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[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 8.5k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Pre-season 1. Voice kink. Oral sex. Unprotected sex.

Summary: You're a huge fan of Homelander but you always feel too awkward to ever meet your hero at a meet & greet or similar events. Your friends enter you into a Vought competition, where you've got a chance to win a phone call from Homelander himself.  

Author’s Note: My first Homelander fic! Also, this is the first time I’m publishing my work. Obligatory English isn’t my first language so apologies if there are any strange turns of phrase but I happily take on criticism so feel free to correct me. I want to get better! I’m also not very good with sticking to the right tense. This is very self-indulgent so read with caution. 

You can’t decide whether to hug or strangle your friends. They’re trying to be nice, you get that. But this goes against everything you’d ever do! Lovely as they are, they’ve entered you into a competition to meet your hero. To meet Homelander. The thought alone makes your head spin, your heart pound and stomach twist on itself.

‘It was just 20 bucks, what’s the worst that can happen? You win?’ Reads your friend’s message. You roll your eyes, hearing the teasing tone in your head. They know about your not-so-hidden obsession and at the end of the day they just wanted to brighten their friends day.

And sure, you are a fan. Okay, fine. You’re a big fan. Obsessed even. Every-wall-of-your-bedroom adorned-with-posters-and-promotional-materials obsessed. But you don’t want to appear like that. Last thing you’d want to come across as to your idol, you hero, is an annoying screeching fan begging for his attention.

You don’t want to be part of the crowds pawing at him, inching as close as they can just to graze his uniform with their fingertips. You don’t want to look like a feral fan. You have manners. You don’t want to be just another face, just another adoring fan begging for him to look your way. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you’ll never be more than a fan. So you don’t go to meet & greets. You don’t go to premieres. You don’t pay exorbitant fees just to meet your hero.

You’re a romantic at heart. You always imagine the first meeting to be one for the books. Maybe he saves you from a burning building flying you down, his stars and stripes billowing in the wind as he looks at you with concern etched into his handsome face, his piercing blue eyes scanning you for injuries as he talks to you with a soothing rumbling tone that sends shivers down your spine. You can clearly imagine him going, Are you okay miss?, as he descends to the ground. Or you just happen to bump into each other but he catches you with his strong arms and fast reflexes and just like that it’s love at first sight. Scenarios after scenarios. All varieties of ‘meet-cute’s play in your head on a daily basis. You spend your time getting lost in your head, dreaming of the day when it will be your turn to be the protagonist of the story. When will you be the damsel in distress? But you sigh and move on with life, because this isn’t a romance novel.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself (and others) when people ask you why you haven't tried to meet your hero. 

Oh I just don’t want to be a weird obsessive fan. Plus it’s expensive!

Meeting heroes is technically easy. Vought gives people many opportunities to see their heroes for a pretty penny. They parade their heroes around like exotic animals in a zoo on a daily basis. 

For you the reality is that you simply can’t handle seeing your hero up close and personal, let alone talk to him. How are you not meant to get flustered in front of what you considered to be perfection? How are you meant to find your words or even come up with words worthy of being uttered in his presence? You’re meant to look into his eyes, tell him how much of a fan you are and not fluster and burst into tears from the anxiety coiling in your gut as you wait your turn? 

You don’t want that. You don’t want to be just another babbling fan. You want to stand out. You want him to remember you. You want him to think about you.  But you’re also a realist and you know that at most he’ll think you just another annoying fangirl if he even grants you a passing thought. So you spare yourself those hurt feelings and you avoid meet & greets, you avoid all the fan-targeted conventions, events, promotional campaigns or competitions. 

Or you always have. Until now it seems. You again scroll up in the group chat where your friends surprised you with an entry to the newest competition Vought advertised. It was presented as a fundraiser. All proceeds are planned to be donated to Samaritan’s Embrace. A simple $20 entry that would grant you a chance to be one of five lucky winners to get a personal phone call from Homelander. 

A fat chance of that, you thought when you first saw the competition announced on both Vought’s and Homelander’s twitter accounts. With a competition that invites Homelander's country-wide fanbase, there really is no chance of you winning. You half-comfort yourself with that thought. You don’t know where you’d even start should you win. Part of you thinks that maybe ‘meeting’ him over the phone could be bearable as he wouldn’t be able to witness just how badly you’re holding it together.

But then you think back to all the videos you’ve watched. The reels and the tiktoks you’ve saved. The podcasts and interviews that at this point you play almost religiously. He's perfect in every way but you're particularly fond of his voice just rumbling in your ear when it gets nice and low as he talks in lengths about the upcoming movie or his most recent save. A while back you bought yourself a decent set of noise-cancelling headphones with great audio quality and suddenly it felt like he was right behind you just purring into your ears. Very few interviews record with good enough microphones to capture how mesmerising his voice is but those that do get saved and played on repeat sending shivers down your spine, following you to bed and invading your dreams. So no, maybe a phone call wouldn’t make the experience any easier on your poor heart. 

You calm down after the initial panic reaffirming yourself with the reality where there’s no chance that you’ll get picked anyway. You text your friends again, kindly thanking them for thinking of you as you shook your head with an amused smile. That’s that done and forgotten about.

Or so you think. Few weeks down the line the mental discourse has long left your mind. The conversation moves on and your friends don’t mention anything since. That’s why it’s no surprise when you pick up the unknown call after the third ring with ease, casually answering with, “Hello, Y/N speaking.” 

Homelander looks through the list of winners Ashley brought to his desk with a scowl on his face. He’s grumpy, having to jump through everyone’s hoops is grating on him, slowly chipping away at his showmanship armour. This is just another nail in the coffin. Now he has to make private phone calls?

He wants to be revered, loved. With people bending over backwards just to get his attention. Sure, that’s right up his alley. Get the crowds to scream his name, be grateful for his divine presence. What he isn’t a fan of is making others think they’re special. He’s the special one. Where does Vought get off thinking that he’s got the time to call and visit his fans one-on-one.

He rolls his eyes looking through the unimpressive line-up that Vought carefully curated. One of each demographic, trying to hit all the targets Vought wants him to improve his numbers with.

Each candidate has a sheet of talking points assigned to them, things to highlight, mention or even promote to each one of the fans. Normally Homelander would throw Vought’s carefully crafted response straight back to their faces but right now he’s not in the slightest interested in being clever or the fans' idea of ‘authentic’ so he’d rather rattle off a few lines from a curated list of party lines. At the end of the day he doesn’t care for this. Talking to five individual fans doesn’t help him in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t happening in public, there’s no one here to witness his generosity. Nobody to witness a god, looking down and gracing his followers with his benevolence.

Vought believes the individual approach will be worth it in the long run. That apparently fans will come running to any future events and competitions seeing as real people they might know have won in the past. All Homelander sees is at most five twitter mentions from a few nobodys.

He’s got about an hour in the calendar to get through all of these. Though he's banking on this taking a lot less time. There are many more important things he could be doing instead. 

He flips through the files again, each profile is filled out with a name, number and a photo, deciding on the least painful order. A young boy, an elderly woman, a middle aged comic enthusiast, some punk teenager and you. Homelander looks at your profile with mild interest. You’re the only one who Vought didn’t manage to find a good quality recent photo of. Clearly you don’t do social media. Yet the quality doesn’t take away from the intrigue your profile inspired. You’re easily the most interesting in the list but that’s not that hard to do. Still, Homelander puts yours at the end of the list. Saving the best for last.

“Hellooo and congratulations! This is Homelander and you’re one of the few lucky cookies who get to have a little chit chat with me.” All air gets sucked out of your lungs and the ease with which you picked up the phone is gone. Your eyes widen, breath caught in your throat only coming out in confused little stutters. This isn’t real. It can’t be!

Whether it’s a particularly vivid dream or your world is actually turning upside down you’re glad this happened at home. Your knees buckle, your ass landing straight on your bed, your legs trembling with nervous energy as you sit down.

“W-what?” You manage to blurt out, more breathy than not. Your heart is pounding like never before. You wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it over the phone, it feels loud to your ears.

“The competition? You entered, right?” His voice. His fucking voice was right in your ear and you felt like melting into a puddle of goo. Anything to spare you the embarrassing words that are surely about to come out of your mouth one way or another.

“Oh… um…” You are blowing it. There’s no other word for it. Totally embarrassing yourself. Not able to say a word, still trying to calm your heart down.

“Are you not a fan? Have I got the wrong number–?”

“N-no no! No…I mean yes. I mean sorry…fuck.” You are totally losing it. The hand holding your phone is shaking with nervous energy. 

“Hey hey hey…. Come on now. Take it easy. Now take a deep breath aaand relax.” His voice is rich and sweet like honey, just like you’ve heard on TV but here it feels intimate. Just for you. He’s not talking to anybody else. As he hears your stuttered intake of breath and a mildly calmed exhale he coos again. “That’s it. Breathe with me. Now in.” If only he knew that this is making things so much worse for you. “And out.” 

“I’m so sorry. I meant to say, I am a fan but I don’t do this.” Your voice still trembles with each word but you’re a little more composed. 

“What? Call people?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, he's clearly pleased with his little joke. 

“No.” You can’t help yourself but chuckle, your lips spreading in a wide grin. Your heart is still pounding but it’s more excitement than embarrassment. You’re actually talking to Homelander. And you have already embarrassed yourself beyond belief but he’s still here! He’s still talking to you. He doesn’t even sound upset. “I mean I don’t meet you guys. Heroes. I don’t really know how to do this. I mean I pretty much live on your doorstep and I’ve never met either one of you.” Now that he calmed you down, getting you talking, you can’t stop talking. 

“Really? Some fan you are.” Were you of a sound mind you’d hear the joke but now all you could think is that you’ve upset him. And you can’t have him think that. Sure you’ve always wanted to stand out but not in a negative way! You take it to heart and you apologize.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to offend. At all! Really! It’s just, you don’t need another person begging for an autograph that they can brag with to their friends or sell online for a quick buck.” 

He exhales a little breathy laugh that has your whole body flush hot. “Oh, aren’t you adorable.” The panic that was inflating in you like a hot air balloon finally fizzled out. Instead it’s replaced by a throbbing heat in between your legs and you place your free hand over your heart, almost trying to will your body into behaving normally. “You know if you want I can send you some, would be a shame for such a sweet fan to not have anything personalised. I’ll sign it with your name.” He offers, a nice gesture, really, but you are currently having a whole body meltdown to even appreciate it for what it was.

“O-oh,that isn’t—You don’t have to—” 

He continues nonetheless. 

“Y/N, is it? Beautiful name.” Your name rolls off his tongue perfectly, all soothing and sweet. And there you go, melting into a puddle just for him. 

“You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t bite. At least, not over the phone.” You let your hand trail down your body. He’s just talking. He’s just making jokes. He’s just trying to strike up a conversation to make such a freaked out fan of his a little calmer and there you are getting your rocks off on this. 

“Sorry. It’s hard not to be. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long while. I didn’t expect I’d ever get to talk to you. It’s kind of you to do things like this for us fans. I’m sure you’re busy. Thank you for taking the time.” You distract yourself from the throbbing that’s just calling for your hand to settle heavily in between your shaking thighs. 

“Oh no problem. Wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for all my loyal fans, right?” You should really stop moving your hand down your body. But you can’t help the effect he has on you, you’re not acting normal! 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s the fame that makes you special. It’s you.” You breathe you all dreamy before realising this isn’t just one of your fantasies. No. You really are talking to Homelander. You cough a little, pretending like you had something stuck in your throat. 

“It is?”

“I think so. Change into civilian clothing and I’m sure you’ll still be turning heads.” You speak normally now but you bite your lip at the end, your hand now just above your pubic bone. 

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this plenty.” Oh, of course you have. Your body is screaming at you to take the plunge, to slip your hand down your panties, and make yourself feel like this is more than just a friendly fan call. But your mind is, correctly, telling you that this is beyond inappropriate. 

“Ah no! I just mean that you’re perfect at what you do. There’s nobody like you. Noone could take your spot. So it’s more than just fans.” You’re surprised you’re still carrying on. You feel like your brain is turning into mush with each word he’s saying. 

“What can I say? I take my job very seriously.” He goes on to talk about being a leader of the Seven, you guess he’s just trying to fill space seeing as you’re such a blubbering mess. Even with all his efforts at making this normal, your brain turns all the innocent words into the filthiest dirty talk.

“Look, I’d love to talk to you some more but I’m afraid I’ll have to end it there. I’m late for a talk show interview.” You retract your hand as if it got burnt and instead you grab onto the comforter you’re sitting on, stopping yourself from doing anything impulsive. 

“O-of course.” Your heart rate is elevated again, something about the thought of him leaving and you never getting the chance to speak to him again makes you want to scream. 

“Tell you what, I don’t want to be unfair to you. You hardly got your prize. I’ll call you later. You free in the evening?” 

“Y-yes.”

“Perfect.” 

Perfect. You’re fucking perfect. Homelander can’t stop the way his lips stretch into a predatory grin. You are exactly what a fan should be like. Swooning over him. Grateful that he’s even bothering to grace you with his presence. You were practically kneeling, bent over before him on the floor, kissing his feet as he gave you a taste of his divine presence. He has half a mind to take care of the uncomfortable hard-on pressing into his rigid suit. He couldn’t help himself when you were being such a sweet little thing. He feels no remorse at having rubbed himself through his suit as you were there on the other side of the phone, undeniably shaking in excitement, all flustered and tense and most certainly aroused. But no, he wants to wait his turn. He needs the real thing. He’s not planning on letting you go that easy.

Originally he was pissed that most of his time on the phone was taken up by the elderly woman who was talking his ear off. Now he’s thinking about sending her a gift basket. He has a real excuse to see you. 

When Homelander wants something he’s like a hunter, doing everything he can to lure his prey into his trap. In this case he abuses his powers to get the Crime Analytics team to dig up your address and in the meanwhile he sits through a mind-numbingly boring interview at a low-tier talk show he really shouldn’t need to waste his time on. 

The only thing that keeps him going is the thought that you might be watching. You seem like a big fan. You surely wouldn’t dare miss out on his live appearances. The thought alone gives him enough drive to not laser through the talk show host everytime she asks a stupid question and instead he imagines he’s speaking straight to you.

When the show is over he takes off before his team can steer him towards another boring chore. No, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like any good predator he observes. He waits until it’s the right time to strike. That’s why he’s perched at the top of the building that’s opposite yours. He’s got a clear line of sight to your apartment but he’s careful in making sure you can’t see him. 

He watches, his grin reappearing every damn time he sees you reach your phone, checking if your ringer is on for the tenth time. You are an easy target, he can swoop in anytime and sweep you off your feet but he wants it to be perfect. With sick fascination he keeps watching you, your behaviours and patterns as you pace around your room trying to preoccupy your mind with mindless thoughts. He knows that nothing you do can now fill the void that he left behind. What else can replace the purr of his voice in your ear, soothing and exciting you at the same time. Nothing. There’s nobody like him. You said it yourself.

An hour of self-indulgent watching later he decides to end your misery. You just look so upset and disappointed and he knows you’ll just melt in his presence. He needs to be close to you. He got a little sprinkle of what you're like over the phone and now he’s got a craving for the real thing. He needs to feel you, smell you, hear your poor heart trying to keep up with the excitement right in his ear.

So with a quick drop he descends.

The day has gone by torturously slow for you. You spend every minute checking your phone in case your ringer randomly fails you and you won’t catch the second call from Homelander. Just thinking that makes your thighs quiver. The thought of having him purr into your ear any longer wets your panties all over again. But over the coming hours your enthusiasm deflates. It’s getting late and your chances of ever getting a call back are low. 

You emerge from the bathroom, fresh and clean, in your pyjamas ready to sleep today’s rollercoaster of emotions away. Or you would be if it wasn’t for a knock at your balcony door interrupting your thoughts and making you flinch in surprise. The flash of red and blue still so vibrant and colourful against the midnight sky has your breath catching in your throat. What the fuck?!

You open the balcony door in shock, and if you had the strength to do so you would have ripped it off its hinges with pure eagerness. There he is in all his patriotic glory. Homelander. A wide grin on his face, posture ramrod straight as he clasps his gloved hands behind his back, puffing his chest out.

“H-Homelander?!” Your voice quivers at the proximity, your heart picks up speed again and you feel your entire body flush both in embarrassment and excitement. Your first thought goes to how you currently look rather than questioning his motives or how he even found where you live in the first place. 

Trying to regain your composure you shake your head, blinking as if he was just a figment of your imagination. Maybe your devout obsession with him is finally damaging your mental state, making you hallucinate.

“Good evening, Y/N.” God, how does he do that! The way your name slips off his tongue so easily, with such familiarity makes you clench and part your lips with a gasp. Any sort of composure you’ve regained crumbling to dust. Now you are just awkwardly gawking, in awe at the unreal figure in front of you, in the flesh. Homelander doesn’t wait to be invited in, strutting into your modest apartment like it belongs to him, the confident strides of his red boots loud and heavy against the creaky floor of your apartment. He takes up the living space confidently, somehow making you feel like you don't belong in your own space. His presence took priority, anything else secondary—you included. 

“How did you—” Your question of how he found where you live doesn’t even get fully asked, let alone answered. He cuts in, not actually caring about your justified worry over having your address handed out willy-nilly. 

“Our call was a bit too short to my liking. You don’t mind a little late-night visit, do you?” You feel disarmed. His voice turns gravelly, lowering with each word. His tone teasing as if he was telling you a secret, so unlike his television persona where he’s all American apple pie values and open arms with clear intentions. Here, he grinned widely—all teeth with his sharp canines bared to you like the predator he is. Like you’re his next meal. “Ohohoo, would you look at this. Maybe you are my biggest fan, huh?” 

You are distracted by his voice, his presence, just him that you fail to notice his eyes wandering around your apartment. Your face flushes red in embarrassment as you see him assessing your safe space, or what felt like your safe space before this ambush, all with an amused grin on his face. 

“These are all limited edition. Must have cost you a small fortune.” Holding a breath you watch him take his gloves off one by one, placing the leather on your table with a soft thwack. It feels forbidden, not meant for your eyes. The public doesn’t get to see Homelander as anything other than perfect. His image manicured, perfected to the tiniest details. Seeing his surprisingly elegant bare hands, this up close feels intimate yet threatening like he’s unsheathed his sword, revealing one of the many hidden weapons he can use against you. 

You watch as he brushes his fingers against limited edition action figurines, box sets, posters and trinkets featuring his likeness or the logo emblem Vought associates with him. If it was anyone else you’d tell them to keep their paws away from your most prized possessions but it's Homelander. Who else gets the right to touch special limited edition merchandise of his own likeness? 

You watch as he paces the room with an unreadable expression. The embarrassment you feel transforms into an apology, heavy on your tongue as you force your mouth open, letting your shame out into the world. It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed in his presence.

“I-I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” He turns his head over his shoulder with a curious expression. A swoop of his blonde hair handsomely falling into his face. He puts down one of the figurines he picked up earlier as he scouted the area. 

“All this stuff.” You wave your hand around, the grand display of what can only be described as the Church of Homelander, a shrine dedicated to his divine existence. You see how it looks, how it makes you look like a rabid fan. Though you’re anything but. “I know it’s a little strange. I don’t want to make you feel like a museum piece. Or-or-or a circus animal! I just admire you. A lot.”

“You do?” 

“I do.” Your breath catches in your throat as he turns around fully, facing you head on, one slow step inching towards you at a time. You gulp, feeling like you’re left in the dark regarding his intentions as you hopelessly struggle to read him. On the opposite spectrum you’re there, an open book, your heart on your sleeve, your every thought written so clearly on your face you may as well give him your diary to flip through. “More than anything.” Breathlessly you add, meeting his eyes as a challenge. You’re devout, as loyal as it gets. You’d do anything for him if he asked.

Homelander rises to your mental challenge with a grin so sharp you feel the metaphorical bite coming before he even opens his mouth as he steps closer. He’s so close now. Any ordinary man could feel the thud of your heartbeat, but to his keen senses it’s a war drum and he’s marching to a battle he’s already won. His bare, elegant hands make their way to your jaw caressing it with a surprising gentleness. You flinch. Even though you watched it happen with wide eyes, you didn’t expect his hands to leave you unmarred. You almost expect your skin to sizzle, unworthy of his divine touch.  

Homelander’s grin disappears, his tongue gliding along his teeth as if he’s cleaning them before he devours his next meal. All that leaves you is a little whimper before he pulls you in, his hands thrumming with incomprehensible strength as he kisses you. He kisses the air out of your lungs as if you could survive without it like he can. As if you could meet him in the middle. But dammit you do your best to. He’s a passionate kisser, incapable of sticking to soft kisses. No, he devours. He licks your lips open, his tongue gliding along yours. You brace your hands against his chest, already feeling weak in the knees. The heat of his breath and the wetness of his tongue in your mouth is nothing compared to how hot and wet you feel in your panties.

It doesn’t help that he’s vocal. You kiss him harder anytime he growls or moans into your lips, his voice vibrating against your lips just possessing you more. And soon it turns into a game of who can dish it out harder. Each devoted kiss makes him hum and purr which in turn melts you into a pile of goo, making you kiss him harder. Your lips feel hot, swollen from the ferocious kissing. You’re nearing the limit of what your lungs can manage without resurfacing for air.

Homelander pulls away but he doesn’t give you any time to recover. As if you could. How do you recover from that? Instead he’s adamant about making your heartbeat hit record heights. His hands glide down your body, featherlight touches that make your skin break out into goosebumps as he settles on your hips, trailing the waistband of your pants. His pink wet lips spread into another predatory smile and before you know it he leans closer to your ear, practically purring, “Tell me, if I take these off will I find you wearing Homelander panties too?” 

Flustered squeak escapes you as he laughs wholeheartedly at your embarrassment. You know he knows. He’s teasing you for a reason. “They’re comfortable.” You eventually grumble, pouting like a child getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I bet they are.” He sinks down to one knee, his hands taking the waistband of your pants with him as he pulls them down over your thighs, letting the fabric pool by your ankles. He pats your ankle, prompting you to step out of them. You comply, kicking the fabric away earning a little word of praise from him. “Attagirl.” You’re visibly trembling as he kneels in front of you, his eyes locked on the sight of your blue panties with his emblem and name right across the middle in gold, all accentuated by a red trim. It would be far from sexy in any other circumstance but he purrs at the sight. All pleased like the cat that got the cream. “Got my name across your pussy all day long?” 

Before you could react like any other person would, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. You yelp, losing your balance trying to grab onto his head or shoulders for support but he puts his arm on your back, sliding it right under your top keeping you straight and secure whether you want it or not. You’re not leaving until he says so. “Might as well fucking taste it seeing as it’s already mine, don’t you think?” He gives you a hungry look licking his lips before hoisting your other leg over his shoulder, standing up with ease. He walks you back against a wall as he eagerly inhales the scent of you, his head perfectly in between your warm thighs. 

“Woah!” You stabilise yourself, finally having more surface to lean against. The fabric of your top glides along the surface of the glossy posters he has you pressed against. Making you the centerpiece, surrounding you with his likeness. You finally process what the fuck is happening as you feel his nose pressing into the soaked fabric of your panties. “Homelander! Y-you….ohh…” You whimper, your hands automatically finding comfort and safety in between his golden locks. 

“Fuck you smell good.” Homelander growls, his hands now on your ass, holding you in place as he sticks his tongue out, pressing it wetly over your soaked panties. The taste of you already coating all his taste buds.

“O-oh fffuuck. OH god…yes…yes please.” You don’t stop yourself from moaning freely, the time for embarrassment long gone as Homelander lifts one hand from your ass, impatiently pulling the fabric of your Homelander panties to the side, his tongue already slipping in for a taste before his hand even makes it back to squeeze your ass. “Taste just as fucking good.” His voice strained, uttering filth in between your thighs.

His thick tongue pushes through the slit of your weeping pussy, lapping up what you’ve so graciously prepared just for him. And as you watch a mop of blonde hair greedily slurp at your wetness like he’s parched, you think back to the fantasies that drove you to orgasm after orgasm as the imaginary Homelander ate your pussy. 

Well, for one the real thing is a lot more enthusiastic than you ever imagined him to be. He is sucking on your clit in rhythm that has you throb harder, making your toes curl. “Ohhh, Homelander!” You reward him with a loud moan of his name, like a prayer on your lips. And you repeat it with each masterful lick around your clit that has you squirming in his hold, legs quivering around his head, fingers tugging at his hair.

The second thing you never considered was how much his powers would come into play. Here he is with a deathly strong iron grip around your ass, easily holding you up on his shoulders against the wall while pushing you as close into his face as he can. The thought of not being able to escape his grip exhilarates you as much as it terrifies you. His lack of need for air makes him a perfect devout lover. Because this is pure devotion except it seems he forgot who was meant to worship who.

You’d be embarrassed by the obscene sounds you two are making if it didn’t feel so good. You moan for him prettily as he licks up all the wetness he’s coaxing out of you. You breath hitches as you feel your orgasm building. He's consistent, giving you just the right pressure. Homelander looks up at you, eyes glassy and blown back with lust before he swiftly repositions you, needing just one arm to make you feel weightless yet secure in his hold as he takes his free hand plunging two fingers into you revelling in the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.

“Oh there there there! Ahhh!” You guide him, his fingers pumping into you and with his tongue still working magic on your clit you whimper out, “oh fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna–.” You fall apart in his arms, cumming on Homelander’s tongue like you’ve imagined many times over. With you thrashing around you rip the poster right behind you unaware of the mess you’re leaving behind. He licks you through the waves crashing through you. He’s smug, you can feel the smirk against your pussy as he gives it one more kiss before easily slipping you off his shoulders, preening with satisfaction. “Mhmm you did so good.” His voice purred and even in your post-orgasm haze you flush with fresh heat at the praise.

He gives you time to compose yourself but you don’t want it. You want him. You need him. Your legs feel like jelly so you immediately sink to your knees, nuzzling your face into his crotch. Too eager to wait. Homelander cooed at your enthusiasm, “Look at that. Didn’t even have to tell you.” He chuckles, voice thick with lust, his lips and chin still glistening from the way he feasted on you.

Wobbly and out of your mind, you reach for his belt, unable to figure out how to unclasp it, your dexterity not quite there either to be able to wiggle the hem of his pants underneath it and pull them down.

You look up at him with the face of a kitten that’s not getting what it wants. Pouting and pleading for help. 

“Christ, let me help you with that.” Homelander unclasps his belt, letting it hit the floor with a loud and heavy clang and the thought of it denting the cheap flooring doesn’t even graze your mind. He unzips his pants and the hiss alone makes your mouth water. He pushes his pants a little lower and you stare wide eyed at where his thematically red briefs are tented, his cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum into the thin fabric.

Okay, this you can do. Your hands slide up his thighs, getting a little feel of the bare skin of his thighs. Unmarred, smooth and hot. Your hand briefly squeezes around his cock through his briefs, forcing Homelander to hiss through his teeth. You pull down his briefs, bunching them down with the thick fabric of his suit. 

You try not to stare and drool but you’ve imagined his cock in your dreams and fantasies so many times that seeing it in real life just kind of blows your fucking mind. It’s perfect. A bit longer than average but especially nice and thick. You lick your lips in anticipation. His hand rests on the back of your head, giving your hair a tug.

“You gonna keep staring or will you put those pretty lips to work?” His gruff tone tears you from the haze. 

You blush, being caught staring. Wanting to please your hero you apologize, “sorry, it’s just so perfect. You’re perfect.” You breathe out in pure adoration. 

“Come on then, be a good girl and open up for your hero. I want my cock wet before I slide it into that needy pussy.” He looks down at you with a sharp smile, his other hand rests on your jaw before moving up squeezing the hollow of your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. Not that he has to, you’re more than willing to deliver. You open wider, making his hand withdraw as you take matter into your own hands. Literally. You grip the base of his cock, feeling how hefty and hot it feels. It hits you in that moment that you’re holding Homelander’s cock. Fuck. You’re gonna be dreaming of this moment for years to come.

You look up, giving him one more doe-eyed look before you stick your tongue out easing the swollen red head in between your lips. The salty, musky taste of his pre-cum on your tongue makes you whimper, your eyebrows furrow with concentration as you focus on banking the memory of his taste in your head. Eagerly you get right into it. Down and dirty. You focus on him, coating him with an ungodly amount of saliva until anytime you pop off him you’re followed by strings of it connecting you two. His grunts and heavy breaths just urge you to do better. So you take him deeper, slurping around the saliva you've made for him, bobbing your head up and down.

You nearly lose your rhythm when he lets out such a needy wanton moan, making your pussy throb.

“Thaaat’s it, come on—fuck!—deeper, yeah yeaahh you got it sweetheart. God fuck that’s fucking it.” He’s nearly whimpering, so lost in the sensation. And you're eating it up. Each whimper and word goes straight to your pussy and at this point you wouldn't be surprised if you were making a puddle on the floor.

His hand forces your head down deeper and you gag, choking around him as for a second your nose bumps the neat thatch of hair above his cock. He's not easily dissuaded and he pushes again, a little softer this time. You almost feel the tremble of his hands, he's so close to unravelling. Just for you. The swell of pride pushes you forward and you take him deeper. He takes the chance to push both hands into your hair as he starts fucking your face.

“Take it. Take it.” He grunts, his voice more and more broken with every thrust. You're just about to push his thighs back, attempting to fight against his unyielding force but his hips stutter and he groans, letting out broken moans as he spills on your tongue.

As if on command you swallow and he pulls out, wiping the residual dribbles of cum on your lips. Now that he’s done you realise just how fucking badly your jaw aches. You whimper at the ache of your jaw and the ache between your legs. 

You’re still kneeling on the floor, a picture of pure devotion, with your mouth messy and lips swollen. He grumbles at the picture in front of him. He pulls you up by your hair, kissing the taste of himself out of your lips. You can still taste your pussy on his lips and tongue as he shoves it into your mouth. “Bed?” He's somehow more than ready to continue and mentally you add his extraordinary refractory period to the list of his many talents. 

You nod a broken, “y-yeah, this way,” the taste of him still heavy on your tongue as you lead him to your bedroom.

He lets out a little chuckle at the state of your bedroom, just as decorated with his brand as was the rest of your apartment. “Fuck me, you really are my biggest fan.” 

You’re about to apologize, again, and he can read you like an open book already shushing you. “Shh, don’t say it. C’mere, take this off instead. Want to see you.” He tugs at your top, wanting you to take it off. Like unwrapping a present. You let out a few breathless ‘okay’s and pull the top over your head baring your entire body to him, save for the panties that were still uncomfortably pushed to the side. He clearly wants you to keep them on and you’re not sure whether that’s his narcissism or possessiveness talking. You don’t dare comment on the fact that he’s still fully dressed. You’re not gonna start demanding things from the Homelander now are you? 

With a step closer he purrs, pushing you to the bed intensely watching as your tits bounce when your back hits the comforter. He follows as he lays over the top of you but he doesn't look at you. He picks up the grimacing Homelander plushie he sees on your pillow— the one that's predominantly advertised to kids. He holds it up for you to see with a raised eyebrow, the look almost condescending. “What? They make no other official plushies!” You defend yourself. 

“Is there anything you don't have?” 

You don't know what possessed you to answer, “yeah, you,” but Homelander eats it right up as he grins at you.

“Cheeky slut. Well you're about to. On your side.” He says sliding off you to rest on his side looking you up and down hungrily. You’re clearly surprised at his choice of position and he grumbles with annoyance as you take forever to move the way he wants you to. His impatience gets the best of him and he effortlessly manipulates you to your side, slotting right behind you. Homelander grips your inner thigh lifting your leg a little higher, as he nestles his cock right against your wet cunt.

You sigh with partial relief, feeling him solid against you feels good. Feeling him inside you would feel even better. “Jesus, you're still so fucking wet.” 

“It's all your fault.” You whimper trying to wiggle in his unyielding hold. He just tuts at you gripping you tighter, cusping on pain.

He pulls you close, his cock sliding in between your slit, immediately getting the top of his cock wet. His lips trail up your jaw until he reaches your ear. He growls, low and sexy, nipping at the sensitive skin of your ear. Your heart skips a beat, your pussy throbs as the sound of him just ripples through you. 

“Maybe it is. You know, I've been thinking. You're such a nervous little thing.” He grinds his hips into you, dragging his cock back and forth, teasing you. His voice got quiet, dropping a register lower. All slow and drawled out he continues rumbling in your ear clearly aware of what it's doing to you. “You were beside yourself when I called you. So there I am thinking nobody gets that nervous, not unless they’re trying to hide how fucking turned on they are.” He keeps fucking talking and talking, making you shiver to the point where you feel goosebumps rise all over you. Your breath ragged, your eyes fluttering shut.

You're starting to understand why he was particular about this position. After all, he could read you like a book from the get go.

“At first I thought it was just me because you're such a big fan.” He coos in a condescending tone. He licks the outer edge of your ear and you shriek, thrashing in his uncompromising hold. “But no no nooo. It's not that. Because everytime I spoke, your heartbeat sped up. You know, I was worried about you there for a minute. Then there was your pussy. You get so wet the air is thick with it. I can't even fucking breathe without tasting your sweet cunt.” You let out a broken sound, close to a sob, you pussy throbbing so hard he must feel it even without being inside you. You didn't even consider that his senses can easily sniff your secret out.

He’s still rubbing his cock in between your folds, sliding the whole length of it up and down. It’s slick and loud and so good and holy shit your clit is burning from the way his head catches on it with every thrust. You're so close and your body is on fire. You so desperately want to cum with something inside you but he’s cruel. He's not gonna give it to you just yet. “And look at that, you're still getting wetter. They do say it's always the unassuming ones.” He chuckles into your ear, low and vibrating against you.

“Is that it? Do you get off to the sound of my voice? Do you watch videos of me, listening to interviews while you finger your little pussy?” He's going harder, the wet sound of your pussy slicking his way in between your slit is deafening, embarrassingly loud. “Tell me.” The little command growls in your ear and you force your lips open.

“Y-yes! Yes….I-I find your voice sexy.” You admit to your little shameful secret. You admit that one of the reasons you never met him was because you didn't want to get sopping wet in a crowd full of screaming fans. “Don't stop, please.” You moan out, quiet and broken, your embarrassment making way to pure pleasure. Now that it's out in the open, what is there to hide?

“Do you even care what I say? Huh? I could be reading out the fucking phone book and your pussy would still get wet. Greedy little thing. What’s it gonna be? You gonna cum to my voice or are you gonna be difficult?” You're burning hot, your body so so tense, the leg he's hitched up a little trembling against his strong grip. His cock is still hitting your clit in the perfect fucking way and you're so so so close. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop! Oh fuck, Homelander—don’t—ahhh!” The dam bursts, a wave of pleasure sweeping over you as you scream. Homelander pulls back and with one deft stroke he slides his cock inside you. He doesn't move. He growls at the feeling of your cunt just pulsing against him. He's so thick inside you, stretching you wide, filling every crevice. 

He whimpers and you feel how tense he is holding off the orgasm threatening to burst inside him.

Just as you think this must be the end of it, your mind just a buzzing noise, he pulls out moving back and he pushes you on your back. 

You never expected him to be so active in bed but he's already in between your legs, his hands clamping down on the clammy flesh of the back of your thighs and he spreads you open. He's on his knees, his hands slide and curl from the back of your thighs to the top as he pulls you in, slowly sliding his cock into you in one push. 

He doesn't wait for anything. He just fucks you. Hard and fast, really getting himself off more than you. Surrounded by posters and merch all carrying his likeness while he plunges into you again and again. Your hair is plastered to your forehead as you watch your hero utterly ruin you. You're sweaty, absolutely spent and tired while he's pushing into you without breaking a sweat. 

This round isn't for you yet it's gonna be a memory you'll frequent the most. The look on his face, pure lust and torture as he's fucking you with as much strength as he allows himself. 

With how he's got your hips propped up he's managing to hit all your best spots as your overstimulated nerves light up, giving him one last finish, your pussy’s quivers pushing him over the edge as well. 

Then there's a little hot spurt of him inside you but you're surprised when he pulls out shooting most of his load with a few strokes of his fist all over your panties and stomach. 

“Ahh fuck. Look at that, finally got your first autograph.” He snorts, amused, admiring the sight in front of him. His cum has already soaked into your panties, the ‘Homelander’ text changing into a darker colour as both his cum and your slick from the previous round drench the fabric. 

You flush hot red and you shake your head, amused by his antics. “That's disgusting.” But strangely, you're charmed. 

“I should take a picture. You look great like this.” 

He notes as he slides off your bed pulling his briefs over his finally softening cock, tucking himself back into his suit.

“Stay?” You say softly, offering him the space for his benefit more than yours. Even though you'd like him to stay for a cuddle you know you'll be out of it in a minute.

“Can't do I'm afraid, duty calls.” 

You nod, understanding. “Thank you, I really feel like a winner.” You snorted, thinking back to how the day even started.

He looks at you almost fondly, but your orgasm-hazy brain might just not be working anymore. 

“Until next time.” He says as a goodbye and you end up tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you hear is the click of his belt he picked up from the living room, the creak of the leather gloves he slides back on and the sonic boom of him flying away.

And you know that when you wake up if it wasn't for your ruined panties, your throbbing cunt or even the ripped poster in the living room you wouldn't believe any of it was real.

You sure hope there will be a next time.

[Part 2]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

[tosomeonessomeone]

Let me teach you.

words・8k /pairings・Lee know x reader / genres・fluff, humor / warnings・ none

In a dimly lit meeting room at JYP Entertainment, Stray Kids gathered for a crucial discussion about the possibility of expanding their promotions into English-speaking markets. JYP, wearing a serious expression, addressed the group.

"Stray Kids, as we contemplate reaching international audiences, it's imperative to tackle the language barrier," JYP began, his gaze focused on the members. "Particularly, we need to address Minho's English proficiency."

Minho couldn't help but let out a subtle, resigned sigh. He knew what was coming.

"I've decided to bring in an English teacher for the group," JYP continued, sensing the mixed reactions in the room. "Enhancing your language skills is crucial for effective communication during promotions."

Minho, with a touch of sarcasm, muttered, "Great. Just what I always wanted - English classes."

The comment elicited a few chuckles from the members, and even JYP couldn't help but crack a small smile.

Bang Chan, exchanging a quick glance with Felix, whispered, "Looks like our Korean-English dictionary days are over."

Felix, smirking, replied, "Guess we're free from the classes."

JYP, sensing the humor in the room, redirected the focus. "Minho, it's essential for the team. This will help us connect better with international audiences."

Minho, rolling his eyes, mumbled, "Fantastic. I feel like I'm going to die."

Hyunjin, unable to contain his laughter, chimed in, "Minho, you won't die. It's just English class."

As the room filled with laughter, JYP made an announcement, "Now, Bang Chan and Felix, I'm exempting you from the classes. You'll serve as personal support to help others if needed."

Bang Chan, sharing a smirk with Felix, remarked, "Looks like we're still the language bridge."

Felix, grinning, added, "Lucky us."

The laughter continued, but Minho couldn't shake the feeling that the impending English lessons were unavoidable. As the group bantered, the decision to hire an English teacher marked the beginning of a new chapter for Stray Kids in the global music scene.

As you walk into the JYP Entertainment building, the receptionist directs you to Mr. Park's office. Nervously, you approach, and to your surprise, he stands up, extends a hand, and warmly greets you.

JYP: Welcome! We're thrilled to have you on board. I've heard great things about your work in linguistics.

You: Thank you, Mr. Park. I'm excited to contribute.

JYP leads you down a corridor, sharing stories about Stray Kids and the global impact they hope to achieve. He stops in front of a door, opens it, and gestures for you to enter.

JYP: This will be your classroom. We've set it up with everything you requested.

You step inside, and your eyes widen. The room is spacious, neatly arranged desks facing a large whiteboard. There's even a shelf stocked with books.

You: Oh, this is perfect. Thank you so much.

JYP: Anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. We want you to feel comfortable.

As you settle in, JYP leaves you to organize your materials. Later, a staff member brings in a stack of books you requested, and you're impressed by the efficiency.

You spend some time arranging the room to your liking, imagining the upcoming English lessons with Stray Kids. The door opens, and JYP pokes his head in.

JYP: How's everything coming along?

You: It's fantastic, thank you. I appreciate the support and the resources provided.

JYP: Great to hear. We believe in giving you the tools you need to succeed.

He leaves you to finalize your preparations, and as you look around the classroom, a sense of excitement and anticipation fills the air. This is the beginning of a unique journey, and you can't wait to share your linguistic expertise with Stray Kids.

*your pov* 

As I stepped into the classroom that JYP Entertainment had prepared for my English classes with Stray Kids, I couldn't help but be amazed. The room was well-lit, spacious, and equipped with all the resources I needed – a teacher's dream come true.

I looked at the neatly arranged desks, the large whiteboard, and the shelf stocked with books. It felt like the perfect environment to foster effective learning. The attention to detail showed the commitment of JYP to make this experience worthwhile for both me and Stray Kids.

Despite the excitement, a subtle nervousness lingered in the background. Meeting idols was an entirely different ball game compared to my interactions with university professors. I chuckled to myself, finding it amusing how I, usually composed and confident among colleagues, felt a twinge of nervousness at the prospect of working with Stray Kids.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that they were just individuals passionate about music, like any other students I had taught. Yet, the thought of sharing a classroom with idols who had achieved international fame made my heart race a bit.

As I went through the lesson plans and materials, the nervous energy slowly transformed into a mix of anticipation and curiosity. I wondered how our dynamic would unfold in this unique educational setting. Regardless of the initial jitters, I was determined to make the English classes not only educational but also an enjoyable experience for Stray Kids. After all, language learning should be as dynamic and exciting as their music.

As I stood in the impeccably prepared classroom, my nervousness was exacerbated by the thought that perhaps my outfit was a tad too much for the occasion. I looked down at my tailored dark brown high-waist pants, the cream turtleneck elegantly tucked in, paired with dark brown ankle boots – a complete ensemble that leaned heavily into the dark academia aesthetic.

My round glasses, chosen for their practicality, unintentionally contributed to the whole 'bookish' vibe. I couldn't help but chuckle nervously at the irony. Amongst idols who often wore stylish and trendy outfits, I felt like I had walked into the scene of a classic literature lecture rather than an English class with Stray Kids.

Taking a moment to compose myself, I reminded myself that professionalism was key, regardless of my own self-perceived fashion choices. As I prepared for the arrival of Stray Kids, I hoped my nervousness would soon be overshadowed by the excitement of the teaching journey ahead.

*Stray kids pov* 

Lost in your thoughts, you were adjusting the materials on the desk when the door swung open. One by one, the members of Stray Kids walked into the classroom, each bringing a burst of energy that seemed to fill the room.

Hyunjin's playful banter echoed through the room as he took a seat, while Bang Chan entered with a calm confidence, giving you a reassuring nod. Seungmin and Jeongin followed suit, completing the ensemble. As they settled into their seats, you realized that the nervousness that had gripped you earlier was slowly dissipating, replaced by a sense of eagerness to begin this unique educational journey with Stray Kids. 

As each member of Stray Kids filed into the classroom, their eyes widened in surprise at the sight of such a young academic teacher. You, with your tailored dark academia outfit and round glasses, exuded a sense of youthful sophistication that left the boys momentarily taken aback.

Felix couldn't help but flash a friendly smile, instantly charmed by your presence. Changbin, usually composed, found himself subtly impressed by the elegant coordination of your outfit. Hyunjin, known for his keen sense of style, couldn't help but appreciate the aesthetic appeal you brought to the classroom.

As the members settled into their seats, Minho, in particular, struggled to hide his surprise. He felt a mixture of awe and anxiety, not only at the youthful appearance of the teacher but also at the realization that he was about to dive into English classes—a subject that had always been a bit challenging for him.

Seated at his desk, Minho stole glances, attempting to process the unexpected combination of a young academic instructor who, besides being knowledgeable, also possessed an undeniable beauty. He pondered how such an elegant presence would navigate the dynamics of teaching Stray Kids, especially when language proficiency was at the core.

While the boys were captivated by your appearance, there was an underlying sense of curiosity about how the upcoming English classes would unfold. As the initial surprise settled, they couldn't help but wonder how this unique blend of youth, beauty, and academic prowess would shape their language learning journey.

*end of povs*

You stand at the front of the class, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement. Clearing your throat, you begin, "Hello everyone. My name is [Your Name], I'm 29 years old, and I'm from [Your Birthplace]. Professionally, I work in linguistics."

You can feel their eyes on you, and a few polite smiles greet your introduction. It's your turn to guide them through this language journey.

"Now, let's practice introducing ourselves. How about we start with Bang Chan? Can you tell us your name, age, where you're from, and what you do?" you prompt.

Bang Chan, with a confident smile, responds, "Sure. I'm Bang Chan, 26 years old, from Sydney, Australia. I'm the leader of Stray Kids."

You nod in approval, impressed by his fluency. Then, turning to Felix, you ask, "And how about you, Felix?"

Felix, grinning, says, "I'm Felix, 23, from Sydney too. I'm a rapper and dancer in Stray Kids."

You can't help but appreciate their smooth English. "Great job, both of you. Now, even though you two are already fluent, I appreciate you being here for moral support. It'll be helpful for everyone."

Bang Chan nods, "Absolutely, we're here to help however we can."

You guided the introductions smoothly, starting with Chanbin, who confidently stated his role as the main rapper in Stray Kids.

"Sure thing. I'm Chanbin, 24 years old, from South Korea. I'm the main rapper in Stray Kids," he announced with assurance.

Then, Hyunjin, the lead dancer, followed suit with a friendly introduction.

"Hey, I'm Hyunjin, 23, also from South Korea. I'm the lead dancer," Hyunjin greeted with a warm smile.

When it came to Minho's turn, his nervousness was palpable as he stuttered through his introduction, mentioning his roles in both rapping and singing.

"Um, I'm Minho, 25, from South Korea too. I, uh, rap and sing," Minho nervously expressed, his words stumbling slightly.

Despite his unease, you praised Minho's effort before moving on to I.N, the maknae and lead vocalist, who greeted the group with a warm smile.

"Hi, I'm I.N, 22, from South Korea as well. I'm the maknae and lead vocalist," I.N introduced himself cheerfully.

Seungmin chimed in next, his voice steady and confident. “I’m Seungmin, 22, from South Korea. I’m the main vocalist,” he introduced himself smoothly.

Han followed, his tone calm and collected. “I’m Han, 22, also from South Korea. I’m the main rapper and producer,” he stated with a nod.

With the introductions completed, Bang Chan raised his hand slightly, seeking your attention.

"Can I ask you something, [Your Name]?" Bang Chan inquired.

"Of course, Bang Chan. What's on your mind?" you responded, curious about his question.

Bang Chan, looking intrigued, remarked, "You seem really knowledgeable about linguistics. Why did you decide to study it?"

Explaining your passion for language, especially phonetics and phonology, you shared how understanding sound production and linguistic patterns fascinated you. As you delved deeper into the subject during your undergraduate studies, your interest only grew stronger.

Impressed, Bang Chan nodded, acknowledging the depth of your interest. "That's really cool. I can see how that knowledge would be valuable for teaching English," he remarked.

"Absolutely," you replied with enthusiasm. "It's my pleasure to share what I've learned and make language learning enjoyable for everyone."

As the English classes progressed, you couldn't help but notice a stark contrast in the language abilities of the Stray Kids members. While most of them exhibited decent English skills, one stood out – Lee Minho. Despite his efforts, Minho struggled with English more noticeably than the others.

Throughout the first couple of weeks, you worked hard to foster a friendly and supportive environment in the classroom. The other members responded positively, forming a fellowship that made the learning process enjoyable. However, Minho remained distant, his struggles with English creating a barrier between him and the rest of the group, including you.

As the end of another class approached, you made a decision. It was time to address the elephant in the room and reach out to Minho. Taking a deep breath, you approached him as the others filed out of the classroom.

"Minho, can I have a word with you?" you asked gently, noticing the hint of apprehension in his eyes.

Minho nodded, his expression a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"So, I've been thinking" you began, your tone gentle yet earnest. "I understand that English might be challenging for you, and I want to support you in the best way possible."

Minho listened intently, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"I believe that with some extra attention and tailored guidance, we can make significant progress in your English proficiency" you continued, offering him a reassuring smile. "Would you be open to having extra classes where we can focus more on your individual learning needs?"

Minho hesitated for a moment, processing your suggestion. Then, with a nod, he replied, "I think that could really help. Thank you for offering."

You felt a surge of relief and determination knowing that Minho was willing to take the extra step to improve his English skills. Together, you discussed a schedule for the additional classes, ensuring that they would fit seamlessly into his routine without overwhelming him.

With a sense of purpose and optimism, you left the conversation knowing that you had taken a significant step toward helping Minho unlock his full potential in English. As you prepared for the extra classes, you were filled with determination to support him every step of the way on his language learning journey.

After several weeks of dedicating extra time to Minho's English improvement, you realized that traditional methods weren't fully engaging him. Determined to find a way to connect with him, you decided to bring a different approach to the table.

As you entered the classroom, Lino, your lovely cat, nestled comfortably in your arms. Today, you planned to make him the main topic of conversation, knowing that Minho had a fondness for cats and hoping to bridge a connection between him and the subject matter.

"Good morning, Minho" you greeted warmly as you set Lino down on the desk. "Today, we have a special guest joining us."

Minho's eyes lit up with surprise and curiosity as he looked at the fluffy feline.

"Meet Lino" you continued, patting the cat's head gently. "He's here to help us practice English today."

Minho's gaze shifted between you and the cat, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Did you know," you began, "that Lino's name sounds a lot like your stage name?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Minho's lips as he considered the connection.

"Oh, I’m honored.” he smiled.

Encouraged by his response, you delved into a discussion about cats, weaving in English vocabulary related to pets and animals. Minho's engagement grew with each topic you introduced, his confidence in speaking English gradually blossoming in the comfortable and familiar context of his love for cats.

As you conducted the English class, your cat, Lino, decided to make his presence known in an unexpected way – by gravitating towards Minho more than you, much to your amusement.

Minho chuckled as Lino curled up beside him, earning an affectionate scratch behind the ears. "Lino likes me." he remarked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You laughed, nodding in agreement. "Seems like it! He must sense that you're a cat person."

Minho smiled, his demeanor relaxed and comfortable as he continued to stroke Lino's fur. "I am," he admitted. "I have three cats back home – Soon, Dong, and Dori."

"Three cats? That's wonderful." you replied, genuinely intrigued. "What are they like?"

Minho's face lit up as he began to describe each of his furry companions, his English still a bit basic but improving with each sentence. "Soon is playful, always chasing after toys. Dong is more laid-back, loves cuddling. And Dori, well, Dori is the mischievous one, always getting into trouble."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as you listened to Minho speak about his cats. Despite the occasional mix of Korean and basic English constructions, his enthusiasm and willingness to communicate in English were clear signs of progress.

"That's amazing, Minho." you remarked, unable to hide the happiness in your voice. "Your English is really improving. Keep up the great work!"

Minho's smile widened, a sense of pride evident in his expression. "Thank you" he said sincerely. "I'm trying my best."

As time passed and the English classes continued, you found yourself forming a beautiful friendship with Minho that went beyond the classroom. He became more comfortable around you, showing his playful and "crazy" side, which only deepened your bond.

"You're such a goofball, Minnie," you teased, using the secret nickname you had created for him.

Grinning, Minho leaned closer. "And you are too serious, pumpkin " he replied, using the adorable nickname he had bestowed upon you.

The nickname exchange became a cherished secret between the two of you, a symbol of the special bond you shared. Whenever you were alone inside the class, you would affectionately refer to each other as pumpkin and Minnie, a reminder of the friendship that had blossomed between you.

As the days went by, the other members of Stray Kids continued to address you as "[Your Name] Noona," a term of endearment that filled you with warmth and affection. But it was the secret nicknames shared between you and Minho that held a special place in your heart, a testament to the unique connection you had forged through laughter, learning, and friendship.

As the members of Stray Kids gathered in the practice room, their attention gravitated towards the budding connection between you and Minho during the English classes. Whispers and curious glances circulated among them as they observed the growing closeness.

Hyunjin leaned in, breaking the silence with a whisper, "Have you guys noticed how [Your Name] Noona and Minho have been getting along lately?"

Felix nodded in agreement. "Yeah, they seem really comfortable around each other."

Chanbin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And did you hear those secret nicknames they were using? 'Pumpkin' and 'Minnie'?"

Seungmin chuckled softly. "It's like they have their own little world."

Bang Chan smiled, acknowledging the connection. "They do seem to have a special bond. It's nice to see."

Han nodded in agreement. "They're always laughing and joking together. It's obvious there's something more than just friendship."

I.N's curiosity peaked. "Do you think they're dating?"

Bang Chan shrugged thoughtfully. "It's hard to say, but there's definitely a connection between them."

Hyunjin grinned mischievously. "I bet they're secretly planning romantic dinners and long walks on the beach."

Felix rolled his eyes playfully. "Hyunjin, don't be ridiculous."

Chanbin interjected with a thoughtful tone. "Whatever it is, they seem happy together. And that's all that matters."

As the conversation continued, the members couldn't shake the feeling that there was indeed something special brewing between you and Minho. Whether it was a budding romance or simply a deep and meaningful friendship, one thing was for certain – the bond between you and Minho was undeniable, and it brought warmth and joy to everyone around you.

One day as the scorching sun beat down relentlessly, you braved the extreme heatwave to attend the English class with Stray Kids. Determined to maintain your signature vintage and classy style despite the weather, you opted for a mid-length summer dress with a vintage flair. The dress flowed gracefully around you, its light fabric providing a semblance of relief against the oppressive heat.

Paired with your favorite classy flats, you embraced the academia aesthetic that you adored. The outfit exuded elegance and sophistication, a reflection of your personal style and commitment to looking your best even in the sweltering heat.

As you stepped into the classroom, a surge of relief swept over you at the sight of the functioning air conditioning, offering a welcome escape from the oppressive heat outside. With a contented sigh, you began organizing the books for today's planned competition, your heart brimming with anticipation.

Minutes ticked by, and one by one, the members of Stray Kids trickled into the classroom. Their eyes were drawn to your radiant presence, accentuated by the soft glow of the classroom lights. They couldn't help but admire you, their internal thoughts filled with awe and appreciation.

"Wow, [Your Name] looks stunning today," Felix remarked.

"She always does. It's like she stepped out of a fashion magazine," Hyunjin chimed in.

Chanbin nodded in agreement, adding, "She's got that vintage charm down pat."

As the members settled into their seats, their attention shifted to Minho. They couldn't help but notice the subtle change in his demeanor, his eyes lingering on you with a mixture of admiration and something deeper.

"Hey, Minho, you alright?" Bang Chan noticed, sensing Minho's reaction.

"Yeah, you seem kinda lost in thought there," Han observed.

Minho struggled to contain the flood of emotions swirling within him. With each glance at you, his heart threatened to burst from his chest, overwhelmed by the depth of his affection for you.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just... lost in thought," Minho managed to reply, his voice barely above a whisper.

Throughout the English class, Minho's thoughts remained consumed by you. Your presence filled the room with warmth and light, illuminating his heart in ways he never thought possible. And as he stole glances at you throughout the class, he couldn't help but wonder if you felt the same way too.

As the class progressed and the competition ensued, Minho's initial hesitance and uncertainty gave way to a remarkable transformation. With a newfound determination shining in his eyes, he threw himself into the challenges with gusto, fueled by a desire to impress you and the rest of the group.

"Whoa, look at Minho go! He's on fire today." Felix exclaimed, amazed by Minho's focus.

"I've never seen him this focused before," Hyunjin added, nodding in agreement.

"He's really giving it his all," Chanbin chimed in, impressed by Minho's dedication.

By the end of the class, Minho had surpassed all expectations, leaving everyone astounded by his remarkable progress. As the applause filled the room, you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for Minho and his incredible achievement. His determination to impress you had not gone unnoticed, and you were filled with admiration for his unwavering commitment to growth and self-improvement.

As the English class with Stray Kids drew to a close, you bid farewell to each member with a warm smile and words of encouragement. The energy of the competition still lingered in the air, filling the room with excitement and camaraderie.

"Great job today, everyone! See you next time." you called out, your voice brimming with genuine pride and affection.

As the members began to file out of the classroom, you turned your attention to the scattered books and materials on the desks. With a sigh, you began the task of organizing the mess, your focus solely on restoring order to the room.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice Minho lingering behind, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of admiration and something deeper. He watched as you worked diligently, your movements graceful and purposeful.

"Let me help you." Minho's voice broke through the silence, his words soft and sincere as he extended his hands to assist you with the books.

Startled, you looked up, your eyes meeting Minho's with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. You hadn't expected him to stay behind, let alone offer to help you.

"Thank you." you replied, your voice filled with genuine appreciation as you handed him a stack of books. As your hands brushed against each other, a jolt of electricity coursed through both of you.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still as you shared a fleeting yet electrifying connection. In that instant, the world around you faded away, leaving only the gentle flutter of your hearts echoing in the silence.

As you worked together in comfortable silence, the warmth of your shared presence enveloped you, creating a sense of intimacy and connection that transcended words.

As you worked together to tidy up the classroom, Minho broke the silence with a soft voice filled with genuine warmth and gratitude.

"You know, [Your Name], I just wanted to say... I felt amazing with my English today," Minho confessed, his eyes shining with a sense of accomplishment.

You turned to him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you listened to his heartfelt words.

"That's wonderful to hear, Minho," you replied, your voice filled with genuine happiness for him. "You did an incredible job today."

Minho's smile widened, a sense of pride radiating from him as he reflected on his progress. "And I just wanted to say how happy I am to have you as my teacher. Your support and encouragement mean a lot to me."

Your heart swelled with warmth at Minho's heartfelt words. You had seen his dedication and determination firsthand, and knowing that you had played a part in his journey filled you with a sense of fulfillment.

"Thank you, Minho," you said softly, your voice filled with genuine appreciation. "It's a pleasure to teach you, and I'm so proud of how far you've come."

As the final touches were made to organize the classroom, a comfortable silence settled between you and Minho. With everything in order, you walked over to your desk to gather your belongings, signaling the end of another successful class.

Minho, having said his goodbyes, turned around to face you, his expression holding a hint of hesitation. The atmosphere shifted subtly as he began to speak, his words carrying a genuine sincerity.

"Actually... I know this might not be appropriate because of our student/teacher relation, but... hmm... you look stunning. You even made me feel shy," Minho admitted, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of admiration and a touch of bashfulness.

Your cheeks flushed with a combination of surprise and warmth at Minho's unexpected compliment. The sincerity in his words and the vulnerability in his demeanor created a moment that lingered in the air.

"Thank you, Minho," you replied with a genuine smile, appreciating the honesty and courage in his words. "I'm glad you feel that way. It's always nice to receive a compliment."

When Minho offers to help you with your bag, you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him. Despite the lingering awareness of your student/teacher relationship, the genuine connection between you feels undeniable.

“Thank you, Minho. That would be wonderful,” you reply with a grateful smile, accepting his offer with genuine appreciation.

Together, you make your way to the basement where your car awaits. As you walk, Minho engages you in conversation, his genuine curiosity shining through.

“So, how’s Lino doing?” Minho asks, his voice filled with warmth as he inquires about your beloved cat. “I bet he misses you when you’re away.”

A smile tugs at your lips at the mention of Lino, your heart warmed by Minho’s genuine interest in your life outside of the classroom.

“He’s doing well, thank you for asking,” you reply, your voice soft with affection. “I miss him too when I’m away. He’s like family to me.”

As you reach your car, Minho gently hands your bag to you, his actions filled with a quiet sense of care and consideration.

“Thank you, Minho. I really appreciate your help,” you say, your voice filled with gratitude as you turn to face him.

“It’s my pleasure, [Your Name],” Minho replies, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

As you settle your bag into the car, you turn to Minho with a warm smile. The connection between you feels palpable, the air tinged with unspoken sentiments.

“If you ever feel comfortable, Minho, you’re more than welcome to come over and see Lino whenever you want,” you offer, your words carrying a subtle invitation that extends beyond the realm of the feline companion.

Minho’s gaze meets yours, a flicker of understanding passing between you. You both know that the mention of Lino is a mere pretext, a way to create an opportunity for you to spend time together outside the confines of the classroom.

“That sounds great, [Your Name]. I’d love to see Lino again,” Minho replies, his words holding a deeper resonance that hints at the shared understanding between you.

As you close the car door, there lingers a charged atmosphere, an acknowledgment of the unspoken connection that has blossomed between you. The invitation to visit Lino becomes a bridge, inviting Minho into your world in a way that goes beyond the boundaries of your official roles.

As you part ways, a sense of anticipation hangs in the air—a promise of shared moments yet to unfold, where the presence of Lino would be a mere backdrop to the deeper connection growing between you and Minho.

Couple days later, as you correct Minho’s homework during your extra class session, you can’t help but marvel at his progress. His determination and dedication to improving his English skills are evident in every assignment he completes.

Lost in your thoughts, you are surprised when Minho places a piece of paper on top of the question you are correcting. With a curious smile, you pick up the note and read the handwritten message in English, noticing a few adorable mistakes that only add to its charm.

The note, written with a touch of nervousness and sincerity, asks if you are free on Friday evening and if you’d like to watch a movie at your place. Minho’s excuse about missing your cat brings a smile to your face, knowing full well that he has three cats of his own at home.

Chuckling softly to yourself, you can’t deny the warmth that fills your heart at Minho’s sweet gesture. With a pen in hand, you write a response on the back of the note, asking him what he would like to have for dinner on Friday evening.

As you hand the note back to Minho, your eyes meet, and a shared understanding passes between you. In that moment, you feel a sense of excitement and anticipation for the upcoming Friday evening—a chance to spend time with Minho outside the confines of the classroom, where your shared connection could blossom in the comfort of familiarity and friendship.

As Minho receives your response to his note, he can't help but feel a rush of excitement and anticipation. Your willingness to spend time with him outside of the classroom fills him with a sense of joy and warmth that he can't contain.

As he reads your reply, a smile spreads across his face, the corners of his lips lifting with genuine happiness. It's a chance for both of you to spend quality time together, to share a meal, and enjoy each other's company in a relaxed and comfortable setting.

"Can I cook for you?" Minho asks, his voice tinged with a hint of shyness as he meets your gaze.

Your eyes sparkle with warmth and affection as you look at him, your response filled with sincerity and kindness.

"Only if you let me help you,” you reply, your words carrying a sense of fondness.

With a nod and a smile, Minho accepts your offer, knowing that your movie night will be filled with laughter, good food, and the warmth of your growing bond. As you make plans for your evening together, Minho can't help but feel grateful for the chance to spend time with someone as special as you, and he looks forward to creating memories that you'll cherish for years to come.

As the days pass leading up to the supposed movie night with you, Minho finds himself on the receiving end of relentless teasing from the members of Stray Kids. It seems that his attempt to keep his plans a secret has failed miserably, much to his dismay.

Chanbin: "Ooh, Minho's got a hot date!"

Felix: "What movie are you gonna watch, Minho? Romantic comedy or action-packed thriller?"

Hyunjin: "Don't forget the popcorn and tissues, Minho. It's gonna be a tearjerker!"

The teasing only intensifies as the days go by, with each member finding new ways to poke fun at Minho's supposed date night. Despite his attempts to brush off their remarks with a good-natured smile, Minho can't help but feel a pang of embarrassment at the attention.

Han: "Minho, you better dress to impress!"

Seungmin: "Yeah, don't forget to bring flowers!"

I.N: "And make sure you don't spill the popcorn all over her!"

With each passing comment, Minho's cheeks flush with embarrassment, his attempts to deflect their teasing met with little success. It seems that the members of Stray Kids are determined to make sure he doesn't live down his supposed date night anytime soon.

Despite the embarrassment, Minho can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his friends' playful banter. Their teasing may be relentless, but it's also a reminder of the close bond they share—a bond that brings laughter and joy to even the most embarrassing moments. And as the days pass, Minho finds himself looking forward to his movie night with you, knowing that even if the members of Stray Kids continue to tease him mercilessly, he'll always have their support and friendship to fall back on.

The day of the much-anticipated movie night with Minho arrives, and you can't contain the nervous energy coursing through your veins. Despite your efforts to maintain composure, the excitement and anticipation bubble within you, manifesting in a flurry of nervous gestures and rapid thoughts.

After much deliberation, you settle on a more casual and comfortable outfit for the evening—a simple yet stylish ensemble that exudes effortless charm. As you stand before the mirror, adjusting your attire and smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes through the apartment.

Heart pounding with anticipation, you hurry to the door, your pulse quickening with each step. With trembling hands, you turn the doorknob and swing the door open, your eyes widening in surprise and delight at the sight before you.

There stands Minho, resplendent in a casual yet impeccably stylish outfit that perfectly complements his features. His warm smile illuminates his face as he holds out a small bouquet of white lilies—the very flowers you mentioned months ago in one of your classes.

Speechless with astonishment and gratitude, you can hardly believe your eyes. The gesture is thoughtful and heartfelt, a testament to the depth of Minho's kindness and consideration.

"Oh, Minho... I can't believe you remembered," you exclaim, your voice filled with genuine emotion as you accept the bouquet with trembling hands.

Minho's smile widens at your reaction, his eyes sparkling with warmth and sincerity. "I wanted tonight to be special," he replies, his words carrying a sincerity that touches you to the core.

In that moment, as you stand together in the doorway, the weight of your shared connection hangs heavy in the air. It's a gesture of thoughtfulness and affection that speaks volumes, a silent promise of the memories yet to be made and the bond that will only grow stronger with time.

With a grateful smile, you step aside, inviting Minho into your home and into your heart. As you embark on your movie night together, you can't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation for the moments yet to come—a night filled with laughter, companionship, and the blossoming of something beautiful between you.

As Minho stepped into [Your Name]'s cozy apartment, he was greeted by the enthusiastic welcome of Lino, who came running towards him with a playful meow, rubbing himself against Minho's legs.

Minho chuckled at Lino's antics, reaching down to scratch the cat behind the ears. "Hey there, buddy. Looks like we're already becoming fast friends," he remarked, his voice filled with amusement.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight of Minho bonding with Lino. "He definitely likes you more than me," you quipped, a hint of playful sarcasm in your tone.

Minho laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Seems like it," he replied, his attention momentarily diverted by the playful antics of the furry feline.

Meanwhile, you headed to the kitchen to find a water vase for the bouquet of white lilies Minho had brought. As you rummaged through the cabinets, Minho took a moment to glance around the small apartment, his curiosity piqued by the glimpses of your personality scattered throughout the space.

The apartment was a reflection of you and your unique style, filled with charming décor and personal touches that spoke volumes about your interests and passions. From the vintage photographs adorning the walls to the eclectic mix of furniture, every corner of the apartment exuded warmth and character.

In the background, the soulful strains of blues music filled the air, adding a touch of ambiance to the cozy atmosphere. Minho couldn't help but nod his head to the rhythm, appreciating the soothing melody that filled the room.

You returned from the kitchen, a water vase in hand, and placed the lilies on the small dining table. "There we go, a perfect spot for them," you remarked, a smile of satisfaction gracing your lips as you admired the bouquet.

Minho nodded in agreement, his eyes lingering on the delicate flowers. "They look beautiful," he commented, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

As the evening unfolded in your cozy apartment, the aroma of freshly cut lilies mingled with the savory scents wafting from the kitchen, filling the air with a tantalizing promise of the meal to come.

Turning to Minho with a warm smile, you inquired, "Are you hungry? I can whip up something simple if you'd like."

Minho's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he followed you into the kitchen, his curiosity piqued by the array of cooking equipment adorning the countertops.

To his surprise, the kitchen was a treasure trove of culinary delights, stocked with an impressive array of pots, pans, and utensils—a testament to your love for cooking.

"You have quite the collection here," Minho remarked, his voice filled with genuine admiration as he surveyed the assortment of cooking tools.

You grinned, a glimmer of pride in your eyes. "I love to cook," you admitted, your voice tinged with enthusiasm. "It's one of my favorite hobbies."

As you two set to work preparing the ingredients for your meal, Minho found himself drawn to your infectious energy and passion for cooking. With each passing moment, your laughter filled the air, mingling with the sound of sizzling vegetables and bubbling pots.

In a playful gesture, Minho deliberately brushed his hand against yours whenever the opportunity arose, savoring the fleeting connection between you.

But it was when you suggested you cut the vegetables together that Minho's heart skipped a beat. As you stood side by side at the kitchen counter, Minho felt a surge of warmth and affection wash over him.

With a gentle smile, Minho wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Your hands intertwined as you guided the knife through the crisp vegetables, your movements synchronized in perfect harmony.

As you continued to cook together, your laughter echoed through the kitchen, filling the air with a sense of joy and companionship that neither of you could deny. And in that shared moment of togetherness, Minho and you knew that you had found something special.

As the aroma of your culinary creation fills the air, you and Minho step back from the stove, your shared masterpiece laid out before you. With a sense of accomplishment and anticipation, you set about preparing the table for your meal.

Minho's hands move with purpose as he arranges the plates and utensils, his movements deliberate yet filled with a subtle grace. With each placement, he ensures that your seats are positioned side by side, a silent invitation for closeness and companionship.

You couldn't help but notice Minho's thoughtful gestures, the unspoken warmth and affection evident in his actions. As you settle into your seats, the table bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, you feel a sense of gratitude for the growing bond between you.

As you begin to enjoy your meal, you feel a surge of warmth and affection for Minho, a desire to share the joy of your culinary creation with him in a more intimate way.

"Minho," you call softly, your voice filled with tenderness and warmth, "try this dish. It's one of my favorites."

With a gentle smile, you offer Minho a spoonful of the delicious food, your eyes sparkling with anticipation. As he accepts the bite, your fingers brush against each other in a fleeting yet electrifying touch, sending a jolt of warmth coursing through both of you.

Minho savors the flavors, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and affection. In that moment, as you share a meal together, your connection deepens, your hearts entwined in a silent dance of possibility and hope.

In the soft glow of candlelight, as you share the remnants of your meal and the warmth of each other's company, you and Minho find yourselves engaged in an intimate dialogue, each revelation deepening the connection between you.

"You know, Minho, I've always admired your passion for dance," you begin, your voice soft with admiration. "It's incredible how you express yourself through movement."

A gentle smile graces Minho's lips, his eyes alight with appreciation. "Thank you, [Your Name]. Dance has always been my way of connecting with the world, of expressing emotions that words alone can't capture."

As you exchange stories and share moments, you can't help but feel a sense of wonder at Minho's dedication to his craft, his commitment to his art shining through in every word.

"And you, [Your Name], your love for books—it's truly inspiring," Minho remarks, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "The way you talk about literature, about the worlds and characters within those pages, it's like you're sharing a piece of your soul with me."

You smile, touched by Minho's words. "Books have always been my sanctuary, my escape into other worlds," you admit, your eyes shining with passion. "There's something magical about losing yourself in the pages of a good book."

As you continue to share your passions and discoveries, you find common ground in unexpected places—a shared love of picnics beneath the open sky, the simple joy of being at home in the company of your beloved cats.

"I've always loved picnics," Minho confesses, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "There's something so liberating about being outdoors, surrounded by nature's beauty."

You nod in agreement, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "I couldn't agree more. There's a sense of peace and tranquility that comes with being out in nature, away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life."

In that moment, as you bask in the warmth of each other's presence, you and Minho discover a world of shared interests and passions—a world where your hearts can intertwine and your souls can soar.

As the soft strains of your favorite slow song fill the air, a sense of warmth and familiarity envelops the room, casting a spell of enchantment over the evening.

Caught up in the melody, you find yourself humming along, the gentle rhythm stirring memories and emotions within your soul. Across the room, Minho's eyes light up with recognition, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he catches the familiar tune.

With a playful twinkle in his eyes, Minho rises from his seat, extending a hand towards you with a silent invitation to dance. "May I have this dance?" he asks, his voice soft with warmth and affection.

You chuckle softly, a hint of self-deprecation in your tone. "I don't know how to dance," you admit, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

But Minho's smile remains unwavering, his gaze filled with unwavering determination. "Then let me teach you," he replies, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "Just like you taught me English."

With a mixture of trepidation and excitement, you place your hand in Minho's, allowing him to lead you to the center of the room. As you begin to sway to the gentle rhythm of the music, Minho guides you with grace and patience, his movements fluid and effortless.

With each step, each gentle turn, you feel yourself surrendering to the music, to the warmth of Minho's embrace. In his arms, you find a sense of security and belonging, a place where your fears and insecurities melt away.

As you dance, your laughter mingles with the music, filling the air with a sense of joy and companionship. In that intimate moment, you realize that dancing isn't just about following the steps—it's about surrendering to the rhythm of the heart, about embracing the beauty of the moment and the connection shared between two souls.

In the hushed embrace of the evening, as you and Minho sway gently to the rhythm of the music, a sense of serenity settles over you like a comforting blanket. In the soft glow of candlelight, your eyes meet, the warmth of your gaze speaking volumes of the unspoken bond between you.

As the music fades into the background, a comfortable silence envelops you, the air tinged with anticipation and longing. In that fleeting moment, Minho's voice breaks the silence, a whisper so soft it is almost lost amidst the gentle cadence of the night.

"May I?" he breathes, his words barely audible yet filled with an unmistakable yearning.

Your heart flutters at his question, your smile a reflection of the affection that fills your soul. With a nod and a smile, you whisper back, your voice barely a whisper yet resonating with the depth of your emotions.

"Please," you reply, your heart racing with anticipation.

In that tender moment, Minho closes the distance between you, his touch as gentle as a summer breeze. With a tenderness that speaks of a thousand unspoken words, he presses his lips against yours, a sweet caress that ignites a spark within your souls.

In that stolen moment of intimacy, time seems to stand still as you lose yourselves in the sweetness of the kiss. In Minho's embrace, you feel a sense of belonging, a connection that transcends words and speaks directly to the depths of your heart.

As the evening unfolds in the warmth of your apartment, filled with laughter, shared moments, and tender embraces, the movie you had planned to watch fades into the background, forgotten amidst the magic of your connection.

[ghostiiess]

“you’re the best gift i have ever received”

synopsis: while you’re trying to wrap your christmas gifts, your boyfriend jake knocks on your door and surprises you with a gift

warnings: none, petnames (princess, babe, and baby), mention of kisses (not makeout), i think that’s all? let me know if there’s more!

type: fluff

wc: around 850 (i think)

member: jake from enhypen x female reader

author’s note: i am in love with jake’s and hoon’s collab with tiffany & co…. so i added it into the imagine, i hope you guys will like it!!

reblogs and likes are really appreciated!

english's not my main tongue.. sorry if i made any mistakes!

Wrap, wrap, wrap. You were late... again.

Like every year, you procrastinated to put the wrapping paper on the gifts you bought for your family and loved ones. You loved buying the gifts, picking out the tags, choosing the wrapping paper, seeing the smiles on the faces of your family and friends when they opened the gifts, but you hated the time when you had to wrap everything and put the gifts in order. You found it long and boring, especially since your gift-wrapping skills were not the best and most beautiful.

If your boyfriend Jake saw you doing what you are doing now, he would probably laugh and tell you how adorable you are, trying to handle the tape and the wrapping paper at the same time. Unlike you, he wrapped gifts beautifully.

- Why is wrapping presents so hard?!

You sighed for the umpteenth time under the air of the festive songs you had put in the background, then looked at the gift you had just wrapped. How could a book be so difficult to wrap?

- Well... it's not too bad. After all… it's the gift that counts, not the wrapping.

You looked at the pile of gifts you had left. Just seeing the other gifts discouraged you. Again, you took the gift, that was meant for a family member, placed it on the paper, and took a deep breath.

- You only have six left, you can make it Y/N! you said to encourage yourself.

At the same time, there was a knock at your door. You weren't expecting a visit today, but you guessed that it was probably your boyfriend, who liked to make surprise visits from time to time. You opened the front door and let the cold wind and snow enter your house.

- Hii! said your boyfriend Jake with a big smile on his face, as he walked into your house and kissed you on the cheek. I have a special delivery for you!

- A special delivery? you asked as you closed the door behind him.

Your boyfriend nodded and handed you a bag, running his ringed hand through his dark brown hair.

- Coming straight from the North Pole! It's not your Christmas present, but I really couldn't wait! he smiled. I really wanted you to wear it before Christmas Eve at my family's house.

- How many non-Christmas presents will I get? you laughed. I thought we had to go easy on the presents this year... and this is the third one! I really appreciate it, but... I don't want you to spend all your money on me, baby.

He laughed.

- Yeah, but... Don't I have the right to spoil my girl during this festive season? Besides, it's so fun and cute to see you all happy afterwards.

He kissed your forehead, then said:

- Open it, I want to see your reaction.

You nodded your head, then gently removed the red tissue paper that decorated the white bag. You took the small wrapped gift and removed the red wrapping paper from the box, revealing a small turquoise box inside. You could recognize the brand just by the color, due to the promotion Jake and his best friend had recently done with Tiffany & Co.

- Jake... Is this really what I think it is?

- Open it and you'll see! He replied with a grin.

You opened the small turquoise box and saw a silver necklace, with a small heart-shaped pendant, that opened to reveal your and Jake's anniversary date of dating. You couldn't help but smile.

- Jake... It's so beautiful, I love the detail of our birthday in the little heart...thank you so much! I love it so much, you said, kissing him gently on this lips. Can you put it on me, please?

- It's nothing princess, you deserve it! he replied, putting the necklace around your neck.

- How is it? you said, turning back to face him

Jake put his right hand over his mouth to hide his smile and couldn't help but giggle a little. His hand slipped to his heart, you could almost see sparks in his brown eyes.

- Baby, you are sooo beautiful. It suits you so well, omg… Come here.

He placed his lips against yours, then gave you another smile.

- I knew I had made the right choice with this necklace. To be honest, I ordered one too and I thought we could both have matching necklaces. I think we could look really cute and beautiful wearing them together. What do you think? before you could answer, he continued. Wait! We could even have matching rings! I think I saw some that went with the necklace. Omg, we'be so cute!

You took him in your arms, laughed softly, and then nodded to confirm his idea of matching necklaces. You pulled away from the hug, then went on with what you wanted to say:

- Thank you so much baby. I also wanted to give you a gift today, but all of your gifts are in transit. They were supposed to arrive today, but there was a delay in shipping and delivery, and I won't get them for another two days but…

Not letting you finish your sentence, Jake placed his lips on yours, then pulled away from the kiss while placing his left hand on your right cheek.

- Baby, you're the best gift I've ever been given. As long as I have you, I'm happy. And if I’m being completely honest, I don't want anything, except for us to grow old together.

Still a smile on his lips, your boyfriend looked at the messy pile of presents on your kitchen table. He knew you hated wrapping gifts.

- Need a hand?

- Please.

not so sure about the end, but i still hope you guys liked it!

permanent taglist (open): @nsb-rkive @kentisbaby @firebenderwolf @hyuneee0 @yawnzzznnn @ghostyycat7

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[russellsppttemplates]

Let me be there for you (Lance Stroll)

Your way of dealing with things makes Lance question if you are both on the same page

Note: english is not my first language. I never thought that a small blurb could lead to this, but I'm happy it did. Thank you to the people who sent in their ideas, and coincidence or not, some of them I already had in mind (some were tweaked a little), and they also go perfect with something I want to do for Lance and reader when they want to start a family, so hopefully soon I'll get to that!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions reader's period, a couple fight, hospital/exams, female fertility problems

"Would you be able to come here by the end of the week?", the lady asked over the phone, "this week is going to be difficult, I need to push a few things around to see if I can make it. Can I call you back once I know for sure?", you suggested back to her, "thank you for understanding. Have a nice day", you ended the call, sighing as you looked at the calendar app open on your laptop and, quite frankly, not seeing many available options for the appointment you were trying to book.

You were in the middle of changing things around when your boyfriend's text interrupted your chain of emails questioning if your schedule could be altered.

"Shoot, forgot that was today!", you cursed yourself for having forgotten that you had planned to have dinner with Lance at your place, now grateful that he had won the battle of who should be in charge of the food despite your previous insistence. The text could read that he was leaving his place to go to the take out place and then he would make his way to yours, which meant you had about forty fives minutes until he arrived.

Deciding that you'd leave the problem for tomorrow, at least until you knew for sure if you had the time, you switched off your laptop and moved to the living room, tidying it up a little and arranging the table so it was set when Lance arrived.

A knock on the door was enough to pull you out of your focus on the show playing on the TV, getting up to open it and allowing him inside, you waited until the paper bag was set on the table so you could cup his cheek and kiss his lips, "hello, sweetheart", he hummed as he separated your lips.

"Hi, handsome, how was your day?", you asked, helping him spread the food containers, "it was good, we did some testing on the latest developments of the car and some promotional videos, too. And yours? Is this a new table?", he said, "it was good. Oh yes, I got this on the weekend, the guys delivered it on Friday and I spent the whole weekend building it", you smiled, seeing Lance look at the plaster on your arm, "I had some trouble with one of the legs, but I got it under control", you explained, seeing his concerned expression, "you could've called for help", he noted, holding your hand as you sat down, "no need, I was able to complete it myself. Hopefully this doesn't fall all over though", you giggled, trying to soften his expression with a kiss on his cheek.

"Do you want to go to this weekend's race?", he asked, biting the food he gathered on the fork, "I don't think I can go, I'd love to, but I was only able to schedule an appointment for the weekend, and even that I'm trying to see if that works, but I'd love to go", you pouted, "I'll be watching from home, I promise", you cupped his cheek, rubbing the stubbly skin and smiling, "this one usually broadcasts early in the morning, like six or something", he nudged you, "then I'll just have to get a big mug of coffee to get me through".

"You said you had an appointment?", Lance recuperated the subject when you had finished tidying the plates, now sitting on the sofa enjoying eachother's presence, "yes, I have to go to a check-up, nothing major", you said, kissing his clothed chest.

.

Since Lance was leaving for Japan the next morning, you opted out to have dinner that his place, despite your insistence that you could do it at yours so he didn't have to worry about having a tidy kitchen and house, "I've told you I don't mind having to clean up, and I always love having you here, especially when you wear my clothes", he reasoned with you, feeling a bit cocky about how you had gone to his wardrobe and grab one of his hoodies because you were cold.

"Did you book the appointment?", Lance asked once you sat on his big sofa while he flickered through the channels, hoping to find something good for you to watch.

"I did, Friday afternoon they're going to do some exams", you subtly mentioned, "exams? I thought it was just a routine check-up", he wondered, now concerned about the situation. Truth was, he sometimes felt like he didn't get everything out of you. Like you'd tell him the basics of your life, almost in a way of not having him just about enough involved in it, but far way enough as well.

"They're doing some studies, but I don't think it's that big of a deal, it's about my period. Probably some bloodwork, they talked about a scan, but only if they think it's necessary", you mumbled, feeling Lance change his position so he could face you.

"Are you sure? I'd like to help in any way I can", he forwarded, "you know I want to be here as much as I can for you, you don't have to go through this alone, or do this alone, I'm here for you", he stated.

"I know, love. But I'm fine", you mumbled, "no need to worry, yeah?".

And it was like it broke then and there. "But I do worry, you know? I want to know things and do things for you, and you barely let me", he began and you allowed for him to continue, sensing that you needed to think about what to say, "it's like you don't want me to be involved in your life, like you don't want to rely on me, you don't want my help. And I'm all in Y/N", he said, rhe frustration clear in his face.

Being on your own for a while did that to a person. You'd grown protective of yourself and of your values, so you burst a lot bigger than intended, "what do you mean? I tell you about my things, and I have you in my life. And I love that, but I don't think I'm pushing you away", you reasoned back.

"You don't?", Lance snapped loudly enough to be heard but calm enough to still allow you to feel safe, "a while ago, you were busy juggling family matters and work matters, and I only found out after the problems were solved. Surely, I couldn't help with the problems themselves, but I could've helped you deal with their burden. Not even to build a table, Y/N. I'm sure I could've helped with that, and this appointment? I'm only finding out you're being examined because I asked. If you don't want me to know things, maybe we need to sort things", he gulped. He himself didn't like that option. He saw a future with you, so suggesting it came out of his mouth as quickly as he regretted saying it.

"I think you're being unreasonable, Lance", you stated. Was this the end of it all?

"We can't see eye to eye on this, can we?", he said, "I think we should think about this, with a clear head. I've already said things I don't mean in the slightest", your boyfriend suggested.

"I think it's a good idea, too", you gulped, getting up and grabbing your bag so you could leave.

You put on your shoes, lacing them carefully whilst feeling Lance's gaze on you, waiting desperately to hear the three words from him. Despite his opinion, you cared about him and wanted him in your life, so much so that at the beggining of your relationship you promised eachother that, no matter what, you'd never let the other go to sleep wondering if the other loved then. You could be mad or upset at eachother, but you had to know you loved eachother, so when he said "I love you", and looked at you, it made you feel a little bit better.

"I love you, Lance. Travel safe, okay?", you said, looking at him one last time before closing the door behind you.

.

The Buzzin Corner had been the first activity Lance got to do that got his mind off of what had happened, and for a bit he actually thought he had a good plan for when he came back, wanting to focus on his race first and then head home to you.

Sebastian had stopped by the Aston Martin hospitality, wanting to greet his old team when he saw Lance sitting in one of the sofas in the corner, "May I? You know being alone always makes your own thoughts louder", he smiled, sitting next to the number eighteen driver.

"Sure, it's probably for the best to be honest", Lance mumbled, "are you enjoying the weekend?", he asked, "it's different when I'm watching the cars race rather than racing myself", the German driver added simply, "it's a good thing I know a lot of people here. Just saw your sister too, and her husband. How is Y/N? I don't mean to be nosy, but I'm curious to know how she is", Sebastian asked Lance. He had met you in the last couple of races from the previous season, keeping you company a few times since you, too, preferred to stay in the hospitality rather than in the buzz of the paddock.

"She's back home, work has been keeping her busy and she had an appointment", Lance forwarded, thinking about telling him more. He and Sebastian had grown close, especially after being teammates, and he seemed to have a good marriage, so maybe he had some helpful insights about the situation. And the worst he could do was gossip about it with Mick, and even that he didn't think would be the case, so Lance figured it was okay.

"Actually, I've been meaning to talk to someone about this", he tried, seeing his previous teammate show no signs of not wanting to hear it, "Y/N, she's incredible, we've established that from the beggining. But I feel like she's not in this as much as I am?", Lance shrugged.

"What makes you think that?", Sebastian questioned, "it's like she doesn't want me to be there for her. Am I unreasonable to think that I should be involved in her life? She never asks for my help, and we had a fight about it before I travelled here", he gulped.

"I don't know her enough to answer from her side, nor do I want such meddling", Sebastian began, "But have you considered how it feels for her?", he pointed out, "I'm not taking any sides here, but I think it's important you see her side and she sees yours. Y/N is an incredibly intelligent woman, you know I said that to you after she visited us for the first race weekend", he smiled, recalling the many teasing comments of the German driver stating how he had definitely got lucky and of how whipped he looked for the young woman. "I don't think she would do anything to purposefully hurt you, I saw how much she cares about you. Maybe her love language is not the same as yours. I remember me and Hanna also had to work around them", he finished.

"I really don't want to lose her, you know?", Lance admitted. He saw a future with you. Whenever he thought about being married or having a family, or even growing old, he had you by his side. Despite knowing you wouldn't want a celebration like his sister had for her wedding, only because it wasn't your thing, but he couldn't help himself but think of how it would be for you. To see you in a dress and celebrate your love in front of the people you cared about most, to dance around and, most importantly, to spend the rest of his days with. "I don't want to throw the towell, but it's difficult to navigate this, and I don't want to say anything that would hurt her. When we talked about it, I already said things I didn't mean", Lance added, looking up at Sebastian, "make sure you talk it out like grown adults. No offensive words thrown around, because that will do you no good. If you're really in love with eachother, you find compromises and discuss them, see where one or the other bends, with balance, of course", the older driver advised, patting his back, "I hope everything goes well with you two, she's an incredible young woman", he smiled.

"Thanks, Sebastian", Lance smiled, too, now wanting the weekend to be over so he could talk to you.

.

Hi, love. I'm sorry your race got cut short but a technical issue. I hope you all have a safe travel home.

Also, I'm going to be home for the next few days because I had a small exam (I'm fine, by the way, just a little crampy), so if you want to drop by so we can talk, let me know, okay? I love you.

Those two texts on his phone warmed his heart slightly. He was gutted that he didn't get to finish the race, but still comforted by the fact that you had been watching and supporting him.

"Smiling about your lover, little brother?", Chloe asked, sitting in front of him. The family was flying back home together and everyone seemed to be either working or asleep, so Lance had the options to either talk to his sister or do what the others were doing.

"Yes, she just texted", he smiled faintly, his eyes not budging the part where you mentioned you'd be home, surely because it was medically prescribed given the exam you had. "She had an appointment today and she's saying she's done with the examination they did", he said.

"Oh, bless her. Is it because of her periods? She was telling me about it the last time we visited and she was very uncomfortable", Chloe thought out loud, "I've never had them, but some of my friends have had them and some of them are hard-core. Hopefully she can manage the pain and hopefully not need surgery", she finished, taking a sip from her drink and not notice how her brother's face had turned into worry.

Pain? Surgery? What was she on about? You mentioned some blood work, scans if they saw fit. But maybe you had a reason behind not telling him, so until then, he was going to work with the information he had.

.

Lance was up bright and early given the jetlag, thinking he would just get his day going before dropping by to your place. When he arrived the day before, he only had the energy to send you a text that he was home before he found the energy to shower and go to sleep, hoping to visit you today.

After his workout and another shower, he got ready and ate breakfast, taking his car keys out of the decorative bowl they lived in before making his way out of the door.

Driving to your place, he rehearsed the words and ideas he wanted to say. Now, he understood the importance of hearing your side of the story, because while he felt frustrated and a little hurt, he knew you were most likely not doing it on purpose, so there had to be another reason behind it.

Sending you a quick text and getting a positive reply back, he made his way to your place, parking his car and heading up to knock on your door.

"May I?", he wondered when you opened the door, getting inside and taking his shoes off before he kissed your forehead, heading with you silently to the living room.

"This is where I've been spending my days, so that's why there's pillows and blankets everywhere", you blushed, sitting yourself in a comfortable position so Lance could sit next to you, "we're here to talk, so do you mind if I start?", you asked, earning his nod.

Letting out a big breath, you looked at your boyfriend's brown eyes, "I've been on my own for a while, so I had to learn how to do things on my own. My parents always made sure I was raised as an independent woman because that gave me a feel of self security and some self confidence", you explained, "and so, for me, asking someone for help or accepting is not as easy as it is for some".

"But is that because you don't trust me to help you? Or that you don't want my help?", Lance asked softly, starting to understand where you were coming from.

"No, not like that. I trust you completely. And when I choose to not ask for help, it was never with the intention of hiding it all from you in a malicious way... I guess I'm just doing things like I was wired to do, and because of that I couldn't understand why you were so upset and mad about it", you breathed out, finally letting it all out.

"Then, maybe you can trust me enough to let me help? I understand where you're coming from now, but I promise I'm only have good intentions, and I want to be here for you. You don't have to deal with things on your own all the time", he brushed some hairs behind your ear.

"I didn't want to seem distant. It's just, I've been like this my whole life, and I never wanted to be overbearing. It's jus how I do stuff, but I'll make an effort to be better. Can't say it will be easy and linear, but we'll talk along the way, yes?", you added.

"Exactly. So, what are these exams?", he asked, holding your hand in his, rubbing the soft skin with his fingers, "I've always had pretty painful cycles, you know that. And because of that, my doctor thought it was best for me to get some further tests just to make sure things are working as they should. This time it was just a blood sample and the did a scan of my belly, and next week I have a smear booked which depends on what the other tests' results say when they come back", you gulped, "they're worried about some conditions, and fertility and all of that, so they think it's best if they catch it early", you shrugged your shoulders.

"Why didn't you tell me?", he asked, "Well, we established I'm not the best at asking for help, am I?", you blushed, "it's a lot for someone to take in. They keep saying that it could be nothing or that it could be something big, we just have to wait and see. And you've been in hospital recently in far worse shape, I didn't want to burden you", you said, earning a shake from his head, "I want to he here for you as much as possible in this, if you'll let me, please. Wether it's just bloodwork of a full body scan. I don't care if they're poking you with needles or some sort of exam, I want to be there because I care about you. You could never be a burden for me, and in matters like this, I'm not letting you walk through it alone, no matter what happens, okay?", Lance checked, earning a nod, "I need words, sweetheart", he teased, "yes, I'll tell you", you smiled, cupping his cheeks so you could press your lips in his.

"And we'll talk to eachother whenever we feel like we're not being understood. I don't care what it is about, we talk about it. You want me out of your hair? Okay. I need you to let me help you put on a sock? Let's do it!", he chuckled, making you smile too, "I want you for the long run, so I'm willing to make this work for the best if you are, too", he kissed your forehead, "we have a deal?".

Smiling, you pecked his lips a few times, "we have a deal. Thank you for being so understanding", you blushed, nuzzling your face in his chest, "now, I'm just going to get you a hot water bottle, your meds, and then we'll get comfortable enough to watch this show".

[markberries]

my only muse ﹒ 5

sypnosis ﹕ you’re mark’s classmate and you’re both english majors. mark makes music on the side and posts it on soundcloud and he asks you to promote it, but it genuinely sucks a— it’s.. interesting.

genre + ﹕ social media au f!reader, humour, fluff, college au, mark + y/n are both english majors, mark is a loser, bsfs!karina ryujin yunjin yangyang & xiaojun

wc ﹕ 1.4k

masterlist + comment/msg me to be added to the taglist

taglist ✦ @replayenthusiast @jeongintwt

the crisp end of winter and soon to be spring air tickles your cheeks, making your ears cold and your hands colder. there’s a book bag slung over your shoulder, slightly swaying as you pace the campus halls to make it to your first lecture of the day.

the bustling atmosphere makes it nearly impossible to get around it, but after having to walk this route many times, you’ve grown accustomed to the path you need to take in order to make it to class on time. the sounds of students engaging hits your ears as your shoes pat against the floor, your subconscious picking up bits and pieces of conversations as you make your way towards your composition writing class.

the first thing you do when you make it to the door is poke your head inside, scanning the few students who have decided to show up as early as you. there’s no sight of mark yet, which makes you let out an internal sigh of relief. this meant he wouldn’t have a chance to make conversation before the class starts, and you could sit away from him and dart out of the room as soon as the lecture ends.

“y/n?” a voice from behind you makes you flinch, grasping at your chest as your heart races within it. you immediately snap your head to the owner of the voice behind you, your stomach dropping when you recognize the same korean boy who’s music is terrible.

“oh, hey mark,” you greet him, attempting to be as casual and not awkward as possible. you can feel your heart rate beginning to slow after the short scare, your hands coming back to your sides. “you scared me.”

the brown haired korean-canadian looks at you with a smile, his fingers around his black backpack straps as he raises his eyebrow. his figure is adorned with a pair of black basketball shorts and a dark blue hoodie, something along the lines of clothes he wears nearly everyday. his glasses sit comfortably on his nose bridge, the silver frames complimenting his brown eyes.

“sorry dude, didn’t mean to scare you,” mark apologizes, reaching out and giving your shoulder a slight pat. “wanna head inside and sit together? i can show you what i’ve been working on.”

the dreadful question escapes from mark’s lips, making you unexcited for what’s to come. you don’t want to outright insult mark, even more so because you two sit on the title of mere acquaintances, so you settle for smiling and nodding your head. “yeah, sure. class doesn’t start for another.. fifteen minutes.”

mark’s face lights up pleasantly, his body stepping out of the way for you to enter the lecture hall. he gestures his arms forward, maintaining a good amount of personal space. “after you, then.”

you nod your head once to signify a thank you, walking into the high ceiling and large classroom with mark following behind you. there’s still an awkwardness that sits in the air, and you’re unsure if mark can sense it, or if it’s just all in your head. you’ve never spoken to mark on a friendly level, only interacting when needed, in terms of joint assignments or homework assistance.

you and mark end up sitting near the back of the class, the sunlight casting a soft glow from the windows behind you two. you sigh, setting down your book bag underneath your desk, and begin getting yourself sorted. you pray that mark will wait until after class to decide to show you his ‘music’, so that you could devise a plan to sneakily escape before he gets the chance to.

but, instead of your prayers being answered, you’re met with the devil’s wrath as mark nudges you lightly on the arm. your head slowly turns in his direction, trying to control your facial muscles to keep your smile from dropping as your eyes flick to the airpod he holds out in one of his hands. his expression is alike to that of a child showing their mother a badly drawn sketch, full of excitement and awaiting praise as he offers you the airpod.

“oh, thanks,” you manage to say in a sweet voice, your fingers lightly grazing mark’s warm palm as you take the item from his grasp. you watch as he loads up his laptop, opening up what looks like a professional music making app. as to how mark makes shit music with such great resources, you still remain clueless. you place the airpod in your ear, hoping to god that this doesn’t destroy your ear drums.

“just let me know if it’s too loud, i’ll turn it down for you,” mark grins, leaning back in his chair as his finger hovers over the space bar. he presses play, then turns to you, watching your reaction with an eager expression.

mark’s definition of kpop music is not for the faint of heart. your eyebrows subconsciously furrow together as the horrible tunes begin to sound, but you try to remain as positive as possible. your eyes keep focus on mark’s laptop screen, afraid that if you lock gazes with mark, he’ll be able to tell how much you dislike the song he’s made for you. you can’t even tell what instruments are being played, and his singing is nearly inaudible with the poor mixing of the audio.

you would have to figure out how to tell mark you weren’t going to promote his music on your twitter account, which leaves a slight feeling of guilt weighing on your shoulders; especially because you can tell the boy is working hard to make music that better suits the theme of your social media.

tired and somehow annoyed with the song echoing in your skull, you reach out to pause the music with a swift motion. mark still seems oblivious to your disdain for his music, still gazing at you with that same excited grin. you have to resist the urge to rub your temples and sigh, instead opting into giving him a closed lipped smile while letting out an awkward chuckle.

“so,” mark leans forward in his seat, making your neck and cheeks heat up due to sheer second hand embarrassment. “what do you think? good enough to post? i’m open to constructive criticism.”

you pause, trying to find the correct words that won’t hurt mark’s feelings. you do think he has potential, since he has a good voice (underneath the aggressive autotune) and a strong passion for music, but you’re unsure of how to tell him that this song he made is hot trash. “no.. um.. not quite..”

you make sure to avoid mark’s eyes, not wanting to see whether or not he has a disappointed expression. you rub the back of your neck, keeping your eyebrows scrunched up as you continue to rack your brain for the correct wording to use.

“oh yeah? what do you think i should change?” mark’s voice perks up, and you’re slightly baffled by his unwavering tone. he still seems excited, and thankfully, not upset over the fact that you deemed his work as ‘not good enough to post’.

“i’m not like.. an expert on music making or anything, but i think you should balance out your voice and the instrumental,” you admit, finally meeting mark’s brown orbs as you turn to him. he nods his head, listening intently to your advice as you continue speaking. “and maybe stick to one consecutive theme and pace..? i think that’ll help you improve.”

mark jots down your notes on his laptop, typing them up and highlighting some of your words. you let out an internal sigh of relief, grateful that mark is truly taking this as constructive criticism. he seems open minded, and not one to argue if someone is genuinely trying to help him get better at what he enjoys doing.

“wow dude, thank you so much,” mark smiles, turning back to you with a glint of elation in his eyes. “i like when people tell me what i’m doing wrong. it helps me a lot. i’ll make sure to do better and make a good song for you.”

for some reason, with mark’s words echoing in your brain, your heart swells. it may be because of the fact that he’s a good looking guy writing you a song (although it’s nothing personal), but a part of you views it as endearing. you’re still unsure of whether or not you’ll actually promote his music on your twitter account, but you’re still glad you were able to help him in any meaningful sort of way.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Thirty-two

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

The days, the days, the days passed and passed and passed, and the auction was tomorrow. Time seemed at once to crawl and fly. She made copious amounts of tea and spent more time upstairs hoping some customers would come, and made such order in the books that had never been seen before. Anything to keep her mind off the inevitable. But as if determined to crush her hopes the phone rang almost every hour with the Baron checking on their progress or informing her of useless details that had no bearing on her work. If that was how it was for Ambrogio it was hardly a surprise he disappeared.

To make matters worse Tom kept mostly to himself. He was in fact suspiciously silent down there in the undershop. Her more optimistic side said that he just wanted to give her the space to prepare herself but in her moments of doubt she was convinced he was upset with her.

II

“Tom?”

“Yes?”

“Lunch?”

“Is it —? Oh, yes, of course.”

He was clearly distracted and even having lunch together hardly helped. He seemed… not unhappy but tense, his mind a thousand miles away almost like he was the one who had to go up on stage. But she knew that couldn’t be the cause. She wondered then why he had insisted she take the promotion.

“Enjoying having the run of the place?” she asked over a plate of linguine ai frutti di mare, her comfort food.

“Greatly,” said Tom with a subtle smile.

She looked up at him, itching to ask what he had been up to all day.

“I’d like to see Fred later,” she said.

“Who? Oh, that fellow from that other place.”

“I’m impressed you remember,” she chuckled.

“Don’t be,” he said. “Why should you want to see him?”

“For comfort.”

Tom looked at her then, fork frozen in his grasp. “Why should you need comforting? Especially from that insipid lump?”

“Because,” she sighed, “the insipid lump in front of me doesn’t even seem to know why I might need comforting.”

He paused in thought, his black eyes sliding to the side, then back to her. “The auction?”

“If I didn’t know better I’d suspect you of being clever.”

“Well, you can’t go. You’re my woman. He doesn’t get to comfort you.”

She felt herself both pale with anger and blush at the same time.

“Besides, why should you worry? You’ve rehearsed everything a thousand times.”

“Oh, come on,” she sighed. “Have you never worried about anything ever?”

“No?” he said as if it were the most natural answer.

Somehow she really believed him. “How do you manage that?”

“Well, I realised early on in life that there is nothing I can not do,” he shrugged. “And with me by your side, there is nothing you can’t do either.”

She buried her face in her hands and groaned. What an impossible mind he had… “If only I had just a scrap of your confidence.”

“You don’t need it. You need only have faith in me.”

“Yes,” she sighed, crossing her hands over her chest and smiling at him sadly, “but you won’t always be at my side, will you?”

“No,” he said, “but neither will Fred.”

“Are you adequately jealous now?”

“Yes. And once we’re done with lunch, I shall show you exactly why you won’t need anybody else.”

“Tom…”

“I was thinking of treating you to tea and muffins from the bakery across the street, but I’m open to suggestions.”

The conversation warmed her heart although it did little to assuage her fears. In fact, it made her feel that much further away from him. Was he really so disconnected from how she felt about everything?

“I wish I could learn to be like you.”

“Then I won’t teach you,” he said. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

She laughed, but Tom didn’t.

III

Evening fell like an axe and before she knew it it was dark outside. Their little shop was like a grave surrounded by dark streets with points of light scattered across the grey buildings like tombstones. Behind their glass panes and clean curtains, she tended to her last remaining duties, and the lists, the lists, the lists. At least the calls from the Baron had stopped. She resented having to give preferential treatment to certain bidders but there was nothing she could do about it. Rejecting the Baron risked more than her promotion now — it risked her job. She stayed at the shop well into the night hoping somehow that if she never went home the next day would never come. It took Tom coming upstairs to jog her from her frightened stupor.

“You’ll have a long day tomorrow,” he said, leaning casually against her desk. Oh, how his calm annoyed her… “Best go home to get your beauty sleep.”

“And you?” she asked, head resting in her hands.

“Not yet. Still have a few things to sort out.”

She frowned up at him. “What could you possibly still have to do?”

He chuckled, not bothered by her irritated tone. “Just a few loose ends I need to take care of. Nothing that pertains to the auction directly though, don’t worry. Everything’s set.”

“What loose ends, then?”

He leaned toward her, tucking a messy strand of hair behind her ear to whisper. “It’s a secret.”

IV

The wet air sunk into his bones. Not quite like the coolth of London or the bracing winds of Scotland, the Italian autumn-become-winter nevertheless sunk its fangs in him. By the time he reached the building half his body was a little numb. But that was alright. It helped him focus. There was hardly any hint of moon left in the sky and the stars were shrouded by the clouds. Tom pulled the coat tighter around his shoulders as he came to a stop. With his wand held at his side, he took a glance around the street — completely empty — and cast the spell.

“Levari.”

He hadn’t often had the chance to use it and perhaps he had avoided it because it made him dizzy, but on this night, when he wanted to enter undetected, it would serve.

He stepped up the side of the wall and walked on, going higher with each step. He didn’t know what he expected but the air got even colder with each floor he passed and he had quite far to go. The winds picked up and a few birds flew past in his ascent, circling this strange person that should not be in their domain, but he shooed them away with splashes of fire from his wand. More than once he smelled singed feathers on the air and angry shrieks abounded but there was nobody around to care. It was only natural, of course, as it was past midnight, but if there was one person he expected to still find awake, it was the Baron. What he did not expect was for his secretary to be in as well. Berit was on duty, as fresh as a daisy in the morning. He saw the yellow glow of her office and heard the shuffling of her chair as he walked by on the vertical.

Tom tried to take a look inside but could only see shadows and hints of colours past the curtains. He quietly stepped to the side and rounded the corner to where he knew the Baron’s office was.

No light came from within. With a quick Alohomora, he opened the window and stepped inside, and after untangling his legs from the folds of his coat and the vaporous curtains he paused to look around. It was his office alright, the main one that led into the library where his whole collection stood.

“Lumos.”

The same heavy wooden desk, tasteful statuettes, the same old carpet underneath his feet that he remembered. Stepping softly he opened the twin doors that led into the private library. Shelves upon shelves reached as high as the ceiling filling the room with their dry salty scent and the whispers of centuries between them. Tom strolled and looked at them as if it were the last time he would see them. The Baron’s collection was hardly anything compared to that of the bookshops on Knockturn Alley or even to a censorious institution like Hogwarts in terms of its occult materials, but for a muggle, it was certainly impressive.

As he walked, Tom could not help but notice an uneven stack of books huddled in the corner next to a painting left leaning on the wall. An instinct called him to pay it more attention and for a moment he was confused about what he was even looking at. But then he recognised them. The stack of books was interrupted in the middle by folded editions of a local newspaper. They were the books Tom had brought to the Baron under the pretence of trade before he got the job. The ostensibly venerable tomes had transfigured back to their original form. He was slightly offended that his offerings, however fake, had been relegated to a pile forgotten on the floor but it nevertheless amused him. He wondered if the Baron even noticed… It didn’t matter now.

He stepped out of the library back into the office and prepared himself to confront the woman on the other side, a figure who still reminded him too much of Mrs. Cole. He channelled all of his desire for revenge on that nightmarish shadow from his youth and opened the door.

V

They started filing in at sunset. The low bidders came first. Some arrived while the shop was still technically open and a few even apologised for it. Yes, the meetings were supposed to be secret and their arrival discreet, but they couldn’t help it. She almost felt sorry for them. They had to try harder than their wealthier peers yet still fell short.

“Yes, we’ll not start for another five hours. No, it’s no trouble at all. Please go through. Yes yes, just go through, please.”

All she could hope for now was that they would not eat all the hors d’oeuvres before the high bidders arrived but she relied on Tom for that.

Tom… He had been gone the whole night, staying either at his home or… elsewhere. The mystery around it frightened her too much to pry. He’d become more secretive those last days past and every time she thought about it she was convinced he was planning his escape to England. It was too cruel to think about. She was almost relieved to not see him throughout the day although by evening she had begun to miss him. She compromised by picking up the phone and calling him downstairs. There was still a while to go until the auction but she couldn’t wait that long to hear him.

The phone rang for quite some time before he answered.

“Yes?”

“Tom?”

“Sweetheart…”

“So, how is it going?” she asked, already smiling.

“Well, they’re getting a bit noisy… I suppose they don’t like that Oso isn’t here.”

“They will have to deal with it.”

“Exactly.”

“And how are you?”

“Still fairing better than you, I imagine.”

“You sound tired, my love…”

“Oh, well, thank you. You sound great too.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

She sighed, holding the phone to her ear the way she’d hold his hand after they made love, against her cheek, the wrist close to her lips so she could kiss it.

The bell above the door chimed once again.

“Oh, I have to go,” she whispered. “Mr. Malfoy is here.”

“Is his secretary with him?” Tom asked quickly.

“Pretty boy? Yes, he’s here.”

Tom sounded suspiciously pleased with that before she hung up.

“Good evening, Sir,” she greeted.

“Miss.”

“Would you like to go downstairs?”

He ignored her while he took his gloves off and passed them to Donatien. “I assume Oso still hasn’t turned up.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said, nervously stepping forward.

He managed to look both upset and indifferent at the same time. Donatien had the usual soft smile when he looked her way but he too seemed fearful. Mr. Malfoy cast a scathing look upon the shelves as if it sickened him to look at her. It made her feel oddly apologetic as if Ambrogio’s disappearance was her fault and she hated herself for it. That’s not how Tom would react, she told herself.

Mr. Malfoy mumbled something to Donatien, leaving her to stand there waiting while they conversed in nods and whispers.

She missed the days before she’d ever met any truly wealthy people. When she could look upon their world from a distance and see only its glamour, unaware of how insufferable those people truly were.

“I’ll open the door for you,” she said, losing her patience with them and walking on ahead. She surprised herself with her daring and surprised Mr. Malfoy too.

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Finally!!! There is already a category for 烏は主を選ばない | Karasu wa Aruji wo Erabanai | Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master (Anime) on AO3. So far there are six fanfics about the series.

I don’t usually brag about my works, but I am proud of them bc I love this series so much. It occupies my life, body and soul. Most of all I want to promote others’ works as well that you might be interested in bc they deserve the attention.

@ynxnyx wrote Wakamiya’s POV on his aide’s appearance during the bride selection, Episode 11 ending. I love this drabble, not only bc it was their gift to me (first time experience on AO3. I just started writing fan fic in 2021 due to Kuroshitsuji, though I’ve been a longtime reader), but also it is on point as the anime crew emphasizes this partnership. Love it to death bc it is also my head canon.

Reading @reinekkoya’s “The Raven Does Not Care for its Hair” feels like a fly on a wall. It is like witnessing what are Yukiya and Wakamiya doing this summer. Lovely writing.

“Intimacy tastes like citrus” by quartzguts. Somewhat naughty. Somewhat sweet. Solid narrative. Yukiya, who doesn’t choose his pesky young master, Nazukihiko.

Here’s wishing that there will be others too who get to be inspired to contribute once the last episode airs. The Japanese fandom side create fics and fan arts like there is no tomorrow.

Though I honestly dread the day they will air the 20th episode. What if the interest on this show will dwindle like a host of others before? It is a diminutive fandom after all.

On the other hand, I feel envy whenever I realise that Chisato Abe concocted this universe when she was still a Waseda Uni student. So young. So talented.

What will solve this dilemma is to learn more about these wonderful characters and this world. That is, if they can release the 12 books (Part 1 composed of six volumes, Part 2 contains 4 volumes, two short stories) in English. That would be fantastic. Hopefully.

[neoyorzapoteca]

What is the role of the translator in decolonizing translation? In your regional/linguistic focus(es), are there certain stereotypes or tropes you have to avoid? As translators, we choose which books to pitch, which books to translate, which books to promote to publishers and online. We have a responsibility to diversify the books we’re pitching and reading. And it’s not just about pitching or translating books from underrepresented countries and groups, but doing what we can to understand the place, the author’s context, what the book means in its country of origin, what it means to bring that book into English, and how to do that effectively and responsibly. And if a translator doesn’t think they can grasp the context or meaning well enough to do the book justice, then it’s important to make room for a different translator who will be able to. For me, I’ve made the choice not to translate work only from France, but to read widely from authors writing in French around the world, and to pitch and accept projects by authors from other Francophone countries. I spent a year in Morocco learning about the literary landscape there and so I have a particular connection with Moroccan literature, and hope to continue translating books by Moroccan authors. I’m also half Arab and it’s important to me to work on more books from that part of the world as well. I loved translating Moroccan writer Fouad Laroui’s The Curious Case of Dassoukine’s Trousers (Deep Vellum, 2016) because the stories are hilarious, they portray a variety of kinds of people, they foreground joy, romance, and the absurd, they also span countries and cultures, they poke fun at Morocco but also lean away from tropes. Laroui’s stories don’t only depict Moroccans, and don’t only depict Moroccans living in desperate poverty, oppressed women, desert scenes with camels, or other stereotypes from that region which tend to populate the Moroccan books translated into English. One of my favorite things I’ve ever translated was a wildly experimental short story by Anis Arafai called “The Leg,” and often people are surprised to find such inventive writing from Morocco, but why? Because translators don’t typically pitch these projects and publishers don’t typically publish them, but they’re out there. And my translation of Meryem Alaoui’s Straight From the Horse’s Mouth, coming out next month from Other Press, is about a Moroccan sex worker who is cast in the lead role in a film by a foreign director and embarks on a fantastic, thrilling life. Stories that are different than what English readers typically have access to from a given country are important to translate, and I think that’s one way (among many others) that translators can attempt to decolonize the landscape of translated literature.

Wit Month: Q&A with Emma Ramadan — The Magic Word

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Les Misérables - Part 1 (Fantine), Chapter 1 (An Upright Man / Un Juste), Section 1 (M. Myriel)

Although it in no manner concerns, even in the remotest degree, what we have to relate, it may not be useless, were it only for the sake of exactlness in all things, to notice here…

Ah, the fundamental literary philosophy of Les Misérables! :P

The background of M. Myriel is one that you would expect to produce a reactionary. His family was prosperous (though not aristocratic), he had a life “devoted to the world and its pleasures,” his family were driven into exile by the Revolution and likely some were killed, his wife died, and he returned to France in his later years as a priest. (Having him become a priest outside of France and old return during Napoleon’s rule is also a convenient way for Hugo to have an elderly bishop without needing to bring in the question of whether or not he swore the oath in support of the Civil Constitution of the Clergy during the Revolutionary era.) The nature of his past is, I think, intended to make his actions and attitudes detailed in the rest of the chapter more unexpected for the reader.

Based on his age at the start of the book, M. Myriel was in his middle age - nearly fifty - when the Revolution began, and in his 60s when he first returned to France.

I feel like there is great significance in M. Myriel’s line to Napoleon - “Sire, vous regardez un bonhomme, et moi je regarde un grand homme. Le deux peux profiter.” [You regard a goodman, and I a great man. Both may benefit.] - but that I don’t understand all the nuances and connotation of the word ‘bonhomme’ that are needed to interpret it. My book translates it as ‘goodman’ in Napoleon’s preceding question (“Who is this goodman who looks at me?”) and ‘good man’ in Myriel’s reply.

I think there’s a deliberate contrasting of the “good man” who M. Myriel is and “great man” that Napoleon is, and possibly an implicit question followed up in the rest of the book about whether France should strive to be “good” or “great” , which is reflected in its ambivalent attitude towards Napoleon.

It’s also a gutsy thing for a mere curé to say to the Emperor of France (the implication is that Napoleon is a great man but not a good one), and shows that despite the quiet life Myriel has led since his return to France, he doesn’t lack for courage or boldness.

And in this particular case, Napoleon’s response - giving Myriel a large promotion but not an easy one, one where he will be responsible for a poor district facing many challenges, with the implication that Napoleon thinks he has the will and the strength to do a good job of it - is one that shows him in a positive light.

The use of the word palabres to mean gossip or meaningless talk must be part of the etymology of the English ‘palaver’; I like finding those connections!

[euovennia]

Hi! I have an Oc who is Malaysian so her accent is very heavy. She doesn't have much knowledge about other languages, just English. Then I had an idea.

Could you do something about the reader being the nursing assistant at the base, who is a little shy and decided to learn German on her own just to have some conversation with König, since she always had a crush on him. She is always seen very distracted reading something but no one knows what she reads so much, since she takes care to cover all the German books she has so that no one suspects her sudden interest in the language.

Thank you in advance! 🥰

bless the anon who requested this, i loved writing this out!

warnings: two goofballs being shy bc they're so into each other, not proofread

You're startled by the sound of four incessant knocks bouncing off your door. Your hands grasp onto the old receipt from a grocery run you made just over a week ago that you'd been using as a bookmark and quickly shove it between the pages of your copy of German for the Intermediate. You promptly shut the paperback closed and stack a few files on top of it before getting up from your seat and opening the door to reveal the head nurse and your boss, Juliette. She walks into the small office she'd assigned you and takes a seat on the chair you'd finished sanitizing not too long ago causing you to let out a puff of air in faux annoyance.

"I just got done wiping that down, Jules."

She waves you off as you shut the door and take your seat back at your assigned desk, "I'll wipe it before I go, don't worry."

You cross your legs and give the clock a quick glance before returning your gaze to the woman sat before you, "Everything alright? You look tired."

She quirks a brow, "That your way of saying I look awful?"

Your quick to shake your head, "What? No, of course not! I was just asking because it's only eleven but you look ready to walk out on us."

She looks down at her pants and flicks off a speck of dust you can't even see before responding, "That's because I am."

You straighten out your posture as your interest is piqued, "And why's that?"

She diverts her attention from her pants so she can look at you, "I got word KorTac is on their way back from that mission in Belgium. They've got three GSW's, five knife wounds, and an apparent concussion all on that flight.."

Your brows raise as your stomach falls, "Do you know who has which injuries?"

She shakes her head, "No, but I've been told all wounds have been stabilized by the on board medics. I'm thinking we might just have to stitch them back together once they touch down. We'll see about that concussion once they land."

Your heart rate slows down just a tad as you let out a small sigh of relief, "Well at least that's something, no? Could be a lot worse."

She runs a tired hand through her hair, "I know, I just can't help but think of all the paperwork we'll have to work through cause of it though. Is that messed up?"

You ponder for a moment before answering, "No, I don't think so. We all hate paperwork, but you just so happen to get the majority of it."

"Sometimes I hate myself for accepting that damn promotion," She lets out a wistful sigh, "You think you can take some files off my hands by chance? I'll let you have a day off any day you want."

"No need to bribe me with a day off, Jules. You know I don't mind the extra paperwork," You say with a kind smile.

She lets out a small laugh, "Right, I forgot you actually like paperwork."

You shrug, "It's cathartic."

She eyes you for a few moments and opens her mouth to say something, but is stopped by the sound of her pocket pager going off. She grabs onto it and reads over it for a moment before looking up at you, "They're here."

You lean back in your seat as you release the pen from your cramping hand. Your eyes rake over the now small stack of folders sitting on your desk before drifting over to the digital watch resting on your wrist.

16:37

You remain leaned back in your chair staring at different points in your small office for longer than you care to admit before eventually settling your gaze on the book nestled underneath the growing stack of completed files. You reach forward and carefully pull it out before opening up to the page you were on before Juliette knocked at your door. You combed through the words of the pages, soaking up every bit of information you could.

Of course, until there was another knock on your door.

Holding in the small sigh that threatened to spill from your lips, you opened up a drawer in your desk and placed the book inside before shutting it and turning your focus back to the files on your desk, but not before calling out a quick, "Come in!"

You paid no mind to the door as it opened, only bothering to look up from the patient report you were slaving over when the person who had, presumably, walked in didn't say anything. Your eyes widened and your cheeks warmed upon seeing the object of your affections staring down at you with those gorgeous eyes of his. You could only hope you didn't look as love-struck as you felt.

"König," You greeted as you wring your hands together, "What can I do for you?"

His hands moved to pull up his long sleeve where his forearm guards once rested, a small frown coming to tug at the edge of your lips as you're met with a particularly nasty looking cut.

"Miss Young said you could stitch this up for me," He started as he seemed to shift his weight from one foot to another, "I'm sorry if it's a bother, you look busy."

You shut the file on your desk closed before standing up and walking over to the small cabinet filled with medical supplies as you motion for him to take a seat. You grab onto your disinfectant and suture kit before taking a seat in front of him as you speak, "It's not a bother at all, König. I've been working on those for a while now, this is a welcome distraction."

He gives a nod that you don't see, far too wrapped up in tending to his wound, but also a tad nervous that you'd somehow mess up if you dared to sneak a glance at those eyes that plagued your dreams. Still, you can't seem to hold back the question that's been bouncing around your mind for the past few hours.

"Where were you when the rest of KorTac came in?"

You can't see the way his cheeks tinge pink at the sound of your voice cutting through the otherwise silent room.

"I didn't think I was hurt so I went back to my room. I only realized when I stepped out of the shower not long ago."

You try not to think of him in the shower as you thread the needle, but you can't help but take notice of just how good he smells now that he's in such close proximity. You look down at the skin of his exposed forearm before muttering out a small, "Sorry for the pinch," Before reaching forward with steady hands and pinching the needle through his skin. The small hiss of pain from him aches your chest, but you're enamored by just how soft his skin feels against your fingertips.

You're quick to stitch up his wound, even as your mind and body are going haywire from the man sitting before you. You tie a knot into the thread and cut off the excess before looking up at him, "You can get someone to take them out after seven days, should be good as new."

He gulps, "Would it be possible for you to take them out?"

Your heart soars at the prospect of seeing him again, "If you'd like me to."

He nods, "I would."

You smile at him, "Then I'll see you in a week."

You watch as he leaves just a few moments after your short lived interaction. You quickly clean up the supplies you used before settling yourself back into your chair and taking a deep breath, but it doesn't do much to calm your frazzled nerves because you can still smell traces of his shampoo in the air.

The seven days pass by much slower than you'd anticipated, but it gives you more than enough time to move on from your copy of German for the Intermediate to your copy of German for the Advanced. Which, is what you're currently catching up on before your door flings open. You jolt in your seat as you toss the book to the corner of your desk haphazardly as your eyes fly over to the sudden intrusion where you see Juliette standing there with a sheepish smile on her face.

You let out a small sigh before running your hand over your face, "You scared me."

She takes a seat, "I'm sorry! I just wanted to ask if you were gonna cash in that day off any time soon."

You give her a playful eye roll as you speak, "You've been bugging me about this the entire week. I'm starting to think you don't like me."

She waves you off, "As if. You're easily the most competent person around here, I'd probably drown if you weren't around."

Your brows furrow in confusion, "Then why ask so much?"

She shrugs, "I don't know. I just figure most people would've cashed it in by now, you're making me think you like working just a little too much."

"I just don't see a need to have a day off, I like my job."

"But that's not the point! You rarely ever take a day off and you're always more than happy to come into work if I ever have to call you in. Everyone needs a break, even people who like their job, don't you think?"

You open your mouth to respond, but stop when you see König poke his head though the opening of the door that Juliette hadn't closed all the way, but upon seeing the two of you wrapped up in a conversation he seems to falter.

"I'm sorry, I can come back–"

Juliette stands up and opens the door for him before he can finish his sentence.

"No need, I was just asking a question and I got my answer. Feel free to take her," She says before moving past König with a kind smile.

You try not to get too giddy with the fact that Juliette showed herself out before König could scurry away from your office. You'd been eager to see him.

"Take a seat, I just need to grab some tweezers and a pair of scissors."

He nods before occupying the seat Juliette once had before you return with the aforementioned supplies. You sit before him much like you had a week ago and watch as he lifts up his black long sleeve once more. You lean forward to get a closer look, your heartrate picking up as the smell of his shampoo completely overrides your senses. Much like last week, you make quick work of undoing his stiches and discarding the supplies.

You look up at him with an almost shy smile, "Seems like you're all set now...Unless you needed something else?"

He seems to ponder over your words for few moments before giving a hesitant shake of his head, "No I...I think I'm okay."

You give him a small nod, "Okay then...I think you're good to go."

You watch as his shoulders fall slightly and you're so close to slamming your head against your desk. You've practically kicked him out of your office despite waiting for him to stop by all week. You watch with remorseful eyes as he gives a quick nod before standing up and walking over to your door. You're desperate for him to stay, even for just a few minutes longer so you blurt out, "Schönen Tag König."

You watch with nervous eyes as he whips his head around and looks at you, a glimmer of curiosity shining in his eyes.

"You...You know German?"

Your heart nearly bursts at how shy he sounds.

You gulp as you reach out for the book you tossed aside earlier with a shaky hand, "I've been practicing," You admit as you hand it over to him.

He opens up the book and he finds himself completely mesmerized by the amount of annotations and highlights decorating the pages. He runs a careful finger over your loopy handwriting as he soaks in this newfound knowledge before closing the book and looking over at you who is not sporting a blush on your cheeks, "Why did you want to learn?"

"For you," You quietly admit.

His body warms at your admission, "For me?"

You nod, "I know there's not really anyone else on base who speaks it and I," You let out a small breath to calm your racing heart, "I just thought you'd like to have someone to speak to in your mother tongue."

His lips stretch into a small smile as his eyes bounce between you and the book in his hands. You had just made this so much easier for him.

"Well...If you're tired of reading from a book, maybe I could help teach you?"

Your head snaps up at his words, "You'd do that?"

He nods as he tries to resist the urge to sweep you into his arms, "I always wanted to ask you to out, but I never had a good reason."

You stand up from your seat and walk over to him as you look up into his eyes, "You never needed a reason."

He lets out a shaky breath as he tries to process your close proximity, "I didn't want to make any assumptions," He supplies lamely.

Upon seeing his obvious hesitance, you can feel a surge of confidence bubble up inside you as you reach out for his hand and interlace your fingers, "I would've said yes no matter what."

He's so entranced he can barely think straight, "But your job...It keeps you busy, no?"

Your eyes sparkle, "I think I can manage to get a day off."

That's all he needs to hear.

[sflow-er]

Some thoughts on writing and posting fic

In the last few days, there have been some lovely posts by fic writers, encouraging an anon who was thinking of posting their first fic but worried about readership. That kind of got me thinking as well, especially as my magnum opus just reached a bit of a milestone on ao3:

Those 50,000 hits (and 1,151 kudos) blow me away, and I'm forever grateful for each and every one of them - but this isn't a post about that. It's a post about how there is no point in comparing these stats to my latest fic, which will take a while to even break 500 hits (and hopefully 50 kudos). Or any of my other fics, for that matter.

Below are some of my personal thoughts on fic writing, the factors that I believe affect the popularity of a fic, and the motivational impact of engagement. My perspective is obviously that of a niche writer, but I think these observations could also be of interest to new writers or anyone struggling with such comparisons. I'll put a cut here because this got very long, but the TL:DR is this:

I write for myself, not for my readers. I post for my readers, not for the numbers.

A quick bit of background info: I have a pretty long history of sharing my writing. When I was little, I used to make comics & picture books for my younger brother, and in secondary school, I used to write stories in my English notebooks that only my teacher ever got to read. In my teens, I wrote fanfic in a couple of obscure fandoms and even a novel-length original story. The readership was just a handful of people, including my closest Internet and IRL friends, and I was very happy with that.

Before YR came along, I had not managed to write a creative text in over a decade. My studies and work had put out the spark, and I thought it was gone for good. So when YR reignited it, I very much started writing for myself. I'm sure every writer knows that feeling of something taking shape in your head and begging to be let out, as well as the satisfaction of seeing it all come together on your screen. At least I really hope they do.

Still, I knew right off the bat that I wanted to share the fic. I didn't care how many people read it, I just really hoped someone would. I missed the feeling of seeing people get joy out of something I created and connecting with them through it. Especially as I didn't have any other outlet for my YR thoughts and feels at the time. I also wanted to contribute something to the fandom that helped me regain this long-lost part of myself - and of course I could use some encouraging feedback too.

So that was how my magnum opus started out, and because of the timing, it became more popular than I imagined. The fandom was young (I started posting in August 2021, S2 wasn't even confirmed until September) and everyone was just really hungry for more. The vast majority of fics were focused on Wilmon from the start, but people were interested in pretty much anything exploring the rich and still largely undiscovered world of the show. My fic was niche and I had neither the guts nor the platform to promote it, but many people still found it.

I consider myself unbelievably lucky to have started posting at such an opportune time. The fandom has evolved in these 2+ years, and things are quite different for authors starting out now.

For one thing, the chorus of writers has expanded as more people have discovered the show and been inspired by it. As wonderful as that is, it does make it harder for any single voice to stand out. I think promoting one's work in fandom spheres such as tumblr and writing compelling tags and descriptions on ao3 has probably become more important, and of course it also helps if you've got some existing readers who follow your work.

Because for another thing, the readership has changed. Some fans have either left entirely or only follow their favourite writers now, while others have joined. New fans tend to start with the fandom classics, other wonderful recommendations, or the fics with the most kudos or comments. Which makes a lot of sense when there are thousands of fics to choose from, but it inevitably puts newer and more obscure writers at a disadvantage. Furthermore, it feels as if the number of readers who prefer completed fics may have increased, as people have seen some fics get abandoned along the way (and they now have more completed works to choose from). Again, that's very understandable, but it can feel discouraging to multi-chap writers.

I also can't help but wonder if there's been a shift in the fandom's interests, especially since S2. There's more canon to follow or disregard now, and people have had more time to develop fanon and their personal headcanons. All that affects what they want to read.

For example, the developments in S2 may have put some people off certain characters/ships/dynamics or made them fall in love with others. They may have started curating their reading to their hopes and expectations for S3. Some might even favour AUs to avoid speculation or guarantee Wilmon endgame, or they might long for fics solely focused on Wilmon and their love after they spent so much of S2 apart. There's nothing wrong with any of these approaches - but they do curb the already lower interest in fics focused on other characters, gen fics, rarepairs, unusual takes, and so on

To circle back to the example of my first fic, it would not get that kind of engagement if I started posting it now. It might be more popular than my other fics thanks to Wilmon featuring prominently as side characters, but it would still be outsider POV. In fact, even readers interested in the characters I focused on might be deterred by, say, the slow burn and lack of sexual content (now that those characters are a more established non-canon side ship and there's more fic available).

In a lot of ways, it's paradoxical to even speculate on this. If I started my first fic now, it would either be a totally different story (compliant with S2), or it might not be finished at all. What those 50,000 hits don't tell you is that a large portion of them were people checking for updates. The project completely took over my life for 10 months, and I doubt I would've got through some of the rough patches without the wonderful readers who were excited to follow it as a WIP, even when my updates got sparse from all the stress. My other fics would either not exist at all or have far less engagement if it wasn't for the loyal readers left over from that first fic, and the first fic wouldn't have as many reads without all the people who have reread it (as I know some have). And of course it is now also benefiting from the large number of existing kudos.

Anyway. My point is that comparing stats is neither fair nor useful, and that doesn't just apply to my own fics or niche fics in general. Every fic is published at a certain point in time or over a certain period of time, in a fandom that is always in flux. The things that inspire us as writers may not align with the interests of the readers - or even if they do, the readers might not notice or be aware of it.

So the question is, how to reconcile the need to share your work and connect with people with the ever-changing odds of those people finding your work?

I'm not going to lie, sometimes it is extremely hard. I often feel really low and doubt myself a lot after posting, but I think I've made it to a point where I don't get too caught up on it anymore.

One key thing is to draw a distinction between the writing and posting. The writing itself should always be primarily for me, because it's my creative energy, time, and effort that goes into it. I should be able to retain that feeling of satisfaction and pride in the story itself, because if I hang my hopes on the audience and they simply don't find the fic, I will just feel like it was all wasted. The value of the fic and especially my value as a writer cannot be tied to anyone else's reaction or lack of it.

Still, the two distinct parts of the process are never completely separate for me. I'm sure they can be for some writers, but I do need that feeling of connecting with people through my creations, and the extra motivation to stick with the effort (to get through longer projects, or to start new ones).

So the second thing I do is, I try to hold on to the mindset I used to have as a kid or teen writing for my brother, my teacher, or my friends. To internalise that my readers aren't numbers on a screen, but real, human people who have taken an interest in this thing I've created. They've allowed me to share it with them and had thoughts on it (whether they put those in a comment or not). Maybe it was just a moment's diversion for them, or maybe it actually moved them. Either way, we connected for a while.

Here, I must acknowledge again that I am incredibly privileged. I've got a handful of regulars who have been reading me since August 2021, and another handful who have jumped on board along the way. Many of them not only read but also comment on what I post. Even that latest two-parter I mentioned at the start has 19 comment threads, and I'm fully aware of how rare and precious that is.

But the fact remains that the contrast to my first fic has still been an adjustment, and I find that thinking about engagement in terms of people rather than numbers has helped me put it into perspective.

I could never find a room full of people to read my writing in real life, but there they are, reading it on their phones or computers and leaving twenty hits on my fic. Every person leaving kudos is basically equivalent to my teacher returning my notebook with that single check mark that meant "I read this and I enjoyed it." As for the individual comments, they aren't too different from my very small group of friends in high school telling me they loved something and couldn't wait for more. In a way, they're even more amazing, because these people don't even know me, but they are still investing their time and emotions into my fics!

Of course this mindset also has its pitfalls. I often feel like I'm letting people down by not writing faster, for example, but that's just one more thing I need to work on. All in all, I feel like I'm definitely on to something here, so thank you for letting me share these thoughts with you!

[thenightling]

Beauty and the Beast NEVER promoted arranged marriages!

There is a meme circulating with an image of Disney's Beauty and The Beast in the iconic ballroom scene and the text reads "The Original Beauty and the Beast Fairy tale was written to make girls more accepting of arranged marriages."

What angers me is how readily people take these sort of memes as fact without question, as if they assume "if there's text on a picture it must be true!"

Here's the real history.

In 1740 Gabrielle-Suzanne de Villeneuve wrote La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast) as a novel. It was roughly two hundred pages long and is currently available in English on Amazon and several other book selling websites.

The novel had the same basic plot that we're familiar with but there was also political intrigue and the Prince's mother was alive and the general of her army because her husband was dead and couldn't lead them. That's where she was when her son was cursed after his would-be babysitter (a fairy) tried to seduce him and he rebuffed her because… she raised him. It's like "Eww. You're my nanny, you used to change my diapers! No!"

Belle was the daughter of a merchant (as she is in the fairy tale / short story version that I'll talk about in a bit). But she was actually adopted. The merchant's real daughter had died and a fairy had swapped his deceased baby out for Belle without him noticing. Belle was actually a half-faery princess and the fairy that hid her was trying to protect her from political enemies that would want her dead.

After the traditional fairy tale is played out and Belle and the Prince are married, the prince's mother turns up and is very unaccepting of Belle. She wants the marriage annulled. She offers Belle wealth, anything she wants, just "not her son" because she's a "commoner."

The fairy who had hid Belle as a baby tries to persuade the Queen into accepting Belle for her virtues but she keeps refusing because she only wants her son to be a royal.

After several attempts the fairy relents and finally tells the queen Belle's secret and scolds her that she had wanted her to accept Belle for her kindness, for her intelligence, courage, and virtues, and she should not have had to reveal this secret for her to accept her. She all but calls the queen a b-tch and shuts her up.

Much like the version in the Disney film Belle was a book lover.

The 1740 version of Beauty and the Beast was extremely feminist. It was AGAINST arranged marriages. The prince's mother didn't even want him married to Belle at first. Belle was a literate reader who loved books. There was political intrigue, a woman general, commentary about being interracial (Belle was half-faery). There was even accidental incest (Turns out Belle and The Beast were cousins… Whoops. They didn't find out until after they were married.)

It was social commentary. It wasn't just "Girls, accept ugly men your parents set you up with."

Belle had to be willing to go to the castle in her father's place. Her father didn't want to give her to the Beast.

In 1757 Beauty and the Beast was re-adapted from the novel into a twenty page short story by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont. This is the version most people read as kids if they read Beauty and the Beast. An essay about it and the full version can be found in The Classic Fairy Tales by Iona and Peter Opie. This version was shortened to about twenty pages long. And almost the political and feminist commentary is gone.

But at no point does either version promote arranged marriages.

And contrary to a weird internet rumor, no, it didn't have a sad ending. You're thinking of the mermaid dying at the end of The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen, but she gains an afterlife as a spirit of air, something denied to most mermaids so it's bitter-sweet.

Every version of Beauty and the Beast has the happily ever after.

[nikethestatue]

I read the ACOTAR book series for the first time in 2022. I felt that Sarah was setting up Nesta + Cassian, it was interesting and obvious. 

But when I read the moments of Elain and Azriel, I thought, "wtf??? they match so perfectly, why is her mate Lucien??". Elain and Azriel had so many interesting, deep moments, as if Sarah herself was pushing us to think that something was wrong with L+E, I so wanted to see Elain and Azriel together, because it's so OBVIOUS how they fit together …

Then in BC ACOSF we see that Azriel REALLY has feelings for Elain and he HIMSELF is already asking the question "what if Cauldron was wrong?", and then in BC in HOFAS we find out that Cauldron was INDEED damaged and Azriel was right!!!

And then I go to IG, I see Sarah's post with "ACOwhat" and I see HOW MANY people want and ARE STILL waiting for G+A and hate ELAIN... Gwynriel are so loud and aggressive:(To be honest, it really upsets me, because when Elriel's book is released, Sarah will have so much negativity in Instagram…

Do you think Bloomsberry is afraid to announce the book, as there will be a lot of negativity from Gwynriel? 

How do you think - have there been more Elriel lately or Gwynriel are just too loud and aggressive on social media, so it seems like there are more of them?

PS. Sorry for my English, it's not my native language and I'm in the process of learning 🙏🏻

Your English is perfect! :)

There are way more Elriels now than there were a few years ago and all the newer readers understand that Gwynriel is a crack ship and nothing more and expect Elriel to be the next couple.

GAs have always been aggressive, so it's nothing new. But I think it's because they know that the ship is sailing nowhere.

As for BB--i understand that if they have nothing to promote, they won't do anything--but I wish they'd made different decisions earlier. However, they got a ton of free publicity too, for YEARS, so therefore, they tried to ride the wave for as long as possible. May it turn against them? Maybe. However, I also think that they've waited long enough for it not to cause a lot of backlash when it's an Elriel book, because there are way fewer Gwynriels out there now.

So I don't think they are too worried. Besides, most people will still buy and read the books.

[amourrs]

Look. I don't disagree that age regression makes creeps me out. You know what else is weird and taboo? Like. All kinks.

Age regression. Dad's best friend.

And, of course, some people would argue that lesbian and gay fics are too taboo to have in writing. They encourage people to live a life of sin. And everyone knows gay people are secretly pedos.

I don't believe that. But there are people who genuinely do. Policing content, especially fictional content, will almost always get down to that too. Because it's controversial. It's political, it's charged. And you can argue "its not the same" but it is to them.

Because the argument they go for is "protecting the kids."

That's not getting into the argument of something being fictional, either. That's a whole other thing to argue about- and it is something I think you should really think about, too. Often people use fictional settings and writings to explore bad things in a safe way. That doesn't mean they're going to do bad things. If I write about murder, am I promoting murder? If Joel kills a guy in cold blood in my fic, does that mean I should be held responsible for someone else committing murder after reading my fic? Does that mean I believe murder is okay?

There have been arguments about what is "appropriate" in fiction for a very, very long time. You're young. You don't know the nuance behind these arguments and their histories. But it is there, and it is a long, storied fight. I really recommend actually thinking about the histories and arguments and looking into it.

Anyway, yeah, ban books in schools. They have things I find objectionable that I think children shouldn't be exposed to because it could hurt them. The government should get to say what books are allowed to be written and everything else should be burned, etc. Lolita has no historical or cultural significance and is just a bad bad book by a bad bad man.

P.s. you can't enter an adult space and cry about adults interacting with you. You came to their space, bud. If you don't want to interact with adults, you should stay in child spaces. And, if you are 18, you ARE and adult.

first of all, thank you for being RESPECTFUL and an adult with your opinions. there is something to be said about the fact that many people’s first response is to tell me to choke or die and then call me the immature one. like ok. get a life.

age regression as far as i’m aware is not a sexual thing. it is a trauma response. as to dad’s best friend, i really have no problem with that one, although i do find some of these fics where the character has known reader since they were literally born to be distasteful. and as for the gay thing- totally irrelevant to my point i fear, and it’s NOT the same because gay people don’t sexualise child-like behaviour.

as an english literature student, i abhor the fact you brought lolita up whatsoever. nabokov was very much against pedophilia and wrote lolita as a cultural criticism on the matter- to refer to him as a bad bad man even jokingly makes me feel as if you’ve never read lolita at all 😭. i have NEVER said to ban books in schools. I’ve said i wish grown adults would stop acting as if sexualising child-like actions is a safe kink because it normalises something very scary and real that happens to many children. i do in fact know about these nuanced arguments- i study them every day. no amount of nuance is going to make me defend reader baby talking whilst joel calls her “kid” and she calls him “dad”. what other implications am i supposed to pick up from that except the very obvious ones?

i truly don’t care about adults of any age interacting with me. however, adults in their thirties making (often nasty) subposts about me when they are closer in age to my mum than me does rub me the wrong way- i feel like maybe if they think i’m SO young and immature they should leave me alone/not set all their other friends on me or say things about how me and other people my age should “choke”. but then again that’s just me. at the end of the day i live in peace knowing that i live in a free country where i can share my opinion and i clearly did it without telling anyone to die, so who’s really the immature party here?

[annbourbon]

After reading What is...? by @creativepromptsforwriting (if you haven't read her blog or follow her WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?)

I decided to add some of my notes here too. Because it's on the little things I've been studying every night to get better at writing. So please consider this post as part/collab of "What is...?"

★Please keep in mind that this comes from someone whose first language it's not english, so, what for some might be obvious, for others it is not.

Blurb? is a short promotional description on your book. But can also be used to promote movies and other things.

Needs: Hook + Keywords (define an audience) + keep it short and leave them wanting for more.

* Remember to check for spelling and grammar mistakes.

Nowadays you can use quotes from your book as promo too. Pinterest is your best ally here. Make a bunch of attractive images with a colorful quotes and upload it on your social media! ^♡^

Honestly when it comes to promos you should exploit it all (meaning: create quotes, collage, your cover, promos, etc!) Be your own fan. Create a playlist, ambience, set the mood. Let your own world drag you into the woods, do not resist it.

If you love it, other will love it too.

W.I.P.? Means Work in Progress. So you have yet a lot to do to finish your story. it's okay, it takes time \^♡^/

Pathetic fallacy Vs Personification?

Pathetic fallacy

It's specifically about giving emotions to something non-human (objects, nature, or animals)

Writers use the pathetic fallacy to evoke a specific mood or feeling that usually reflects their own or a character's internal state. While I have seen some detractors of using this technique, think of Emily Brontë novel, Wuthering Heights, or Shakespeare in several of his works like Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Othello, King Lear and Macbeth. Or Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. So study it and use it carefully and you should be fine. Times change but you should write however you want too.

Personification

On the other hand, is giving any human attribute to an object.

Think of The Beauty and the Beast, Alice in Wonderland, and Toy Story as great examples of what personification is.

Atmosphere?  is the way an author uses setting, objects, or internal thoughts of characters to create emotion, mood, or experiences for the reader.

For me Mary Shelley with Frankenstein is one of the most accurate examples I can give, but when I think about it, Robinson Crusoe, and Moby Dick, both feel tremendously claustrophobic and desperate to the reader, full of details, the time passes slowly and it's insufferable. Which in theory is not okay because the reader can drop the book but guess what? They're classic because you want to know what happens next. Which brings me to my next point, if you want to know more about the art of writing, you should try the following channels on YT:

Abbie Emmons

She has some interesting videos, but one crazy tip that will change your mind. It actually works. And don't worry, she keeps repeating it over and over so you learn it too. She also offers some courses and several activities like writing together (in case you're trying to write but can't, now you have a date!)

Ellie Dashwood

If you're into social dynamics, subtlety and want to get better writing period stories wether they are romantic or dramas, then she's your best bet. While she doesn't teach you how to write better she does teach you literature and history. And trust me, some of these things can be more than helpful. The way she analyzes and provides for clarification over social situations has made me understand not just Jane Austen but my own time in a different way.

Fiction Beast

This is showing me a lot of literature and making me read classics. Of course it wouldn't work if it wasn't because of Ellie but it's a must! because it does explains a lot.

Ana Neu

I just discovered her and Ellen so I can't say a lot of things but their videos have been really helpful with some of the things I've been working on especially with Fit or Die, so you should check out both of these girls.

Ellen Brock

and of course, he needs no introduction, but if you didn't know, he has several classes posted on his channel which have been helping me tremendously.

Brandon Sanderson

*Disclaimer: They're not paying me for doing promo. I just do this on my own account because I truly admire their work and effort put into it. Plus, I always do this for anyone if I truly admire the way they work. And I believe this is helpful for anyone with hopes of becoming an author. Even if it's just a hobby. Have fun~!