monty and Effie soon. You can look forward to a lot of growth for Harry and Tom in Arc Three and, yes, in Arc Four as well.

Isa

#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #hp #fanfiction #fanfic #hp fanfic #terrible but great #anon asks #god bless anons

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anonzentimes · 1 year ago

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Hello!

What is your opinion on danganronpa 2.5?

hello anon! thank you SO MUCH letting me ramble!!! :)

I really do love Danganronpa 2.5, I think it's really cool that they explain more how everyone was waken up, I also adore that the plot is based off of statements in Danganronpa 2 only elaborating and exploring them more. Not only that, but they make it all about Nagito who's the same character that is complex enough to have three entire songs haha!! So it works out well.

2.5 reverses Nagito's luck cycle which makes it easier to understand and I really love it. It also adds the statement that truly Nagito would rather have his luck not harm others but rather help them and harm himself, there's also the detail that Nagito's luck is so prominent in his life that even in a world made by his subconscious it is always there. It also implies he deep down wishes talent didn't exist which is something he'd never admit or even know he felt with his unhealthy obsession and dedication with hope and the ultimates!!!

I really enjoy world destroyer too, I think his scenes are very interesting, like, ok man thanks for pulling up with your FINGER GUNS??? It's super cool!! His design is pretty interesting too even if it's just adding to Hajime's preexisting one.

I also like the detail that alongside Nagito's own death the memories that he remembers most vividly is Hajime's smile and his time with him which is just very sweet

The moments with Makoto and Sayaka being out of character because Nagito views them, especially Makoto, so highly is super funny too. Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko's friendship is also fun and something we don't get to see often! The background characters we get to see are also just very fun.

I find it really interesting that by swapping Nagito's belief with the opposite it's basically telling what the genuine issue is in their world because his beliefs stems from the flawed ideals of hope's peak. The issue in their world isn't the talentless, it's the talented. No one is happy, talentless people feel worthless, and being talented is exhausting in its own way. All of the social pressure of not being treated as humans being at its most extreme in this world is upsetting for most everyone.

also this Parallel makes me lose my MIND!!!!!!

Danganronpa 2.5 has a lot of REALLY good stuff going on for it, I think the only complaint I see about it is Nagito's "contradiction," which I'll talk a little bit about!

Basically, people like to point out that with Nagito's suicide plan he should have been more upset, "He never believed in Hajime though?"

I've seen a few pretty good interpretations of it, but the one I think makes most sense is that he was talking more to Izuru kamakura since he had gotten his memories back. Nagito's old and new memories merge together, he remembers pretty much everything. Which is why he sees Izuru first, then corrects himself seeing Hajime, and Hajime replies that they're both him.

Nagito then says he knew he'd make it to the lowest stratum, and that he believed in him. Basically saying that Izuru could do anything.

Maybe he believed the supposedly Bad luck from going into the Neo World Program would end up in Good luck? It's unclear a bit, but I definitely believe he's talking to Izuru a bit at the very least. Mostly because if he believed in Hajime in the killing game his luck cycle wouldn't have gone, good luck: the traitor was selected, bad luck: the plan didn't work and they lived.

Nagito has known Hajime and Izuru now and accepts him for who he is. It's honestly really sweet. Hajime himself has grown and accepts Nagito for who he is as well. They both forgive each other and it's just really sweet. They've been through a lot!

Overall little rambles aside, I think Danganronpa 2.5 is really lovely. It adds more to Nagito's character, tells more information about how the class woke up while using actual text from Danganronpa 2, and is just super fun! I love Danganronpa 2.5 a lot.

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schizosamwincester · 30 days ago

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I don't know if you're into this, but do you have any Sam/John fics to recommend? Sometimes I feel like I've already read all the good ones

Hehehehe. You're in luck! I adore Sam/John, and recommending fanfics is one of my favorite things to do in the world. Now of course, there aren't a lot of good sam/john fics out there, and way too many are just gratuitous full house of wincest or "isn't dad/son rape hot?" fics and like, no shade to anyone who enjoys that, but I just find it boring. I'm here for angst and complex relationships. Still, I have some gems up my sleeve.

Pretty Boy by TastyTaboo. Oh my God. The description sounds like just regular old porn. John discovers Sam in a sundress and fucks him. But by God, the John POV. I honestly think everything I've written of John Winchester has been heavily colored by the way this author wrote him. Like, here. Let me give a quote.

"John has never been a good man or a strong one. Sam always wants to argue and shout and can’t even hug him like Dean does. Sam hates him so much, but now he’s touching John, begging for his attention. John is weak, he always has been."

That's it. That's how I write John. He tries his best, but he knows that' he's weak. He gives in too easily and does things he knows he shouldn't. And he's self-hating about it, too.

Purity by BlindSwandive. You know how sometimes, the hottest thing you can possibly write is two people not having sex? Of course you do. That's why wincest is so good. If they actually kissed, it would lose half of its magic, because what a writer shows you can never be as interesting as what you picture in your own head. Anyway, sam and john only having metaphorical fellatio this time, and by God is it fantastic. Again, just dripping with john angst and guilt.

keep it a little longer by ladygizarme is a Lebanon samjohn fic, and i probably don't need to say any more than that. It's about how you think that reunion would go. But God, it's well done. There are so many little hints to the way it used to be, and you really get the sense that even though now Sam is a grown man with fifteen-ish years of hindsight, and he can see the relationship for what it was, now that John's back he's turning right back into his teenage self. Those first two were what I really like in the john side of samjohn, but this is everything I adore about the Sam side. The struggle to find agency in any way that he can.

blister in the sun by vampz1e is one that just kind of lives in my head because the idea of stone butch John is simply irresistible. Maybe it doesn't belong on this list because I like it for that more than for the samjohn, but whatever. It's here anyway.

Oh, and here's the bit where I mention that I've written a few of my own that I'm quite proud of. I remember when your head caught flame is I think a really good portrait of being a teenager. That way you're young and on fire and everything is too much and you'd do anything to make that flame make sense. For Sam, the solution his teenage brain latched onto was kissing his father. And then Take My Body is the opposite; it's the John POV. He's got all that desire to be a good father, and he knows he's going about it all wrong, but he does it anyway, because what else can he do? Oh, and Sam is a trans guy.

And then at the end here is the category of "really, really, really fucking good fics that contain very little samjohn." Both of these are astonishingly well-written masterpieces, some of my top fics of all time, but the samjohn is a background element that sets the stage for what happens in the fic itself, as opposed to the fic showing Sam and John having a relationship. don't say you need me when you leave and you leave again by @wastemanjohn is a really, really good Dean POV fic of John using Dean as a replacement for Sam, where Dean very much avoids confronting that truth head-on, even though you get the sense that deep down, he knows and can't admit it to himself. cradle of smoke is Dean POV where Sam very much still desires his father, and Dean allows himself to fill that gap. Both are just sickening in all the good ways, and I can't recommend them enough... but if you're looking for Sam/John in particular, they will probably disappoint you because they only contain hints of it.

Okay, there you have it. There's my selection of the best samjohn fics you could ask for. Woo!

#samjohn #fic recs

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lizarazoart · 6 months ago

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Wind and Truth, Non-Spoiler Review

I have a profound love for the world, story, characters that Sanderson has built. I will remember fondly this story (especially the first two books).

Any creative endeavor is an valiant attempt, I appreciate the work but we should be critical of the art we experience.

Felt meandering and repetitive. I was slogging thorough mud. It should have been laser-focused on constructing a tight narrative with meaningful connections between the characters for a satisfying midpoint ending.

I DNF this book, I just couldn't, not even to write this review.

It has grown far too complex and long for the average fantasy reader. A work must stand on its own, not based on a connection to the cosmere or fondness for previous books. The book would have greatly benefited from more concentrated effort to the core of the story, a reduction in viewpoints, and less dispersion of the reader's attention. The story felt disjointed, I think because of the separation of the characters… they barely interacted with one another in a relevant way.

Characterization was substantially below plot progression and the story was robbed the chance to shine. Where are the vibrant, complex, fully rounded characters I grew to love? They did not feel as I remember them. I felt were many possible character development opportunities lost after such a good job of setting them up.

The tension was lacking, strange to say since the world was ending, and was not worried for what could happen.

The humor was off somehow, I enjoy the levity of humor, this time it didn't land most of the time.

I went back and reread the first 2 books to see if it was just me having distorted memories... and no, there was definitely something off. I enjoyed rereading them and did not feel the need to continue the story.

#notart #the stormlight archive #brandon sanderson #cosmere #wind and truth #not going to continue tbh #where was the sense of wonder? of excitement?#I love myself just enough not to force myself to read through this and not fall into a sunk cost story mentality #I've read so many long books but this was something else #I think the best part of the story will be the fandom #they have truly made some beautiful things #stormlight archive #book review #book recommendations #words of radiance #way of kings #WaT #stormlight 5

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songbirdseung · 2 years ago

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bad boy, gone good / choi yeonjun

Choi Yeonjun — the epitome of a bad boy, known for his rebellious attitude and mysterious charm. His days were filled with the thrill of breaking rules, and his nights echoed with the adrenaline of living life on the edge.

Enter Y/N, a beacon of warmth and kindness, with a heart untarnished by the city's harsh realities. Fate intervened, weaving their destinies together in unexpected ways. When Y/N, the girl with a smile that could brighten the darkest corners, collided with Yeonjun's world, everything changed.

As their worlds collided, secrets unfolded, and the walls Yeonjun had built around himself began to crumble. Y/N's presence sparked a transformation in him, challenging the very essence of his rebellious nature. Can love be the catalyst for change?

Yeonjun's early years were marred by the harsh realities of an unforgiving environment. Growing up on the fringes of the city's underbelly, he witnessed firsthand the struggle for survival. Raised in a broken home, where love was a scarce commodity and instability was the only constant, he learned to navigate the tumultuous seas of his youth alone.

Fuelled by a hunger for control in a world that seemed determined to wrest it away, Yeonjun delved into the realm of defiance. The streets became his sanctuary, a place where rules were mere suggestions and boundaries blurred into shades of rebellion. His demeanor transformed, adopting an air of defiance and a reputation that sent shivers through the city's spine.

The allure of the night, with its neon glow and hidden corners, became Yeonjun's playground. Graffiti-covered walls and the distant wail of sirens provided the soundtrack to his tumultuous existence. He embraced the role of a bad boy with open arms, finding solace in the chaos that mirrored the storm within.

Yet, beneath the tough exterior and the smirks that hinted at a disregard for authority, there lay a complex soul. A boy who had grown up too fast, who yearned for stability amid the turbulence of his surroundings. The bad boy persona was both armor and camouflage, shielding the vulnerabilities that lurked beneath the surface.

The memory of that encounter lingered, a pivotal moment where the trajectory of Yeonjun's life shifted. The streets, once witnesses to his rebellion, became a canvas for transformation. In the tapestry of his past, that cold night held a defining thread—a thread that hinted at a yearning for something beyond the confines of the city's chaos, a yearning that would eventually lead him to an unexpected encounter with warmth and kindness, the likes of which he had never known before.

Yeonjun found himself on the familiar concrete steps of an abandoned building, the remnants of shattered glass and graffiti-covered walls bearing witness to the desolation that mirrored his own existence. The city slept, but not Yeonjun. His restless spirit roamed the streets like a lone wolf searching for purpose.

As he sat there, contemplating the harsh truths of his life, the echoes of raised voices and slammed doors reverberated in his mind. Flashbacks of a tumultuous household, where love was a scarce commodity and stability a distant dream, played like a haunting melody.

That night marked the breaking point, the moment Yeonjun decided to escape the suffocating embrace of his turbulent home. The city's heartbeat became his guide, and he embraced the streets with an air of defiance, determined to carve out a space where he could breathe.

In current time, the night air was thick with the energy of rebellion as Yeonjun, accompanied by his fellow comrades in mischief, ventured into the heart of the city. The neon lights painted the streets with vibrant hues, reflecting the chaos and vibrancy that fueled their nightly escapades.

Yeonjun's friends each carrying their unique brand of defiance, joined him in this ritual of rebellion. Beomgyu, with his mischievous grin, Taehyun with an air of nonchalance, Soobin radiating quiet intensity, and Huening Kai exuding youthful exuberance—this band of brothers made the city their playground.

The night unfolded in a series of reckless adventures, a collage of moments that defined their camaraderie. They spray-painted walls with vibrant colors, leaving their mark on the city's canvas. The distant sound of music wafted through the air as they danced in abandoned alleyways, an impromptu celebration of freedom.

Yeonjun, the orchestrator of this nocturnal symphony, led his friends through the labyrinth of the urban jungle. They scaled fences, traversed rooftops, and embraced the thrill of the unknown. Each daring feat was met with laughter and shared glances that spoke volumes—a silent understanding that this night was a manifestation of their collective rebellion against the mundane.

Amid the chaos, Yeonjun couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. The city, once his refuge from a turbulent past, had transformed into a playground of shared adventures. Yet, there lingered a subtle shift in dynamics, an undercurrent of change that hinted at a journey beyond the recklessness.

As the night wore on, they found themselves perched on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the city sprawled beneath them like a glittering tapestry. The collective laughter echoed in the silence that followed, and Yeonjun's gaze drifted to the horizon, where the first light of dawn painted the sky.

In that moment, surrounded by the camaraderie of friends who had become his chosen family, Yeonjun felt a subtle reassessment of his rebellious pursuits. The thrill of the night was undeniable, but there was a whisper of something more—a yearning for depth, for meaning, and perhaps, for a different kind of rebellion that extended beyond the shadows of the city.

As they descended from their lofty perch, the echoes of their nightly escapades still reverberating, Yeonjun couldn't shake the feeling that this journey, shared with those who understood the language of rebellion, was on the cusp of a transformative chapter—one where the shadows of the past might find solace in the light of unexpected futures.

The night hung heavy with the scent of salt and the rhythmic lullaby of crashing waves as the boys of TXT gathered on the beach. The sand beneath their feet felt cool and comforting, a stark contrast to the day's rebellious escapades. The moon cast a gentle glow on the water, and the city's distant lights shimmered like distant stars.

As they settled into the makeshift circle they'd formed, the atmosphere was charged with a unique blend of camaraderie and introspection. The sound of the waves provided a natural soundtrack to the quiet moments, punctuated by occasional laughter that echoed against the vast expanse of the ocean.

Yeonjun, gazing at the horizon, broke the silence, his voice carrying a reflective tone. "You ever wonder where we'll be in a few years? What we'll be doing?"

The question lingered in the air, prompting thoughtful glances exchanged among the group. Soobin, the silent contemplator, spoke up, "I mean, we're living this wild life now, but what about the future? Are we just running from something or toward something?"

Beomgyu, who usually wore a carefree grin, chimed in, "Life's one big adventure, right? But what if we're missing out on something important along the way?"

Huening Kai, always the beacon of youthful energy, added, "I never thought about it like that. What if we're letting the thrill of the present distract us from the potential of the future?"

As the conversation deepened, the beach transformed into a confessional of sorts. Each member shared their aspirations, fears, and the weight of expectations they carried. The moonlit night became a canvas for vulnerability, and the camaraderie they'd built was the brush that painted the tapestry of their shared journey.

Taehyun, usually reserved, spoke softly, "Sometimes I wonder if the choices we make today will define who we become tomorrow. Are we building a foundation or just stacking up uncertainties?"

The vulnerability in his words hung in the air, and a collective sigh seemed to escape the group. Yeonjun, looking at each of his friends, felt a sense of gratitude for the shared vulnerability that turned their nightly escapade into a poignant moment of reflection.

In the quietude that followed, the waves continued their rhythmic dance, a reminder of the ever-flowing nature of time. The boys, surrounded by the serenity of the beach, found solace in the shared realization that life's journey was a delicate balance between the thrill of the present and the unknown promise of the future.

As they stood up to leave, the moon casting long shadows on the sand, there was a subtle shift in the air. The beach, once a backdrop for rebellion and laughter, had become a canvas for contemplation—a place where friendships deepened, and the echoes of the night lingered as a reminder that every choice, every adventure, held the potential to shape the narratives of their lives.

The morning sun painted hues of warmth across Seoul, casting a soft glow into Yeonjun's apartment. As he blinked away the remnants of sleep, a lingering sense of introspection from the previous night clung to his thoughts. The beach conversations, the shared vulnerabilities—all echoed in his mind like a gentle reminder of the potential for change.

Yeonjun sat up, his gaze drifting to the cityscape outside his window. The morning held promise, a clean slate waiting to be written with new choices and perspectives. The weight of the past lingered, but the desire for transformation stirred within him.

A tentative resolution formed in his mind. "Maybe it's time for a change," he mused, the words carrying a whisper of determination. Yeonjun envisioned a different trajectory, one that embraced growth, stability, and a departure from the reckless patterns that had defined his life.

But as the day unfolded, the stressors of reality pressed upon him—deadlines, expectations, the constant hum of the city demanding attention. The allure of his old haunts, the familiar thrill of rebellion, seemed like an escape from the complexities of change.

In the face of mounting pressure, Yeonjun found himself retracing the steps of his past. The city welcomed him with open arms, the neon lights and graffiti-covered walls a comforting familiarity. The adrenaline of rebellion called out, promising a temporary respite from the weight of uncertainty.

Hours passed in a blur of graffiti, daring escapades, and the intoxicating thrill of defiance. The city's heartbeat matched the rhythm of his footsteps, and the echoes of the night played out like a familiar song. In the midst of chaos, Yeonjun sought solace, a fleeting escape from the internal conflict that tugged at his soul.

As the moon reclaimed the sky, Yeonjun, standing on a rooftop overlooking the city, felt a mix of emotions. The temporary euphoria of the night's escapades masked the underlying conflict within. The city's shadows, once a refuge, now mirrored the complexities of his own journey.

In the quiet hours before dawn, as the city slept and Yeonjun stood alone, the weight of his choices settled upon him. The desire for change, the yearning for a different path, clashed with the allure of the familiar. The morning sun would soon rise, and with it, the echoes of the night would fade into the reality of a new day—one where the trajectory of Yeonjun's life remained uncertain, hanging in the delicate balance between the past and the potential for a different, yet uncharted, future.

The night wore on, and the city's pulse beat steadily with the rhythm of rebellion. Yeonjun, still caught in the throes of his old habits, found himself stumbling into a dimly lit bar—a haven for those seeking refuge from the chaos outside. The air inside was thick with the hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the distant melodies of a live band.

As Yeonjun settled onto a barstool, the atmosphere of the place embraced him like an old friend. The bartender, a grizzled man with a weathered smile, poured a shot without needing a request. The amber liquid seemed to carry the weight of countless stories, each sip a silent acknowledgment of the night's tumult.

In the corner of the room, a spotlight illuminated a small stage where a singer crooned a soulful ballad, her voice a comforting melody in the midst of the cacophony. Yeonjun, lost in the ambiance, barely noticed the figure approaching him.

"Rough night?" A voice, tinged with empathy, cut through the ambient noise. Yeonjun looked up to find the hostess, Y/N, standing beside him, her eyes reflecting a curious mixture of concern and understanding.

He offered a half-smile, a gesture that held a hint of weariness. "You could say that. Just trying to escape for a bit."

Y/N nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken struggles that often brought people to the dim corners of the bar. "We all have our reasons for seeking refuge here."

As the night unfolded, the conversation between Yeonjun and Y/N flowed effortlessly. The clinking of glasses and the distant melodies became the backdrop to their exchange. Y/N, with a warmth that transcended the dimly lit surroundings, shared snippets of her own journey—the dreams she harbored, the challenges she faced, and the beauty she found in the small moments.

Yeonjun, typically guarded, felt a subtle vulnerability in her presence. The night, once a canvas for rebellion, transformed into a space for shared stories and connection. The weight of uncertainty, which had driven him to the familiar haunts of the city, seemed to momentarily lift.

As the clock ticked away, and the night began to wane, Yeonjun found himself captivated by the genuine nature of the conversation. In the midst of the city's chaos, he discovered a moment of respite and connection—one that hinted at the potential for a different kind of escape, one not rooted in rebellion, but in the shared understanding and warmth of unexpected connections.

As the night unfolded, and Y/N's laughter resonated in the air, a subtle shift occurred within Yeonjun. The dimly lit bar, once a refuge from the complexities of his world, now harbored the potential for something different—a connection that went beyond the neon-lit rebellious escapades.

In the midst of their conversation, a quiet realization dawned on him. Y/N's presence was more than just a temporary distraction; it was a gentle tug at the strings of his guarded heart. Her warmth, the sincerity in her eyes, and the authenticity with which she shared her stories created a bridge between their worlds.

As Y/N spoke about her dreams, her challenges, and the beauty she found in life's small moments, Yeonjun found himself drawn to more than just the words. It was the way her eyes sparkled with passion, the genuine laughter that danced through the air, and the subtle nuances of her expressions that etched themselves into his consciousness.

He couldn't help but marvel at the contrast between the chaos of the city outside and the serenity he felt in Y/N's presence. The night, once a canvas for rebellion, now unfolded as a tapestry of shared stories and unspoken connections. The music played on, a soft melody that underscored the intimate exchange between them.

In the quiet pauses between their words, Yeonjun's thoughts danced on the precipice of realization. He was attracted to more than just the allure of the city's shadows; he was drawn to the light that Y/N brought into his world. Her authenticity, the way she navigated life with a genuine spirit, resonated with a part of him that had long been buried beneath layers of rebellion.

As he stole glances, catching the subtle play of emotions on her face, Yeonjun acknowledged the stirring of something unfamiliar. It wasn't just attraction; it was a recognition of the potential for a connection that transcended the transient thrill of the night.

Yet, amid the subtle allure of this realization, uncertainty lingered. Yeonjun grappled with the juxtaposition of his rebellious nature and the yearning for something more profound. The night may have been a temporary escape, but in the presence of Y/N, he found himself confronting a truth that hinted at a different kind of escape—one rooted in the genuine connection and the uncharted territories of the heart.

The bar's ambiance hummed around them, the murmur of conversations and the soft melodies providing a comforting backdrop to Yeonjun and Y/N's shared connection. As they settled into a lull in the conversation, Yeonjun couldn't help but steer the dialogue toward the uncharted territories of personal preferences.

"So, Y/N," he began, a playful twinkle in his eyes, "what kind of guys are you into? Bad boys, perhaps?"

Y/N chuckled, a warmth in her expression that mirrored the sincerity in her words. "You know, Yeonjun, I've learned not to judge someone based on appearances or stereotypes. Whether they're a 'bad boy' or a 'good boy,' it doesn't matter to me. What's important is the connection, the compatibility. That's what makes someone attractive in my eyes."

Her words hung in the air, carrying a wisdom that transcended the casual banter. Yeonjun, caught off guard by the depth of her response, felt a subtle reassurance wash over him. It was as if Y/N's perspective lifted a weight he didn't realize he was carrying.

She continued, her gaze meeting his with a genuine sincerity, "People are so much more than the labels we give them. It's about understanding who they are, what they value, and finding that connection that goes beyond surface judgments."

Yeonjun nodded, a newfound appreciation for Y/N's perspective settling within him. The weight of his own self-imposed labels, the confines of being a "bad boy," felt a little less constricting in the face of her understanding.

"That's a refreshing way to look at things," he admitted, a genuine smile forming on his lips. "Sometimes, it's easy to get caught up in those labels and forget that there's so much more to a person."

Y/N's smile mirrored his own, a shared understanding passing between them. In that moment, the barriers of judgment and preconceived notions melted away, leaving room for a connection that went beyond the surface. The night continued, the ebb and flow of conversation carrying with it the promise of a connection built on authenticity and shared perspectives—something that felt, for both Yeonjun and Y/N, refreshingly real amid the transient thrill of the city's night.

A week had passed, and the bar that had become a refuge for Yeonjun seemed unusually devoid of Y/N's presence. Night after night, he found himself scanning the dimly lit space, hoping to catch a glimpse of her warm smile and engage in the conversations that had become a source of comfort.

However, fate seemed to play a coy game, and Y/N remained elusive. The absence of her laughter, the missing warmth in her eyes, left a void that echoed in the silent corners of Yeonjun's thoughts.

His friends, the members of TXT, couldn't help but notice the change in Yeonjun's demeanor. The usual twinkle in his eyes was replaced by a subtle hint of melancholy, and the playful banter that characterized his interactions with them took on a more subdued tone.

One evening, as they gathered in the living room of their shared space, Beomgyu couldn't resist teasing. "Hey, Yeonjun, what's with the long face? Did the bad boy finally meet his match?"

Taehyun chimed in with a sly grin, "Yeah, you've been looking a bit too contemplative lately. Is there a love story brewing in the shadows?"

Yeonjun, caught off guard by the sudden attention, sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's not like that. I've just been trying to see Y/N at the bar, but she's never there when I am. She's a part-timer, and our schedules don't seem to align lately."

Soobin, always the voice of reason, leaned forward with a knowing smile. "Ah, the mysterious part-timer. Yeonjun's got a soft spot for her."

The room erupted in laughter, and Yeonjun rolled his eyes, his attempts to brush off the teasing met with playful persistence. Huening Kai, ever the optimist, added fuel to the fire. "Lover boy Yeonjun! Who would've thought?"

As the banter continued, Yeonjun found himself opening up to his friends about the connection he felt with Y/N. The laughter transformed into genuine curiosity as they listened to the subtle nuances of his encounters with her at the bar.

Beomgyu, with a mischievous grin, declared, "Looks like our bad boy is turning into a romantic. Who would've seen that coming?"

As Yeonjun strolled through the bustling streets, the echoes of his friends' teasing still resonating in his mind, he found himself drawn to the familiar hustle and bustle of a nearby mall. The rhythmic hum of shoppers, the vibrant displays in store windows, and the scent of various cuisines mingled in the air.

Amid the crowd, a flash of familiarity caught his attention. There, across the bustling walkway, was Y/N. She navigated the mall with a sense of purpose, her presence standing out amidst the diverse sea of shoppers.

A rush of anticipation coursed through Yeonjun as he approached her. "Y/N!" he called out, his voice cutting through the ambient noise.

She turned, a surprised yet warm smile spreading across her face. "Yeonjun! What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?"

He shrugged casually, the teasing banter from his friends still fresh in his mind. "Just taking a stroll, you know. Happened to stumble upon this place. What about you? Shopping spree?"

Y/N chuckled, her eyes lighting up with genuine warmth. "Not really. Just running errands and grabbing a quick bite. Care to join me?"

As they walked together through the mall, the atmosphere shifted from the casual banter of their bar conversations to the lighthearted exchange one might expect from friends catching up. The city's chaos faded into the background as they explored the various stores and shared stories about their day.

Y/N's easygoing nature and the genuine connection they shared created a sense of comfort that transcended the initial allure of the night. As they reached a quaint café tucked away in a corner of the mall, Yeonjun found himself appreciating the simplicity of the moment—a chance encounter that felt like more than just a casual run-in.

As they sat, sipping on their drinks and exchanging stories, Yeonjun realized that sometimes, the most meaningful connections can be found in the unlikeliest of places. The mall, once a backdrop for the city's daily rhythm, became the setting for a different kind of encounter—one that hinted at the potential for a connection beyond the dimly lit corners of a bar or the playful banter of friends.

In that moment, as they shared laughter and conversation, Yeonjun couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of curiosity about the unfolding chapters of their connection—a connection that, like the city itself, held the promise of unexpected discoveries and the potential for something more than meets the eye.

As the conversation flowed and laughter echoed through the cozy café, Yeonjun felt a surge of courage welling up within him. The warmth of the moment, the genuine connection with Y/N, emboldened him to take a step beyond the casual encounters of the bar and mall.

Summoning the strength, he cleared his throat and, with a sheepish yet sincere smile, asked, "Hey, Y/N, I was thinking… would you mind if I got your number? Maybe we could hang out sometime, like, properly?"

Y/N's eyes twinkled with amusement, and a playful grin danced on her lips. "About time, Yeonjun. I was starting to wonder if you'd ever ask."

Embarrassed yet relieved, he chuckled, "Well, you know, bad boys gotta be careful with their tender hearts."

They exchanged numbers, the promise of a new connection etched in the digits on their screens. Yeonjun couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the next day—a hangout that held the potential to explore the nuances of their connection beyond the confines of the city's night.

As they parted ways, the warmth of the cafe lingered in the air, and Yeonjun couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter marked a turning point. The city, with its chaotic rhythm and unexpected twists, seemed to be orchestrating a unique chapter in his life—one where a simple hangout held the potential to unravel layers of connection and redefine the narratives of his rebellious heart.

The next day dawned with the familiar energy of Seoul's bustling streets. The TXT members gathered in their shared space, a routine invitation to embark on their usual escapades hanging in the air. Soobin, the de facto planner of their adventures, couldn't help but extend the invitation.

"Hey, guys, what do you say we hit the usual spots today? Paint the town with our rebellious spirit?" Soobin suggested, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

However, Yeonjun, with a subtle smile playing on his lips, spoke up, "I think I'll pass today, guys. Got something else on my agenda."

A collective eyebrow raise from the group accompanied Soobin's teasing tone. "Oh, really? Got a hot date or something, lover boy?"

Yeonjun, unfazed, nodded with a smirk. "You could say that. Just something casual."

As he walked away, leaving a curious group of friends in his wake, the echoes of their laughter followed him. The playful teasing resonated through the space, and Soobin couldn't resist making one last comment before Yeonjun disappeared into his room.

"Looks like our bad boy has caught the love bug. Who would've thought?" Soobin quipped, eliciting a chorus of laughter from the remaining members.

In his room, Yeonjun couldn't help but smile at the banter of his friends. The usual rebellious pursuits were set aside for a different kind of adventure—one that involved the anticipation of a friendly hangout with Y/N. As he got ready for the day, he couldn't shake the feeling that this departure from their routine held the promise of something meaningful, a chapter in his life that unfolded beyond the city's night and the echoes of his rebellious past.

In the dimly lit corners of a Seoul nightclub, the atmosphere pulsed with energy, and the echoes of laughter and music filled the air. Yeonjun, known for his magnetic charm and carefree persona, moved through the crowd with an effortless swagger that drew attention like moths to a flame.

In this scene, we find ourselves in a moment from Yeonjun's past—a time when he was the quintessential heartbreaker, a playboy who reveled in the thrill of transient connections. His reputation preceded him, and many were lured by the enigma that surrounded him.

As he danced with someone new every night and left a trail of broken hearts in his wake, there was a certain intoxication in the fleeting encounters and the admiration he received. The city's lights, reflecting in the eyes of those who sought his attention, seemed to validate the reckless pursuit of pleasure.

However, amid the dance floor's pulsating rhythm and the haze of nightlife, there were moments when Yeonjun, in the quiet solitude of his thoughts, felt a twinge of emptiness. The very charm that drew others to him became a barrier, shielding him from the depth of genuine connections.

The flashbacks are a montage of shared glances, whispered promises, and the ephemeral nature of his interactions. In each scene, we see glimpses of the playboy persona, the facade that hid a sense of hollowness.

Cut to the present day, and Yeonjun, as he prepares for a different kind of encounter with Y/N, finds himself dwelling on those moments of his past. The weight of his playboy reputation, the regret for the hearts he left in his wake, lingers in the recesses of his consciousness.

As he faces the present with a desire for meaningful connections, the echoes of his playboy days serve as a backdrop—a reminder of the journey that brought him to this point of reflection and the potential for growth and redemption.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the city, Yeonjun and Y/N found themselves in the heart of Seoul, ready for a hangout that promised to be different from their usual encounters.

They decided to explore the city's hidden gems, away from the neon-lit corners and pulsating beats of the nightlife. The evening air carried a sense of anticipation as they strolled through quaint streets, exchanging stories and laughter.

Their connection, once confined to the dimly lit bar and the casual encounters of the mall, deepened in the midst of shared experiences. They discovered shared interests, laughed at each other's jokes, and engaged in conversations that flowed effortlessly.

As they explored a cozy café tucked away in a quiet alley, the ambiance echoed the genuine warmth of their connection. The clinking of coffee cups and the distant hum of the city formed a comforting backdrop to their shared moments.

In this setting, Yeonjun felt a departure from the playboy persona of his past. The genuine connection he sought, the desire for meaningful moments, unfolded in the simple yet profound exchange of stories and laughter. The city, once a playground for his rebellious pursuits, became a canvas for a different kind of adventure—one that involved the exploration of authentic connections and the unraveling of his own layers.

As the evening unfolded, Yeonjun couldn't help but appreciate the shift in dynamics. The heartbreaker of his past found solace in the simplicity of the present—a friendly hangout that held the potential for something more profound.

For Y/N, the night held a similar sentiment. The playful banter of their past encounters transformed into a shared understanding, and the laughter that echoed through the streets became a testament to the budding connection between two individuals navigating the complexities of their own journeys.

Amidst the soothing ambiance of the café, Yeonjun found a moment to open up to Y/N. The warmth of their connection had already surpassed the transient encounters of the past, and he felt a genuine desire to share his thoughts with her.

"Y/N," he began, his gaze sincere and vulnerable, "there's something I've been thinking about a lot lately. I've been living this kind of… reckless life, you know? The playboy, heartbreaker image—it's not really who I want to be anymore."

Y/N listened attentively, her eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and encouragement. "It's never easy realizing you want to change, but it's a brave step to take," she replied, her voice gentle yet reassuring.

Yeonjun sighed, the weight of his past choices palpable in his words. "I've been concerned about where my current behaviors might lead me. I want something more meaningful, something that goes beyond the surface. I'm just not sure how to navigate it all."

Y/N offered a comforting smile, her words carrying a wisdom that resonated with empathy. "Change is a process, Yeonjun. It's about taking small steps, setting intentions, and being patient with yourself. You don't have to figure it all out at once. What matters is that you're aware of your desires for change and that you're willing to work towards it."

Her advice struck a chord with Yeonjun, a sense of gratitude swelling within him. "You're right. I don't have to rush things. It's just that… I've seen the consequences of my past actions, and I don't want to keep heading down that path."

Y/N nodded, her expression understanding. "Acknowledging that is the first step. And you're not alone in this journey. Surround yourself with people who support your growth, set realistic goals, and be kind to yourself along the way. Change takes time, but it's worth it if it aligns with the person you want to become."

As the conversation unfolded, Yeonjun felt a newfound sense of support and understanding. Y/N's words became a guiding light, illuminating a path towards self-discovery and growth. In her presence, he realized that the city, with its myriad possibilities, offered not only the echoes of the past but also the potential for transformation and a future aligned with the authenticity he sought.

The shared laughter and conversations took on a deeper meaning. Yeonjun, grateful for the connection he found in Y/N, looked towards the future with a sense of hope and determination—a departure from the playboy heartbreaker, and a step towards the person he aspired to be.

As they parted ways that night, the promise of future hangouts lingered in the air. Yeonjun, reflecting on the evening's events, realized that the city, with its myriad possibilities, was still full of surprises—a place where the echoes of his past were met with the potential for growth, connection, and the discovery of something more meaningful than the transient allure of his playboy days.

The night's gentle embrace lingered as Yeonjun returned home to the shared space where the members of TXT resided. The camaraderie of their friendship had weathered the storms of rebellion, and as he stepped through the door, he felt a sense of unity that encouraged him to share his thoughts with his friends.

Gathering the members in the living room, Yeonjun's expression held a mix of vulnerability and determination. "Hey, guys, there's something I've been thinking about. I've realized that maybe it's time for some changes in our lives, you know? Slowly, but surely."

The room fell into a thoughtful silence as the other members, each absorbed in their own contemplations, looked at Yeonjun with a mix of curiosity and support. Soobin, always the grounded leader, nodded encouragingly. "What kind of changes are you thinking, Yeonjun?"

Yeonjun took a deep breath before continuing, "I've been living a certain way, and it's been fun, but I can't help feeling like it's not sustainable. I want more from life, from our experiences. Maybe we can start making choices that lead to growth, connections, and something more meaningful."

The atmosphere in the room shifted, a shared understanding permeating the air. Beomgyu chimed in, "I've been feeling something similar. It's like we've been dancing to the same rhythm, and maybe it's time for a new tune."

Taehyun added with a thoughtful nod, "Change can be good, as long as we're doing it for the right reasons. What are you thinking, Yeonjun?"

Yeonjun, appreciative of the support from his friends, shared his reflections about wanting to shed the playboy image and embrace a more meaningful lifestyle. The room became a space for openness and vulnerability, each member contributing their thoughts and desires for change.

Soobin, with a reassuring smile, spoke, "I think it's a great idea. We've grown together, and this could be the next chapter for us. Let's support each other in making positive changes and explore the new possibilities that come our way."

As the conversation unfolded, the members of TXT found themselves in a collective agreement—a pact to embark on a journey of growth and change together. The echoes of their past, marked by rebellion and carefree pursuits, now harmonized with the potential for a future filled with genuine connections and meaningful experiences.

In that shared moment, surrounded by the support of true friends, Yeonjun felt a sense of relief and optimism for the transformative path that lay ahead—a departure from the old ways, and a step towards a future built on mutual support, understanding, and the enduring bonds of their friendship.

On Y/N's free day, Yeonjun took the initiative to introduce her to the members of TXT. The shared space buzzed with excitement as introductions were made, and Y/N's warm demeanor quickly endeared her to the group.

Yeonjun, ever the showman, decided to give a grand introduction. "Ladies and gentlemen, meet the fabulous Y/N, the one who's going to save us from our rebellious ways!"

Beomgyu, with a mischievous grin, added, "The one who will turn us from bad boys to good guys. Or at least try."

Y/N, amused by the theatrics, curtsied playfully, "Well, hello, gentlemen. I'm here for the challenge!"

As they all sat down, the atmosphere shifted from grand introductions to more casual banter. Soobin, the group's natural leader, decided to break the ice with a friendly question. "So, Y/N, what brings you into the chaotic world of TXT?"

Y/N, with a twinkle in her eye, replied, "Oh, just felt like I needed a little more chaos in my life. Thought you guys could use some company."

The boys erupted into laughter, realizing they were in for a day full of unexpected surprises. Taehyun, always the observant one, couldn't help but comment, "I have a feeling we're in for an interesting time with you around."

The conversation continued with jokes, playful teasing, and Y/N effortlessly blending into the camaraderie of the group. Huening Kai, intrigued by the dynamic, chimed in with a humorous question, "So, Y/N, what's your superpower? How do you plan to tame the chaos?"

Y/N, with a mock-serious expression, replied, "Well, I have the incredible ability to turn rebellious boys into gentlemen with just a smile. It's a work in progress."

The boys burst into laughter, realizing that Y/N's presence brought not only a mission of positive change but also a healthy dose of humor and lightheartedness. Throughout the day, they discovered that Y/N's superpower wasn't just in her ability to suggest positive changes but also in her knack for turning even the most serious moments into opportunities for laughter and connection.

As the day unfolded, the shared jokes and funny anecdotes became the glue that bonded them together. Y/N, with her infectious laughter and playful spirit, seamlessly became a part of the group—a friend who not only saw the potential for positive change but also knew how to make the journey enjoyable along the way.

With a genuine smile, Y/N proposed, "How about we make today a day of trying new things? I've got a few activities in mind that might be a fun change of pace."

The boys, always up for an adventure, agreed enthusiastically. Throughout the day, Y/N curated a series of activities designed to replace their rebellious habits with more constructive and fulfilling pursuits.

She started with a visit to an art studio, encouraging them to channel their creativity onto canvases rather than expressing it through reckless actions. Beomgyu, who had a knack for artistic expression, found a new passion for painting, while Kai discovered the therapeutic benefits of sculpting.

Next, Y/N led them to a community garden, where they tried their hands at planting and nurturing flowers. The act of tending to living things replaced their destructive tendencies with a sense of responsibility and care. Soobin, who initially questioned the choice, found solace in the simplicity of gardening.

Lunchtime was an opportunity for Y/N to get to know each member on a personal level. She attentively listened to their individual goals and aspirations, taking note of every detail. Over meals, she subtly integrated conversations about healthier habits and positive lifestyle changes.

In the afternoon, they visited a local gym, where Y/N introduced them to various exercises and fitness routines. Taehyun, who enjoyed the adrenaline rush of rebellion, found a new outlet in the intensity of a workout. It became evident that Y/N had tailored each activity to address the unique interests and needs of each member.

As the day unfolded, Y/N's ability to understand and connect with the members became increasingly apparent. She acknowledged the little details, the personal goals, and the reactions to different activities. For Yeonjun, she suggested activities that channeled his energy into a constructive outlet, away from the reckless pursuits of the past.

The day ended with a cozy dinner where Y/N shared her observations and suggestions for positive changes. The members, initially skeptical, found themselves inspired by Y/N's thoughtful approach. The city, once a canvas for rebellion, became a space for growth, understanding, and the potential for a future built on healthier choices and genuine connections.

As they bid farewell to Y/N that evening, the members of TXT carried with them a newfound sense of optimism and the seeds of change that had been planted throughout the day—a departure from their old ways and a step towards a future filled with purpose, growth, and the unwavering support of a friend who saw the best in each of them.

Later, TXT gathered for dinner, the playful atmosphere lingered from the day's activities. Beomgyu, known for his mischievous side, couldn't resist the opportunity to stir things up a bit. A sly grin played on his lips as he exchanged knowing glances with the other members.

"So, guys," Beomgyu began, his tone deviously casual, "I've been thinking… Y/N is really cool, right?"

Taehyun and Soobin exchanged amused glances, fully aware of Beomgyu's mischievous intent. Huening Kai, always up for a bit of fun, nodded eagerly. "Yeah, she's pretty awesome. Don't you think, Yeonjun?"

Yeonjun, unsuspecting and caught up in the positive energy of the day, looked up from his plate. "Oh, definitely. Y/N is great."

Beomgyu, seizing the opportunity, leaned in with a mock-confessional tone. "You know, I was thinking… maybe I should ask her out."

The room fell into a sudden hush as everyone turned their attention to Beomgyu. Soobin, trying to suppress a smile, asked, "Really? Beomgyu, are you serious?"

Beomgyu, maintaining his poker face, nodded. "Yeah, she's just got this… I don't know, something about her. I can't help it. I think I'm falling for Y/N."

The words hung in the air, and Yeonjun's eyes widened in surprise. Beomgyu, relishing the moment, continued, "What do you think, Yeonjun? Should I go for it? I mean, you did say she's cool."

Yeonjun, caught off guard, stammered, "Uh, well, I mean, if you think you like her, go for it. It's not like I have a say in it."

The room erupted in laughter as Beomgyu revealed the prank. "Gotcha, Yeonjun! Just wanted to see your reaction. You should've seen your face!"

Yeonjun, a mix of relief and amusement, playfully rolled his eyes. "You guys are unbelievable. I can't believe you pulled a prank on me like that."

A year had passed since the transformative day when Y/N entered the lives of the members of TXT, bringing with her a mission of positive change and growth. Now, as they gathered in their shared space, the room resonated with a different energy—a sense of purpose, ambition, and the unwavering support of true friendship.

The boys had evolved into different versions of themselves, each actively working towards personal goals that reflected their newfound determination. Beomgyu, once the mischievous troublemaker, had channeled his creativity into a successful art venture. Taehyun, always the thoughtful one, had found fulfillment in pursuing a career aligned with his passion for helping others. Soobin, the natural leader, had taken on new responsibilities with grace and determination. Huening Kai and Yeonjun had both discovered their unique paths, each contributing to the overall growth and success of the group.

In the midst of these positive changes, Yeonjun and Y/N had found solace and strength in each other. Their connection had deepened over shared dreams, challenges, and a commitment to support each other's personal journeys. What started as a mission to change rebellious ways had transformed into a meaningful and loving relationship.

The night was calm, the city outside their window settling into a serene rhythm. Yeonjun and Y/N lay side by side in the dimly lit room, their conversations flowing seamlessly from one topic to another. The ambiance held a sense of tranquility, punctuated by shared laughter and the comforting hum of the city.

As they spoke about dreams, aspirations, and the little moments that had defined their journey together, the conversation naturally gravitated towards the topic that held a special place in both their hearts—their relationship. Yeonjun, with a sincerity in his voice, expressed, "You know, I never thought a simple mission to change our ways would lead to this. To us."

Y/N smiled, tracing patterns on Yeonjun's hand. "Life has a funny way of surprising us, doesn't it? I wouldn't have it any other way."

They spoke of the challenges they had overcome, the growth they had experienced, and the unspoken understanding that bound them together. In the quiet of the night, their words became a shared journey—a testament to the depth of their connection.

As the conversation settled into a comfortable silence, Yeonjun leaned in, capturing Y/N's lips in a gentle yet passionate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, carrying the weight of shared experiences and the promise of many more to come. Pulling back, they exchanged smiles, their eyes reflecting a deep understanding that words couldn't fully capture.

With a tender embrace, they settled into the cozy cocoon of their shared bed. The city outside may have been alive with its own stories, but in that moment, the world narrowed down to the warmth of their shared space.

However, just as they began to drift into the quiet embrace of sleep, the door burst open with a bang. The room was suddenly filled with the blinding flashes of cameras, and confetti canons exploded, showering the room in a riot of colors. The members of TXT stormed in, each holding cameras and wearing mischievous grins.

"So, we heard you were having a moment," Beomgyu declared, camera in hand. "And what's better than capturing the lovebirds in their natural habitat?"

Yeonjun and Y/N, still recovering from the surprise, were met with the chaotic entrance of their friends. Soobin, Huening Kai, and Taehyun joined in the revelry, holding confetti canons and wearing party hats.

Beomgyu raised his camera, aiming it at the disheveled couple. "Say cheese! Or in this case, say 'sleepover!'"

The room echoed with laughter and playful protests as the unexpected sleepover took shape. Despite the intrusion, Yeonjun and Y/N couldn't help but join in the infectious energy. As the confetti settled around them, the room became a haven of shared laughter, friendship, and the enduring bonds that had blossomed amidst the chaos of their rebellious past.

And so, the night continued with impromptu celebrations, shared stories, and the kind of camaraderie that turned ordinary moments into cherished memories. The city outside may have slept, but in the shared apartment of TXT, the night was alive with the vibrant echoes of friendship and the warmth of a love that had blossomed against all odds.

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