#Little Tales of Misogyny | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pastanest · 7 months ago

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Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: you’re used to me disappearing for months but I hope by now you can trust that I’ll always come back x

warnings: reader is a victim of misogyny (aren’t we all)

In A World Of Boys

Doctor Spencer Reid. His name alone sends your heart thrumming as the elevator ascends, your shoes tapping against the metal ground with excitement and impatience in equal measure. It isn’t unusual for a case to have called the team in at the crack of dawn, but that was not something you ever imagined you’d actively look forward to. Then again, you couldn’t have counted on the sunrise casting a soft pink, almost heavenly glow to illuminate the office that seemed to converge around one man in particular the moment you saw him.

He approaches you with a warm smile, one mug held to his lips and another held in an outstretched hand, for you. Made just the way you liked it; not that you ever verbalized such details, someone’s eidetic memory just thought to pay attention to how you prepared your hot drinks until it was a task that could be taken off your hands entirely.

“Good morning.” Spencer greets you, a playful lilt in his voice at just how early this morning is.

“Morning, and cheers.” You share a light chuckle as you clink your mugs together in a gesture of soft comradery, your gazes locking as you take a simultaneous sip.

Such a thing is officially a symbol of trust, but the look in Spencer’s eyes is enough to hold you still if the ground was ripped out from beneath you. His curls are a little disheveled, as always, and his tie is as crooked as ever. Ruggedly handsome would be an accurate description, if you didn’t know Spencer better than that, know him to be so much gentler than such a roughened description. And your heart sings for him.

A tradition you’ve come to appreciate amongst the BAU during longer flights is sharing stories of their shared pasts. The tales are typically hilarious at the expense of one team member or another, but it is all in jest, and as the newest member of the team, you love hearing about their funniest moments from before you had known the people who have welcomed you so openly.

“Oh, we have to talk about the pool incident! What was her name, Spence?” JJ asks with a mischievous glint in her eye, the team’s attention pulled entirely to Spencer.

You can’t withhold the shocked expression on your face, you’ve not heard of any previous romantic encounters in Spencer’s life; this should be interesting.

“It was Lila, wasn’t it? C’mon, Spence, it’s been years, you can tell us now!” JJ presses, the rest of the team egging her on, but you stay quiet, your interest piqued to the extent that you can’t utter a word.

“Lila was an admirably strong woman, but as much as I hate to disappoint, there’s really nothing more to tell.” Spencer shrugs, smile unreadable.

In his former years, such a question would have flustered him, but not anymore. His answer is enough to fluster you, however. A man who doesn’t kiss and tell, and is so quietly firm in such a resolve, is one to keep in mind.

As if to make matters worse, Spencer then rises from his seat on the jet and strolls past you, making the effort to lean away from you - in case any sudden turbulence should unsteady him, he won’t risk even nudging you - on his journey to the galley. And the way he walks, the delicate trail of his cologne lingering in his wake when he passes your seat, is dizzying.

This is a moment that you know you will never forget, and you can’t help envying the fact that Spencer can so effortlessly recall every moment spent with you in the depths of eidetic memory. It’s almost ritualistic, how you lie in bed every night and replay your most treasured moments with Spencer, to send yourself to a peaceful sleep in which you hope to dream of him. Part of you wonders if he ever replays moments with you in his mind, with more clarity than you can ever hope to possess.

Little do you know, you are his favorite film.

On nights when insomnia strikes, you are the guaranteed remedy. When it is for you, Spencer’s eidetic memory is nothing short of a gift. He has a library dedicated to you, containing every look in your eyes, every micro-expression, every variation of your laugh, your smile, every word you have ever said in his presence. Sometimes, it takes him hours to decide which memory of you he’ll replay before he allows himself to sleep.

Neither of you are aware of how many nights you have spent lying awake in the same hours, focussing on the very same memories. While you absentmindedly play with the little flower charm on the necklace that Spencer bought you for your birthday, his gaze will drift to the special edition of Frankenstein that you bought him, for no reason other than it made you think of him. Of course, Spencer already had a copy, but the one from you lives on his bedside table. He had the edition completely memorized in a matter of minutes, but he has devoted more time to rereading that book than he has any other, because you gifted it to him. Sometimes, Spencer traces the spine and wonders where you’d held it before gifting it to him; if that will be as close as he ever comes to the blessing of one day holding your hand.

One of your most vivid memories with Spencer - and one that you frequently use to fall asleep with a smile on your face - first came to be during your second week working with the team. You didn’t know Spencer very well then, but you knew enough to be besotted by him; you knew that from the moment his eyes first met yours. A case required an undercover mission centered around you, as the only member of the team to fit the unsub’s type. While you could have handled the mission on your own, Spencer insisted that he be placed undercover inside the club you were set to enter, posing as a member of the public, to ensure you had immediate backup if you needed it. The undercover mission itself went without a hitch, though Spencer spent the duration of it trying his very best not to crush the glass he pretended to nurse in his hand as he watched the unsub flirt with you mercilessly, and without an ounce of respect. When the unsub was arrested and dragged out of the bar, you and Spencer followed, and he went to one of the government-issued vehicles to grab his FBI jacket for you while advising you to stand in the doorway and wait. He didn’t want you getting cold in your pretty dress, but that was a detail he kept to himself.

As you stood in the doorway, leaning against a wall with your arms crossed over your chest, the wind caught the thigh-high slit in your dress, exposing the skin of your thigh only momentarily, but it was enough for some sleazy, drunk middle-aged man to leer out you.

“Sexy lady!” He had called out to you in a slurred voice, opening his arms to you, beer bottle in hand.

And, as every woman has learnt to do, you gave him your best, tight lipped, polite smile.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” You answered as evenly as you could.

In an instant, the sleaze’s smirk was gone, replaced with an almost disgusted frown.

“Stupid slut.” He muttered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him, but in the time it took for your eyes to widen, Spencer had pinned the man’s hands behind his back and sent the beer bottle shattering on the ground - collateral damage from shoving the sleaze into the nearest wall.

“You are under arrest for drunk and disorderly behaviour, as well as sexual harassment, and absolutely any other charge I can find when I dig up every morsel of your existence.” Spencer’s words were eerily quiet, but they were sharper than any you’d ever heard, dripping with a venom you didn’t imagine he was capable of possessing then.

After tossing the drunk misogynist into the back of one of the police cars still on the scene from your undercover mission, Spencer walked over to you and draped his FBI jacket over your shoulders, tugging it around you with a gentleness that completely juxtaposed what you had just witnessed.

“I’m sorry.” He’d said quietly, warranting a confused frown from you, that urged him to elaborate. “I’m sorry that you were treated in such an abhorrent way, and that you had to see me like that.”

Your frown melted into an adoring smile. “Spencer, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. Thank you for defending me from a man that I doubt realizes he even did anything wrong. While he might be the scum of the earth, you-” You gently poked his chest through his shirt, “-are a gentleman.”

Spencer had thought then that his heart couldn’t possibly soar higher than that, but oh, how wrong he had been.

Coincidentally, one of Spencer’s favorite memories of you is one you can recall very little of. It was the only occasion Spencer had politely declined the team’s invitation to a local bar for drinks in an evening. He had been rereading the copy of Frankenstein you’d bought him, comfortably nestled on his couch with a lingering smile as he sought pieces of you in between the lines of text, when his phone rang.

Seeing your name, Spencer picked up in a microsecond.

“(Y/N)? Is everything alright?” His mind was immediately reeling. Had something happened? Were you safe?

A sniffle came through the phone, and his heart shattered.

“Jus’ so lonely.” Your voice was slurred by the alcohol you’d consumed, but in the sweetest way. Your words did little to ease the anxiety swirling in Spencer’s mind, because every time he had seen you drink, you had been the giggliest mess he’d ever known; you had never been the stereotypical sad-drunk, as far as he knew.

“Lonely? Aren’t you at the bar with the team?” He questioned, because he could hear other voices in the background of the call and alarm bells were ringing. Had the rest of the team left? Or, worse, had you drunkenly wandered off somewhere and gotten lost? He was already putting his shoes on and grabbing a jacket.

“Yeah, but they’re not you.” There was an urgency and an aching sadness to your words, Spencer could hear it even through the distortion of a phone call, and your words stumped him. He blinked once, then twice, before replying.

“Well, no, they aren’t me.”

He felt that had been an obvious distinction, but perhaps you needed him to make that clear in your drunken state.

An equally dramatic and exasperated sigh came through the phone. “I know that, and that’s why I’m sad. I miss you!”

Spencer was out of his apartment door in record time, racing down the stairs until he reached the parking lot beneath his building.

“You miss me? Really?” He had asked you because he wanted to hear you say it again, he had to, the smile on his face growing exponentially.

“Lots.” Your voice broke on that one word, and it was enough for Spencer to risk several speeding tickets to reach you in a time he would never, ever tell you, because you’d lecture him about road safety. Perhaps someday he will tell you, just to hear you speak to him for a prolonged period of time, even if it’s a lecture at the expense of his reckless adoration.

By the time Spencer arrived at the bar, you were a blubbering mess in Rossi’s arms. It was only when you were transferred to Spencer’s arms that your drunk mind registered his presence, and the sheer joy on your face despite your tears was something he knew would be his only remaining memory if he lost everything else in some freak accident. Amidst your incoherent mumblings of compliments and praises towards Spencer - each and every one under lock and key in his heart ever since - he carried you back to his car and drove you home with your body wrapped almost entirely around his arm from where you sat in the passenger seat of his car. Once at your house, he carried you to the door bridal style, lowering you temporarily so that you could clumsily unlock your front door -not wanting to eradicate your independence entirely- before he picked you back up again and carried you inside, all the way to your bed. And there, he laid you down, slipped your shoes off, tucked you into bed, and wiped your face with your skincare products efficiently, from what you’d told him of your nightly routine. He fetched you a glass of water and sat you up to drink the whole thing, then refilled it and set it on your bedside table - in case you woke up thirsty in the night, or if you needed it first thing in the morning. Lying you back down, he left a little kiss on your forehead, and due to your eyes being closed, he assumed you were already falling asleep, until you reached for his hand when he tried to go.

“Stay.” You pleaded in a barely-conscious and far-from-sober tone.

Spencer smiled at you like you were the stars in the sky.

“Alright.” He almost whispered, taking a seat on the edge of your bed, while you laid under your covers, practically curled around where he sat.

With one of his hands on your shoulder, Spencer sat with you, spelling out words you’d never register on the back of your shoulder blade with his thumb and index finger.

So beautiful.

Everything.

To be yours.

And as his thumb curved the last letter “s” on the back of your hand, Spencer heard your breathing settle to a rate that told him you were dreaming. Very slowly, he tucked you under the bedcovers, stood himself up, and left, but not before leaving you with a message he intended for you to comprehend later. You had not consented to Spencer staying the night with you, and you were in no position to give that consent in your state, but you had asked him to stay, so he stayed until you wouldn’t know that he’d gone.

The next morning, you awoke to a small, handwritten note on your bedside table that read:

Good morning, angel. Please drink some water and let me know you survived drinking enough alcohol to fill the Hoover Dam (not literally, that’s not biologically possible).

-Spencer x

It was enough to make you laugh, and despite your immediate pounding headache, you reached for your phone.

You: hahaha, very funny. thank you so much for last night, I’m sorry for the mess ❤️

And, to your accustomed surprise, Spencer started typing back immediately.

Spencer: I’m glad that you survived to enjoy my joke. You are always welcome, and you have nothing to apologize for.

You went to set your phone down on your bedside table again, when it lit up with another text.

Spencer: ❤️

Surviving the alcohol you consumed was nothing compared to the way you had to fight for your life upon receiving that.

That morning, when you were called into the office for a case, you’d expected to be greeted with an onslaught of teasing from your coworkers, but Spencer had enough time before you arrived to plead with the rest of the team not to embarrass you. Surprisingly, they had agreed, but on one condition: Spencer had to do something about his workplace crush, because the rest of the team were losing their patience with the tension between you. To save you the embarrassment, Spencer sacrificed his own dignity in agreeing to that, and it’s been hanging over his head ever since.

The clouds beneath the jet serve as an interesting background to your thoughts, your headphones blocking out any and all sound beyond your music. You are away in your own little world, save for the part of your brain that is acutely aware of your elbow touching Spencer’s with the only barrier being your jacket and his. Does he spend as much time dwelling on these things? Does he ever wonder, like you do, that this connection between you could amount to something else, something more, if either of you were willing to take the risk? The risk is, in itself, a great one. While the risks surrounding any love in general are an obvious factor, in your shared field of work, that is exacerbated. Neither of you can explicitly trust that you would be able to act professionally if the other was harmed in any way, and you could bear witness to any degree of harm against the other while in the field. If that wasn’t enough, should it not work out, you would have no choice but to leave your dream job to work and live elsewhere, uprooting the life you’ve built here in its entirety; while Spencer would stay with the family he has worked with for so many years, the building would never feel the same to him without you in it. Whoever took your desk after you, he would be unable to withhold a small amount of resentment towards - he would never act on it, but he would feel it. And the guilt of being with him having caused you to have to restart your life somewhere else? That is a weight he is terrified of carrying. So many have faced worse fates as a result of getting close to Spencer, but when it comes to you, he cannot think of any worse than that, or his chest will start to hurt.

Perhaps this case is the perfect opportunity, he wonders to himself while a female cop converses with him, barely occupying even half of Spencer’s brain as he focuses on thoughts of you.

“I think it’s great you guys have come down here to help us!” The local cop grins up at Spencer.

A case in Vegas, where he could use some time once the case is closed to show you some of his favorite places. You’d like that, he thinks.

“Thank you, we’re always happy to help when requested.” Spencer answers casually.

But from the little office you’re working in, you can see the way that local cop is ogling at Spencer, and you feel a twinge of jealousy. It was only a few minutes ago you were looking at the hazel in his eyes up close in the same way she currently is, but you like to think you’re a little less obvious than that. You are not.

“Some of these guys, you can tell they don’t know what they’re doing, but you definitely do, don’t you? I’ve heard the rest of your team calling you a genius!” The local cop babbles to Spencer, eyes like an animal in heat.

Perhaps a tour of the casino’s? But a certain card-counting ability resulting in a certain state-wide ban would make that somewhat difficult. That probably wouldn’t be a very good date. Would it be a date? Spencer wonders, before he shrugs, feeling a little awkward.

“I don’t believe intelligence can be accurately quantified given its diversity in both person and circumstance, but I appreciate your faith in the BAU, who I’d better get back to. Thanks.” With that, he steps away from the officer, thinking nothing of the conversation given that his focus had been elsewhere for the duration of it.

You, however, cannot let it go. To your detriment, you assume a seasoned profiler like Spencer can read flirtatious intent a mile off (his unreliable grasp on social cues begs to differ) and from a distance, it didn’t look to you that he outright rejected the advances of another woman (his unreliable grasp on social cues left him unaware there were even advances to reject), and that left you feeling…upset. You had thought your relationship with Spencer to be special, that he didn’t reject the warm, sweet tension between the two of you because he liked you, specifically, but if he didn’t reject the flirtations of another woman, are you just a more regular occurrence of what she offered him?

Little do you know, if Spencer heard your thoughts suggest he only merely “liked” you, he may very well go into cardiac arrest under the pressure of the weight to correct you, adamantly. There is not a string of words in his vocabulary to adequately describe what he feels for you, and to imply “like” conveys them is salt in the wound you cause in his heart for each minute you’re not his.

Naturally, for the rest of the day you are accompanied by a cloud hanging over your head to consistently remind you of that very same fact - that you are not Spencer’s. It is hardly surprising you do everything in your power to avoid him, offering to assist every member of the team with whatever task they’re doing to take you out of his reach and prevent him from talking to you. Of course, you know he’ll notice, and you’ll apologize when you’ve recovered enough to not cry at the thought of him, but for tonight are destined to bury yourself in hotel bedcovers that you partially hope suffocate you into unconsciousness to save you further torment.

Most unfortunately for you, only an hour into your tears, there is a soft knock at your hotel room door. By now, you are beyond the point of being able to hide the extent to which you have already cried, so you formulate a number of excuses pertaining to allergies or hormones on your way to the door. All of those lies evaporate on opening your door to find Spencer standing there, looking down at you with pleading eyes that quite frankly make you want to launch yourself from your hotel room window.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, (Y/N), I just came by to-“ His eyes widen. “You’ve been crying.”

It’s not a question; Spencer knows you well enough to not need to doubt himself when he reads your physical tells.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Did you need something?” You brush off his concern, hoping to distract him with whatever his original reason for coming here was - it wouldn’t be the first time Spencer materialized in your presence to ask your opinion of something obscure or a social situation he was uncertain of because he felt comfortable enough to come to you about it, you just wanted to get this over with so that you could return to your crying pit.

“I- what? Don’t worry about it? You’ve been crying, of course I’ll worry about that! Extensively!” Spencer exclaims, his voice rising in pitch slightly with his distress, before he clears his throat. “I came by to check on you because your behavior today confused me, and it appears I was right to be concerned.” Seeing the apprehension on your face, Spencer is quick to amend the question he was going to ask. “If you’d prefer not to talk about it, I understand and won’t pressure you, but please don’t force yourself to suffer alone if you can help it. There’s nothing I’d rather listen to than you.”

The sincerity in Spencer’s words brings fresh tears to your eyes, and it’s physically painful to look away from him and stare at the doorframe.

“It’s nothing, Spencer, just getting in my head about things that-“ You begin, and in a moment that is completely unlike his usually overly-polite self, he interrupts you.

“Is it something I did?” He asks, his eyes widening with the same plea as before.

Spencer’s question surprises you so much that you hesitate to answer him, only for a second before your lips part again, but your delay is enough of an answer to him.

“(Y/N), please tell me what I did so that I can fix this. I don’t understand- I’ve already gone over our every interaction over the past 48 hours, 30 times each, and I’m not smart enough to have been unable to determine a conclusion on my own. Please tell me.” Spencer begs, his voice hoarse with the weight of having hurt your feelings without ever intending to.

Knowing he isn’t going to forgive himself without an explanation and that he’ll see through any lie you give him now, you are left without a choice.

“That cop you spoke to today, was she flirting with you?” The words fall from your lips freely, and Spencer blinks.

Once, twice, then a third time.

“Which…female officer? In the past 8 hours I have spoken to three.” He asks so carefully, like he’s walking on a rooftop made entirely of eggshells.

You have to resist rolling your eyes, because you know Spencer isn’t being clueless on purpose, but it doesn’t ease your pain.

“Just after midday, the one who was looking up at you like you were the best thing she’d seen all day.” Now, you can’t resist rolling your eyes; an involuntary reaction that makes Spencer frown in confusion.

“The conversation consisted of her thanking us for assisting them with the case and enquiring as to whether I’m a genius- to which I said I don’t think intelligence can be accurately quantified, and that was it.” Spencer has never been more confused in his entire life. He feels there is something obvious staring him right in his face and he is mortified at being completely blind to it, but he is treading very carefully over this invisible minefield.

“She was flirting with you, Spencer, didn’t you see the way she was looking at you?” Trying to read his expression and only finding confusion is not helping.

“I wasn’t really looking at her.” Spencer answers truthfully, because his eyes had been glazed over as he thought of places he could show you while in Vegas; where posed the highest probability of a successful date, should you accept the offer he had every intention of presenting you with.

“You didn’t notice…” You murmur, your heart sinking in your chest.

You had been upset that Spencer hadn’t rejected the advances of another woman under the presumption he understood her advances, but if he truly did not when she was being so obvious, he most likely doesn’t notice yours, either. He hasn’t been reciprocating the energy you thought was between you for that reason, he’s just been continuing the conversation without a clue. A lump forms in your thought.

Meanwhile, Spencer is even more confused.

“I’m not certain I understand what the issue is. Was it the flirting? Or the fact I didn’t register it? Should I have?” He is lost and in desperate need of guidance. As soon as he knows what he’s done to upset you, he’ll beg on his knees for your forgiveness, but at this time he is still unable to determine the problem. If you had not realized he didn’t acknowledge the flirting until now, that couldn’t be the issue, but if the issue was simply that he’d been flirted with, you now knowing he wasn’t aware of it would have fixed that - so why do you look more upset? This just in: Doctor Spencer Reid loathes social cues.

“Do you notice when anyone flirts with you?” Answering his question with your own question is only sending him further into a spiral.

You are the only person he ever wishes would flirt with him, but Spencer is absolutely convinced you never would. If he answers “no” to your rephrased version of the same question you had just asked him, that appears to be the answer you are assuming to be true which is making you look sadder. He does not understand this at all.

“How do I answer that in a way that won’t upset you further…” Spencer frowns, focussing very hard on your every micro-expression, trying to use your face as a cheat sheet.

“I don’t think you can, Spencer. Thanks for coming to check on me. Goodnight.” You give him a weak smile and go to close your hotel room door, but Spencer places a palm against the door with an expression of alarm.

“Please-“ He starts, then stops himself when you meet his eyes, his tone softening. “Talk to me.”

You take a deep breath and decide to bite the bullet. What do you have to lose? Your heart’s already been hit with every weapon of mass destruction you can think of.

“I thought- I thought you knew there was- it wasn’t flirting, but there’s been something between us that I thought you knew as well as I did. Stupidly, I thought you were reciprocating it, but if you couldn’t tell that cop was flirting with you, there’s no way you knew…” Your weak smile wavers. “Like I said, just getting in my head over things. Doesn’t matter. You haven’t done anything wrong. Night-“

Once again unexpectedly, Spencer interrupts you, but this time for a very different reason.

“I need to sit down.”

It’s only then you realize how suddenly pale he’s become. Paler than you’ve ever seen him, in fact. Your eyes widen, and you grab Spencer’s forearms, guiding him into your hotel room and over to the armchair in the corner of the room, the door clicking shut behind you while Spencer stumbles with the most shell shocked look in his eyes.

“Spencer, what’s going on? Are you alright?” You ask him worriedly.

“Indeterminable.” Spencer answers in a distant voice.

“Okay, okay, uh-“ You flit from him to the sink in your hotel room to grab Spencer a glass of water, that you’re quick to bring to him. “Here.”

His eyes don’t even focus on you or the glass, but he takes it from your hand and gulps it down. Spencer makes the mistake of glancing at you mid-sip, and starts choking, resulting in you patting his back.

“Something between us…” He coughs out. “You said, something between us. What.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and your face feels hot.

“You know, mutual pining. Like in movies.” You feel very awkward having to explain that.

“Books, first.” Spencer corrects you quietly, his breathing finally steadying.

“Yeah, okay, books first.” You can’t help chuckling lightly and taking the empty glass back over to the sink, then returning to Spencer, but stopping in your tracks when you find him now standing instead of sitting in the armchair.

“A study has shown that on average it takes men 88 days to fall in love, while it takes women 134 days. Contrary to what most believe of me, I don’t believe every aspect of love can be reduced to facts and statistics, but in moments of self-doubt I fall back on what I know. I knew what I knew of how I felt about you on the day we met, but I waited 88 days to be certain, and then it was only logical I waited 134 days to give you the chance to develop even the vaguest pleasant feeling towards me.” He takes a breath. “It has only been 120 days; I had not yet decided how I was going to broach this topic with you, and the question remains as to whether I’ve waited long enough for you to be as certain as I am. If the answer is anything other than yes, I promise, I’ll wait as many days as it takes, even if it’s a number I can’t reach.” Spencer’s voice is that of a man swearing an oath he has no doubt he’ll live to honor in every sense, and you are certain your heart has stopped beating.

You stare at him with wide eyes, feeling like time has frozen around you, the only sounds being your breathing to fill the suffocating silence of your hotel room. A microexpression of terror flickers across Spencer’s face, and you are brought back to yourself in an instant.

“I wish you’d asked me 120 days ago.” You say breathlessly.

“I didn’t ask anything.” Yet, Spencer adds internally, his heart pounding.

“But you’re going to.” You clarify softly, and Spencer nods, so you nod back at him.

“Would…” Spencer clears his throat. “Would you allow me the honor of taking you on a date? With me? Together? Here? Or anywhere- anywhere we can realistically travel to, that is-“ As he rambles and gets ahead of himself, your expression of shock evolves into a smile, and it’s your turn to interrupt him.

“Yes. Anywhere, anytime. Yes.” You answer.

There’s a beat of silence as Spencer catches his breath.

“Now?” He dares to whisper, and you’re grinning, glancing between him, and the provisions of a TV, bed and phone that this hotel room provides.

“Would you be opposed to a first date of takeout and shitty hotel room cable?” You offer playfully.

A bashful smile curls at the corner of Spencer’s mouth as he smiles back at you.

“Anything with you.” He says, but is quick to amend his own words. “Provided it’s an entirely safe scenario, obviously.”

That makes you snicker. “Obviously.”

Spencer looks between you and the bed, nervous of how to proceed. You make the first move, taking a step towards the bed, and Spencer offers you his hand - somewhat needlessly, but if he ever misses an instant in which he can deliver a gentlemanly action upon you, he would suggest that’s the instant you shoot him dead - to assist you onto the mattress before he follows suit and sits down beside you, kicking off his shoes.

“I’m completely underdressed for our first date, sorry.” You joke, looking between your pajamas and Spencer’s suit.

“You’re beautiful.” Is all he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it as he gazes down at you with the most gentle smile.

You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers, and Spencer doesn’t hesitate to lift them to his lips to kiss each of your knuckles tenderly.

“Takeout?” He murmurs against your skin, and for a second you’re lost to the daze of his kisses that you wonder if he’s asking whether the act of them has taken you out (to which you’d answer with a resounding yes), but remembering the nature of your date, you nod wordlessly.

Spencer smirks against your knuckles.

“I meant, what kind of takeout?” He amends, and your face feels hot again.

“Anything at all.” Is all you can think to respond, because to be completely honest, you do not care what you eat tonight.

Spencer chuckles quietly at that, keeping his hand holding yours while his other hand reaches for the hotel room phone, to dial for reception and request their recommendations for the best local takeout places.

“What’s so funny?” You ask him, but you’re smiling regardless of not yet knowing, just seeing him laugh while his thumb caresses your knuckles.

“I was just thinking, ‘Anything at all’ is exactly what I’ve thought every time I’ve looked at you.” Spencer muses as he brings the phone to his ear.

Anything at all to make you smile again, anything at all from you, if you asked he’d do or be anything at all for you.

And much like the last time, you don’t even realize he’s spelling out words against your skin with the caress of his thumb. This time, though, it’s just one phrase, repeated.

To be yours.

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femsolid · 25 days ago

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My Video Games Recommendations Masterpost

The same criteria as before -> has to have a female lead and little to no misogyny

This Bed We Made Genre: Thriller, Puzzles, Narrative Game, Multiple Choices Story: A hotel housekeeper uncovers the secrets of some of her strange guests. Topics: Homophobia, Women's rights in the 50s, Mental Health, Classism Bonus: Lesbians!

Lost In Random Genre: Whimsy, Adventure Story: In a magical world where the population is divided by social class decided on the roll of a dice, a girl embarks on a journey to reunite with her sister who was sent to live in the upper class. Topics: Sisterhood, Fairy Tales, Classism, Humour Bonus: It's like playing a Tim Burton movie

Little Goody Two Shoes Genre: Horror, Romance, Narrative Game, Multiple Choices Story: To get out of poverty, Elise makes a deal with the devil (literally) Topics: Religion, Witch Hunting, Fairy Tales, European Folklore, Paganism Bonus: The main character is a lesbian. Sometimes, the characters break into songs like a musical.

Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice Genre: Psychological Horror Story: Senua, a young Nordic woman who suffers from schizophrenia, is seeking an audience with the Goddess Hela. Topics: Schizophrenia, Anxiety, Paranoia, Celtic Mythology, Witch Hunting, Marginalisation, Grief Bonus: Best acting you'll ever find in a game

Haven Genre: Exploration, Resource Collecting, Romance Story: Yu and Kay are on the run and have taken refuge on a supposed deserted planet so they can be together. Topics: Forbidden love, Science, Intimacy, Humour Bonus: Can be played as a lesbian, straight or gay couple (the lesbian couple has the best voice acting)

Strange Horticulture Genre: Thriller, Puzzles Story: As the owner of a flower shop, you must find the right magical plants for your customers and discover who is the murderer (yes, there's also a murderer) Topics: Witchcraft, Cults, Mystery Bonus: You can pet the cat. It's point and click so you can play it on your laptop while chilling in bed (that's what I did, it's super cosy)

Gylt Genre: Adventure, Light Horror Story: A little girl is looking for her cousin who disappeared after being bullied and she discovers a dimension filled with monsters. Topics: Bullying Bonus: Makes you feel like you're in an animated movie

Sayonara Wild Heart Genre: Fast paced rhythmic action Story: A broken hearted woman faces the women in her life in a colourful and retro looking world Topics: Music, Mental Health, Romance, Self Discovery, Psychedelic Bonus: Gorgeous soundtrack

A Plague Tale Innocence & A Plague Tale Requiem Genre: Drama, Adventure Story: A girl must survive and protect her little brother while being hunted down by the inquisition, a cult and facing a plague of rats. Topics: Trauma, Childhood, Alchemy, Medieval, France, Death, Sacrifice Bonus: Excellent voice acting in french!

Shadow of The Tomb Raider Genre: Action, Adventure, Puzzles Story: Lara Croft explores Peruvian mythology in search of a magical artefact. Topics: Mythology, Remorse, Friendship Bonus: The Amazon forest! You can pick your outfits. And you can kill lots of men.

#mp #video games #gaming

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changbunnies · 4 months ago

Text

Evermore (18+)

♡ Pairing: Beast!Changbin x fem!Reader

♡ Genre: beauty and the beast inspired fantasy au, monster/human relationship, some angst, fluff, eventual smut, mutual pining, slow burnish?

♡ Word Count: 15.1k

♡ Summary: Desperate to flee an arranged marriage, you take your chances fleeing into the woods. The home of countless myths and legends, many in your village believe the forest to be enchanted, with all manner of dangerous creatures lurking within. You never took stock in such tales, much less in that of the most feared of them all– “The Beast.” But when you are saved from a pack of wolves by The Beast himself, you quickly realize that there is more truth to the fables you grew up on than you ever believed.

♡ Warnings: mention of an arranged marriage for reader, referenced misogyny, risk of death / near death experience, mild blood and injury, bin's appearance as the beast is based on minotaurs because i think it's sexy!, his height is never stated but i pictured him as ~10 feet tall while writing so :)

♡ Smut Warnings: monster fucking but make it Soft and Sweet, size difference, size kink, bin is touch-starved and feral for reader (but feral in a way that is somehow still soft?), handjob, oral (m + f rec), cum eating

♡ Notes: happy very late birthday to my sweet binnie <3 i wanted to get this out on his birthday but my life has been a mess tbh lmao but i'm back now and here's to loving changbin with my whole heart <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There were many things in your life you were willing to sacrifice for the sake of family.

Time, if they were in need or want of company. Money, whatever little you had, if they were in need of something they couldn't afford on their own. Your health, if they were sick and needed caring, even if giving them aid brought their illness upon you.

But the one thing you could not bring yourself to do was marry that terrible man.

They wanted you to marry a local hunter with some wealth, one who could provide for you and your family with his talents. He wasn't unpleasant to look at, and admittedly his wealth had appeal to families suffering from poverty, but you just couldn't get past his dreadful personality.

He was insufferably arrogant in his pride, and truly awful in his views towards women. He didn't want a wife– he wanted a maid; one he could lie with and have bear his children. His desire for such was clear every time you spoke with him.

You knew that he'd never see you as a partner, or an equal, or even love you. In his eyes, you were nary more than a pretty object for him to do with as he pleased. You didn't want that to be your life, refused to be a glorified servant to such a horrid person.

And so, in the dead of night on the eve of your wedding, you made your escape. Tiptoeing through your house as quietly and carefully as you could, you tucked away what little belongings you had and food your family could spare into a basket, and fled into the woods surrounding your village.

You veered off the beaten path, hoping that if you fled into the dense heart of the forest no one would risk trying to find you. Your village believed the woods to be inhabited by dangerous creatures– all manner of fae and magical beasts that would not hesitate to bring harm to lost humans.

All who left the village stuck strictly to the dirt paved roads, and even hunters didn't wander too far inside the woods. You didn't fear the creatures of fable, to be honest; you didn't even believe they existed. You were an avid reader, and enjoyed your share of fairy tales; you just found it hard to believe such creatures existed beyond the page.

It was risky and dangerous to flee into the woods at night, but not because of the stories of magic beasts and trickster fae; such things were the machinations of imaginative writers, and nothing more. Those who believed in them were simply overly superstitious, fearful of what could be instead of what is.

What you were scared of were the tangible, real threats that you knew very well existed. Wild animals, strange men, violent hunters– those were the things lurking in the woods that people should really be scared of; not silly stories of fairies who lure unsuspecting villagers deeper into the forest.

Regardless of what is real and what isn't, one thing is for certain– the forest is frightening to navigate at night. To ensure you remained undetected and hard to track, you forwent bringing a lantern with you, and having only the moonlight to guide you is both challenging and unnerving.

Even the smallest of noises puts you on edge, but you refuse to stop moving onward. You want to put as much distance between you and the village as you can before your family rises in the morning and notices you missing.

While you doubt many will be willing to follow your trail once they've put together that you've fled off the road and deep into the woods, you can't deny the possibility that someone may wish to try. Especially your arranged husband considering what a skilled hunter and tracker he is.

Still, you do need some rest– you've been walking through the densest parts of the forest for over an hour now, and you're more than a little tired; especially since you only got a few hours of sleep before setting off.

Just a short pause should be acceptable; you can rest against a tree, rummage through your basket for some of the food you tucked away to replenish your energy while giving your legs and feet the break they need.

It's nearly impossible to see inside your basket, so you simply feel for the food you want with your hand. It doesn't take you long to find the loaf of bread you packed inside, and you carefully tear off a piece to eat. You take a bite, and then another, but before you can take a third you hear a noise that makes you freeze.

The snapping of a branch, much louder than any previous forest sounds you heard, followed by a slight rustling of leaves. You look in the direction you heard the noise, met with the terrifying sight of a pair of glowing eyes looking straight at you.

Their low proximity to the ground tells you enough about the creature to make your blood run cold; and as it steps closer, and its silhouette becomes clearer, you realize what you thought was correct. It’s a wolf. And by the way it’s sizing you up, you can guess it’s hungry.

To make matters worse, it soon becomes clear it isn’t the only one as more glowing eyes emerge between the dark trees. You start running before you can even truly think, your body running purely on survival instinct, your basket dropped and forgotten behind you. The small amount of food inside is enough to draw the attention of some of them, but the rest ignore it to give chase.

You flee with all your strength, doing your best not to stumble and fall over protruding tree roots or your own feet. You keep your eyes forward as you do, worrying that looking over your shoulder to see the wolves close behind will only worsen your efforts to get away.

Your lungs ache, your feet hurt, your dress torn in multiple places from snagging on branches– but still, you can’t stop running. The wolves are faster than you, they’ll catch you eventually, you know it; but the desperation and adrenaline coursing through your veins keeps you going beyond your limits.

Your legs will give out before long, you'll falter and lose speed, it's inevitable; but you will yourself to keep going for as long as you can despite it. Realistically, your only hope for survival is the wolves losing interest before you grow too tired to continue. But is that even a possibility?

Maybe you should climb a tree? Can wolves climb? No, more importantly, can you? It’s over for you if you misstep or lose your strength during the climb up– falling would assuredly be the end of you.

Still, maybe it’s worth the risk. You can’t run forever, and it’s unlikely the wolves will give up the chase– better to try and fail than to not try at all, right? If you are to face death tonight, you wish to do so knowing that you tried everything you possibly could to escape it.

You scan your surroundings the best you can whilst running, looking for a tree with a branch low enough to the ground for you to feasibly reach and start your climb. It's a difficult task, the images before you as you run a dark blur; but eventually, you spot a branch you think will be suitable enough.

As you turn your body to reach out for it, one of the wolves lunges towards you, salivating jaws snapping at you. The wolf narrowly misses, instead biting through your dress and tearing a significant chunk of the fabric off, exposing your leg up to your thigh.

You let out an involuntary shriek at the sound of the fabric ripping in the wolf’s jaws, the knowledge that it easily could’ve been your leg chilling you to the bone. You’re terrified, but you can’t let yourself freeze up– it missed, and now is your best chance to get up the tree before it can try to bite you again, or the other wolves catch up with you.

You grab the branch, placing your foot on the trunk of the tree as you ready yourself to pull up your weight, but as you do you’re met with a sound that sinks your heart to the very pit of your stomach. The branch isn’t as sturdy as you hoped; it creaks and splinters as you pull, and it quickly becomes clear that should you attempt to pull your entire weight up with it, it will snap entirely.

So this is it, you think as you turn around to meet the gaze of the snarling wolf. You take a small step back, and then another, until your back is against the tree you hoped to climb. More wolves soon approach, and you know you’re cornered now. There’s nowhere else for you to go, nothing else you can think to try; your fate is sealed.

You try to make peace with it in these last moments you have; this isn’t how you imagined your life would someday end, but you knew the risks when it came to entering the woods. While you hoped differently, this was always a possibility. You were desperate, and you made your choice; and though the outcome is unfortunate, you don’t want to regret making the decision that brought you here.

As the wolves begin to fully encircle you, there is a loud thump in the distance that draws their attention away from you. The sound rings out again, and then again, and as it draws closer, you realize the ground is shaking, a cacophony of twigs and dried leaves snapping with each thump. Certainly you’re mistaken, but it sounds reminiscent of walking..

That’s impossible, isn’t it? The creature in question would have to be massive to cause the earth to shake around you this much, and to snap so many branches with each step. That simply can’t be reality– there’s no way something that big lives in the forest; giants and the like are nothing but fairy tales!

Still, the thumps continue to grow louder as whatever is causing the sounds draw closer, and you’re certain that if you weren’t already against a tree, you would’ve fallen over from how intensely the ground shakes. Some wolves whimper and flee with their tails between their legs, while the more ferocious of the pack stand their ground against whatever it is that approaches.

Its shadowy silhouette soon becomes visible through the trees, the forest floor shaking violently as it comes more clearly into view. You can’t tell what it is, but it's big– impossibly so. It’s too dark to make out features, and its height obscures the moonlight that was previously shining on you. The only thing you can make out through the shadow is.. Horns?

Unconsciously, you suck in a breath; it’s The Beast, you realize as it takes another hulking step towards you and the ravenous wolves. Half man, half monster, violent and aggressive, with an appetite for any foolish enough to wander into its territory. With horns and hooves, it easily towers over even the tallest of human men.

He’s the creature those living in your village fear the most, the subject of many cautionary tales told to children, the conjurer of countless hunter's nightmares. You never believed it– and it is only now that you think maybe you should’ve. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been so reckless in your escape from home.

You wonder which fate is worse; to be eaten by wolves, or eaten by The Beast. You wish you could run while the wolves are distracted, but your legs are frozen; whether from exhaustion or terror, you aren’t sure. Regardless, you stand there trembling and helpless, watching as it easily shoves the wolves aside.

They bite and scratch at The Beast, but it makes no discernable sound of pain. Seemingly unphased, it (or he?) reaches out for you, lifting you from the ground with ease, as if you weigh little more than a feather. You sob as it does, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate the pain to follow.

But the pain never comes. Slowly, you open one eye to peek at The Beast; it isn’t looking at you, but simply straight ahead as it resumes walking. He continues to shove off the wolves that attack, and as the animals realize it is futile to stop or slow him, they slowly but surely give up and retreat back to whence they came.

He must’ve made a turn before you opened your eyes, because the moon is no longer obscured by his size, and now illuminates the creature’s face clearly. His face is mostly that of a man’s, with the exception of his nose.

His nose is a rich brown bespeckled in pink, you can just barely tell, and its shape reminds you of the cattle that farmers own back in your village. You notice that his ears are bovine too, and fluffy in appearance. Brown in color, you think, or maybe black; it’s too dark to tell for certain.

The Beast looks down at you as if it can feel you observing him, and when he does, you can feel his breath envelop your body. Its smell is.. pleasant? Surprisingly so; like mixed berries, with a hint of tea leaves.

You expected something worse, given the tales; shouldn’t he smell like blood, or flesh? Even when his breath leaves you, you don’t detect anything remotely foul coming from him. In fact, his body smells unexpectedly clean.

“Safe now,” The Beast speaks, and you blink in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to be capable of speech, though you suppose it makes sense if he’s half man. It sounds like he’s trying to whisper, but his voice still comes out quite loud regardless; consequence of his size, you imagine.

But wait– does he mean you? You’re safe now? It occurs to you then that he’s holding you gently in his large arms. He isn’t squeezing you, constricting your movement, or trying to hurt you in any way; he’s simply carrying you. But to where? Though you’re apparently safe, there’s still a part of you that fears you won’t be for long.

It’s likely that as a half man he has some measure of human intelligence, and it’s very possible this apparent kindness is part of a ploy to make eating you easier. Get you to his den, build trust with you so you don’t run, all so he can relish in devouring you later.

Regardless, you’re too exhausted to do anything right now. Fatigue has settled in you now that the adrenaline has run its course through your body. You wouldn’t be able to run in this state, nor be able to fight him off– not that you think you could anyways, but especially not like this.

Your body falls limp, your eyes heavy, weary. As you close them, all you can do is hope that The Beast doesn’t toy with you in the end. If you wake before he decides to eat you, your wish is that he makes your death swift and painless. That’s all you can ask for as you lose consciousness.

When you blink awake, the first thing you register is that you’re in a bed– a large one at that. It’s comfortable, plush, and warm, if not a tad dusty. The blanket that covers you too is warm, and you realize as you continue to blink away the grogginess that you’re staring up at a darkly colored canopy– a deep purple.

Turning your head to the left, you see stained glass windows with a design of red roses filtering in small amounts of sunlight through worn, tattered drapes. On the right side lies the door to the room you’re in, wooden and carved with a motif of roses identical in design to the one on the windows.

How did you get here? You stare back up at the canopy, trying to recall what happened last night. You were walking for what felt like ages, you got tired and stopped to eat.. Wolves found you, you were running, and then.. The Beast!

You sit up quickly as the memory hits you, and take a panicked look around the room. He isn’t here, you realize after a moment, and your brows furrow in confusion. Did someone else stumble upon you and save you from The Beast? That must be it– there’s no way the dreaded beast of the forest brought you here.

The entire room is covered in a thin layer of dust, though it’s clear that someone made an effort to clean it recently. For your sake, you wonder? Removing the blanket and looking down, you can see you’re still in your torn clothes from the night before. You rise from the bed carefully, your legs still aching from the events prior to waking up here, and take another, more in depth look around the room you’re in.

It’s a rather empty room, with just a few pieces of furniture strewn about, and a fireplace sitting in the center of the wall opposite the bed you were sleeping in. In one of the corners of the room sits a large wardrobe, and next to it a chair with a dress laid atop it that you assume has been placed there for you to change into.

You walk over to the chair and take the dress into your hands, and it does seem like it’ll fit well enough when you hold it up to your body. It feels to be made of silk, and while not necessarily lavish, it is much fancier than any of the dresses you could get back home.

You consider for a moment if it’s really okay to change into, but ultimately conclude that it was laid out with a purpose, and you should accept the kindness. Besides, you don’t think remaining in your now tattered dress would do you any good.

You change quickly despite the ache remaining in your limbs, and unsure of what exactly to do with your old clothes, you opt for placing them on the same chair you grabbed the new dress from. Afterwards, you step to the rose-carved door, and slowly pull it open to peek out.

You’re not sure if leaving the room is a good idea, but there’s no one in the hall to instruct you otherwise, and you’re admittedly starving. You hope you can find a kitchen, or the person who kindly saved you so you can thank them and ask them for a meal.

The door opens to a long hallway, lined with lattice windows and rusty knight statues. Wall sconces take up the spaces between the windows, though many are missing the candles meant to reside in them.

Artwork lines the opposite wall, decorating the spaces between what you assume to be other bedroom doors. Some are askew and others perfectly straight, but all are old and worn. Landscapes, still life, portraits– regardless of type, the paint on each and every one has dulled and chipped, with a layer of dust atop them.

Continuing down the hall past the several closed doors, you come to a set of stairs leading down. Following it down leads to another long hall, though this one is quite different. Multiple chandeliers hang from the ceiling, evenly spaced apart in a line. There are vases and statues of various types; human, gargoyle, angel– some few perfectly intact, but many broken in some way, often missing entire limbs.

There are no windows, and the walls are not painted like in the previous hall, but appear to be carved of stone, with each vase and statue nestled between expertly carved columns. There are only two doors in this hall– one in the center of each wall. Both doors are locked when you try them, and so you move on down the hall, eventually finding yet another set of stairs leading down.

They bring you to what appears to be a grand entryway. Across from you is an identical set of stairs leading to what is likely a similarly structured wing of the castle you appear to be in. To the left, between both sets of stairs, is a large door that nearly touches the ceiling, and to the right a large open hall with what you think are the doors leading outside at the very end of it.

Simply leaving would be tempting if you weren’t in dire need of a meal, or entirely unsure of where exactly you are. You can tell the castle you’re in is quite old given the state of things, but you can’t think of any such old, worn down castles you’ve heard tale of. All the castles you know of are well occupied by royalty; none, as far as you’re aware, have been left to fall to dust and ruin like this.

It’s terribly confusing, and if you don’t find a kitchen soon, you at least hope you’ll find someone kind and willing to provide you answers. Forgoing the large door that you’re pretty sure leads to a ballroom, as well as the opposite staircase you’re confident will lead to a hall identical to the one you were just in, you step right, to the entry hall.

There are a few doors on each side, and to your relief, one of them is labeled “Dining Hall.” A dining hall has to lead to a kitchen! Eagerly, you pull open the door, and as you do, you gasp when you realize The Beast himself is standing next to the dining table.

He’s looking straight at you, ears flickering in response to the sound of your gasp. You can’t help but freeze, having convinced yourself that it was impossible for him to be here, for him to have been the one to bring you here. You’re too stunned to move– everything in you was expended when fleeing the wolves, and now all you can do is stand before him.

You can see him much better now than you could last night, his every feature clearly defined by the sunlight filtering in through the dining hall’s large windows. His hair is curlier than you realized, and deeply brown, as are his bovine ears. His cheeks are round, his lips pouty and entirely human in shape.

You can also now see clearly just how broad he is– and strong. His torso, while decidedly man, is still much larger than a regular man’s could ever be. His pecs and arms are muscular and well defined, while his stomach appears to be soft, and maybe a little squishy, with a dark patch of fur trailing down beneath his belly button.

He is in no way similar to a man beneath that point. The Beast has the legs reminiscent of a bull, every inch covered in thick, dark fur down to his hooves. His legs are much thicker than any you’ve ever seen, human or otherwise; you can only conclude this is because he is as strong in his legs as he is in his arms.

Lastly, is a tail swishing leisurely from side to side behind him. You can just barely see it when he’s facing you, but the glimpses you get of it further reminds you of cattle. Long and thin, with a large amount of fur at the tip of it. Part of you wonders if his fur is as soft as it looks– you didn’t feel it last night to know.

Parts of his arms are messily bandaged, bits of red tainting the otherwise white fabric– blood, you conclude, from when the wolves attacked him. He’s wearing a cape, the same shade of deep purple as the canopy that hung over the bed you woke up in, clasped around his collar bone with a golden buckle. The buckle, similar to the doors and some of the stained glass windows, is beholden with the image of a rose.

It feels wrong to think so, but he’s attractive– were he a purely human man, you’re certain many village girls would swoon for him.

“You’re awake,” he smiles for a moment, clearly human teeth showing for a split second before he stops and timidly breaks direct eye contact. “I wanted to help with torn dress but couldn’t. Hands too big,” he continues, showing his hands to you to further prove his point– not that you need him to.

“I picked a new one for you instead, glad you found it. Glad you’re wearing it,” he says, and you’re still too surprised to even speak in turn. “Looks.. Nice?” he says with an unsure tilt of the head. It seems as if he wants to compliment you, but is unsure in his word choice. He looks contemplative for a moment, as if mulling over if there’s a better word he could’ve used.

You get the impression he isn’t used to interacting with humans. You yourself aren’t used to interacting with beasts.

“I wanted to bring you food. You must be hungry! But I don’t know everything humans like to eat..” he muses as he turns his attention back to the dining table, where you now realize an abundance of food is laid out. Nice food.

Fruit platters, veggie trays, fine meats.. He has it all. If you weren’t already in awe of The Beast, this alone would floor you, because all this food would cost a fortune in your village unless you grew it and hunted for it yourself.

“This is for me..?” you finally find your voice and manage to ask. He nods and waves his hand, beckoning you to approach the table. Cautiously, you do, still in awe of it all.

Tentatively, you stand next to him before the dining room table, taking a nervous glance up towards him. You knew very well he was big and tall, but your difference in height is positively dizzying up close.

Your own stature barely even exceeds past his waist; if you were to look at him straight on, your eyes would be level with his belly button. His hands are bigger than your head, his legs thicker than your entire body. It’s as amazing as it is frightening– how can a creature this big even exist? You swallow, trying not to think about his size as you turn your attention back to the food.

“How did you get all this?” you manage to ask him; you can’t imagine someone as huge as him going out to collect fruits and vegetables– you imagine he’s much too big to be able to do so without struggling.

“I trade with friends of the forest. Little winged ones love shiny, sparkly things. They give me food in exchange,” he answers as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Well, for him, it is normal. But you can’t imagine this big, burly man-beast trading with fairies. You’re hardly even ready to accept he’s real, much less that fairies are!

It’s all too much to wrap your head around. Maybe you should just eat– maybe everything will start to make more sense once your stomach is full. You hope.

You find a bare plate on the table, and pick it up to start loading food onto. The Beast watches you, seemingly happy that you’re choosing to eat the food he has out on the table. Once satisfied, you take a seat, giving him one last cursory glance before focusing on the meal in front of you.

“Aren’t you going to eat too? This is a lot of food,” you inquire as you start to nibble on the fruit you picked out. “Wanted to make sure you got enough,” he replies, "You had a bad night, used a lot of energy. Need to have enough food to recover."

You can’t believe how seemingly nice, considerate, and intelligent The Beast is. Not only is he real, but he seems to be genuinely kind and caring. The stories paint him as violent, ferocious, ravenously blood-thirsty.. But the creature in front of you seems so far removed from those things.

“What’s your name?” you ask him, and he seems surprised for a moment. He must not have been expecting you to ask. “Little winged ones call me Changbin,” he answers. You repeat it back to him, and he smiles just a little as he nods his head. “Your name?” he asks after, and he repeats it to himself after you offer it, just the same as you did with his.

“Do you live here?” is your next question, and he nods once more. “Alone?” you follow up, and again he nods. It’s clear that Changbin isn’t the castle's original inhabitant, and you wonder how long it lay abandoned before he claimed it as his home.

Of course, he could’ve killed the owners to take it, but the more you speak with him, you simply can’t imagine him being so cold blooded. He seems too… sweet.

A more pressing question– where are you exactly? You’re certain you’re still within the bounds of the forest, as you saw nothing but trees every time you looked out a window. But if that’s the case, how has an entire castle gone unnoticed? Castles aren’t exactly small– surely you and the other villagers would’ve seen it poking through the top of the trees.

Was it the magic that people believed the forest to hold that left it obscured? Or was it so deep in the forest, with the trees that surround it so tall and dense that even spying it from a distance was impossible? No matter the truth, the simple fact remains that there is much more to the forest than you ever thought, and it’s a lot to digest all at once.

“Why did you save me?” you decide to ask him instead of trying to unravel the mysteries and secrets of the forest. “You needed help,” he answers easily, “humans fear me, but I always try to help.”

It’s easy to imagine his words true. A human like you, perhaps a hunter accidentally straying too far into the forest. They find themselves lost, hurt, or in trouble, and Changbin finds them.

He tries to help, but in their terror, they flee further into danger, get themselves more lost, strain an already injured leg.. And the ones who make it back tell a terrifying tale of The Beast in the forest who wished to devour them when all he actually wanted to do was help them. It’s a bit sad to consider in all honesty.

“When you're feeling better, do you want to go back home?” he asks once you’ve finished your meal, and it takes you by surprise. “I’d help you. Take you as far as I could. Help you find path."

He’d really help you get home..? Just like that? You begin to feel bad that even after he rescued you, gave you a warm place to sleep, a new change of clothes and a meal, there was still a part deep inside you that feared what his intentions with you could be.

“No,” you answer after a moment, “I was in the forest trying to get away from home. My life there.. It wouldn’t be good if I went back.”

“Then.. you stay? I’ll help you. Protect you,” Changbin offers, a faint smile appearing on his lips when you nod.

“I’ll stay,” you affirm. It’ll be strange at first, you’re sure, living in a castle in the middle of the apparently enchanted woods with The Beast your village fears so much. But you’d rather live here, with a physical beast, rather than back home, with the metaphorical one you’d be forced to call “husband.”

Living with The Beast, Changbin, is surprisingly pleasant. It was easier than you expected it to be; almost natural.

On your first official night in the abandoned castle he made his home, he gave you a tour. What was intended to be a tour of strictly the important rooms you’d be expected to frequent turned into a several hour long walkthrough of the entire estate. He took you through the kitchen, the bathrooms, the study, the drawing room, the library, the watchtower– everything.

You could tell which rooms he frequented most by how dusty they were. If there was very little dust, you concluded that he was there often. If there was a large accumulation of it, he stayed out of it.

The watchtower was one of the rooms he liked to be in the most, often finding himself surveying the forest from it. That's how he saw you fleeing the wolves– and the moment he did, he descended the tower in a rush, hoping to get to you before any harm would befall you.

Additionally, you learned that his bedroom is in the opposite wing of yours. Changbin said he purposely chose the room furthest from his own to put you in because he thought you’d be more comfortable that way if you chose to stay for a while. He’s used to humans fearing him, and he wanted to give you whatever distance you’d need to feel safe during your time here.

Truthfully, you stopped being scared of him very quickly. If there was anyone the term “gentle giant” suited, it was assuredly Changbin. He always stepped through the castle carefully, doing his best not to shake the ground too hard and risk shattering glass or knocking over vulnerable statues and vases.

He knew his voice was booming, so he always tried to speak softly. It was still loud, of course, but you knew it could be much louder if he allowed himself to project it fully. When he handled porcelain or other breakables, he would move his hands so slowly and carefully that you’d think he was holding a newborn baby.

Changbin would often stare at you quietly when you were in the same room, assumedly out of curiosity. He’d never gotten the chance to share a space with a human, or to observe them up close for such great lengths of time; it made you wonder what he must think of you.

You wondered if there was anything he assumed a human would be that didn’t prove true, similar to how wrong you were about him. You always noticed his staring, and oftentimes when you decided to return his gaze, he’d quickly turn away.

Did he have the gut human instinct to look away when eye contact becomes too intense or prolonged? Was he simply shy? Both?

Sometimes he would smile before he looked away, the faintest peek of a dimple showing on his cheek before darting his eyes elsewhere. Sometimes his cheeks would dust over a soft pink, and other times, on the rare moments he let himself smile more fully, the bridge of his nose would scrunch up similarly to a humans.

Was it strange to say you found such moments cute? He was oddly endearing in the way he went about life, in his mannerisms and complexities. And admittedly, you’d stare at him the same way he stared at you when his attention was elsewhere.

At first, you justified it to yourself by saying you couldn’t help it– you discovered a magical creature that you always thought was nothing more than a story is real. How could you not stare at him? But lately, you weren’t so sure that’s all there was to it.

Changbin was many things outside of being The Beast. He was warm, soft, and sincere. Caring, considerate, and careful. He was.. Attractive. Handsome. Cute. Words you never thought you’d use to describe a creature with protruding horns and other inhuman features. And with each season passed inside the castle together, the more you grew fond of him.

You spent many afternoons together in the library. You were surprised to learn he could read; something that perhaps shouldn’t have been surprising in hindsight, given his capability of speech, but it still shocked you. The ability to read wasn’t something necessary to his everyday life, but he liked doing it to pass time, or ease the loneliness of living alone.

All the books in the castle’s library were dated, easily hundreds of years old; it was clear that every single book was one left behind by the previous inhabitants, and not a single new book had entered the library since. Their age didn’t make them any less enjoyable however, and in fact you found it exciting to have so many stories you’d never heard of before to dive into.

Watching Changbin read was a treat within itself. Even the thickest of novels looked comically small in his large hands, and turning pages was always a struggle for him. You couldn’t help but giggle watching him try to turn a single page with his finger, only to instead turn several. There were many times you took it upon yourself to help him once your giggling subsided.

Given his size, he’d often have to sit in a hunched position, or hold books up quite close to his face to read them. And the words– they must’ve looked so tiny to him; you were certain it was a strain. Then add his struggle to turn pages on top of it..

While it was cute to watch him pout after he turned way too many pages at once, you also didn’t want to just sit idly by if he was having a hard time. Especially not when you were more than capable of assisting him.

He was surprised when you first offered to help him read, curiously tilting his head as he watched you close the book you were reading to walk over to him. Changbin often sat on the floor, much too big and heavy to sit in the castle’s arm chairs or sofas. His place on the floor made it easy for you to climb up his leg, and sit on his thigh.

“I could turn the pages for you,” you explained, reaching over to the book lying in his hands to demonstrate how easy it is for you to turn the pages one at a time. “Or read them to you, should your eyes grow tired from looking at the tiny words,” you said.

You remember his smile clearly; how sweet it was, and the way his nose cutely scrunched as his smile grew the biggest you’d seen it. He seemed really thankful; he didn’t say it, but you think it meant a lot to him that you were showing him kindness.

That’s how you fell into a comfortable routine. At least a few afternoons a week, you’d sit somewhere on Changbin’s body; one of his thighs if you were reading the book to him, or his forearm if you were turning the pages for him. Sometimes his shoulder too, if a book needed to be held especially close to his face for him to be able to read the words written.

When the sun would set, and candles needed to be lit, you often sat on his shoulder as he moved about the room, helping him light them. He’d always help you up carefully, offering one of his large hands as support, or carefully wrap his fingers around you to lift you up to his shoulder. He wouldn’t move an inch or take a single step until he was certain you were steady and comfortable.

You’d always get sleepy after that. The moon through the windows, the soft candle light, the sound of turning pages as the wood in the library’s fireplace crackled, the warmth Changbin exuded.. It was just so comfortable; especially if you were sitting on his thigh.

His fur was like a blanket, his broad, soft torso like a warm pillow. And sometimes, when you relaxed all the way against him, you could hear his heart rhythmically beating. It wasn’t uncommon for you to fall asleep, and every time you did, Changbin would carry you back to your room.

He would carefully cradle you in his arms, and you’d unconsciously curl into him as he rose up from the ground to carry you to bed. The doors of the castle, while larger than any typical door, were still too small to accommodate his size.

He’d have to duck through them while also minding his horns, your body pressing to his chest as he hunched his body to step through them. If you were awake enough to feel it, you never minded it. If you were being honest, you liked it. You liked the warmth when he held you, liked feeling his chest against you, liked hearing the thumping of his heart.

Sometimes, you were tempted to ask him to stay with you, or to ask him to take you to his room. Changbin was just so comfortable and warm– having him next to you all night just sounded like it’d be so pleasant. Safe too; you always felt safe in his presence.

The following mornings, you’d stare up at your canopy and wonder if such thoughts were okay to have. Changbin was a man– an inhuman man, but a man all the same. And it was in these moments, alone in your room and fresh from sleep, contemplating where you are and the life you lead now that you realize you are more than just fond of Changbin.

You knew you would never leave the castle, but it wasn’t just because your best chance at survival and protection was here. It was because the thought of leaving him behind made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. You didn’t like contemplating what a life without him in it would look like.

And it was almost funny how despite being a beast, Changbin was the kindest man you’d ever known. Complicated as it may be, you think you love him more than you should. You want him more than you should.

It’d hit you when you shared meals, and he’d watch you with his impossibly dark, warm eyes. His attentive stare made you warm– too warm. You’d swallow, try to focus on anything other than his full lips, or the swell of his chest, or the flex of his arms when he reached out to grab a piece of meat.

It'd hit you when you watched him split wood for the fireplaces with his bare hands. Your heart would swell when you'd step out to the gardens, and he'd carefully maneuver so as to not crush the growing flowers. From innocent, sweet love to deepest, carnal desire, and then back again, your thoughts of Changbin were like a pendulum.

It’d even hit you in the moments of comfortable silence, when ease settled over you both at day's end. When you’d tentatively steal glances at each other until your eyes accidentally meet, and you both look away, bashful and unsure.

You’d feel it creeping on you, warming your body exponentially until you felt feverish with desire to be closer to him. Even alone, in bed or in the bath, your thoughts would linger on him. Innocent thoughts and curiosities about how it'd be for him to kiss and hold you quickly give way to perversion– impure thoughts you really, really think you shouldn’t be having.

You needed to get yourself together. There’s no way an intimate relationship is feasible between you– you shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. But God, you can’t stop your mind from going there. Even just watching him lick his lips and fingers clean after he finishes eating is enough to get your heart racing these days.

Every day, you desperately try to ignore it.

It’s easier on the days you venture outside the castle’s familiar walls. Warm, sunny days, where you explore the forest from the safety of Changbin’s broad shoulder. He showed you so many things you’d never seen before, things you never thought were real.

Fairy villages, magic healing ponds, meadows of enchanted flowers. His fairy friends were excited to meet you, and similar to Changbin himself, you realized they were much kinder than tales would lead you to believe.

They were tricksters, yes; many were fond of a good prank. But really, they just wanted to have fun, and there was no inherent harm in that. (Though Changbin did advise you to speak carefully, lest you accidentally end up in a fae pact he’d have no way to help you out of.)

You watched Changbin trade with them too. A few beads from a broken necklace or marbles from a forgotten child’s playset he found within the castle you called home was all he needed to provide to receive bushels of their freshly grown fruits and vegetables.

If you returned back to the castle with a good chunk of daylight left, you’d spend them together in the castle’s flower garden. It was overgrown, and sometimes hard to navigate, but you always enjoyed your time there. Changbin would always set you down to the ground carefully, letting you roam the garden at your leisure while he picked a sunny spot in the grass to relax in.

You got the idea to make him a flower crown once. It was something you and other village girls enjoyed doing, and it was common to give them to people you cared for. It was simple, but you thought it’d be a good way to show your appreciation to Changbin for all the ways he helped you since the day you met him.

You wondered, as you went around the garden picking flowers, if he had ever received a gift before. Apart from his dealings with the fairies, he lived a very isolated life before he met you. And while the fairies were his friends to some extent, you couldn’t imagine them giving something away without receiving something in return.

You suppose you just wanted him to have the feeling of joy that comes with a gift. The warm feeling that settles in your chest when you realize someone was thinking of you, the delight that seeps inside you when you see the effort they made to give you a visual representation of how much they care for you. You were thinking that Changbin deserves to have that feeling.

When you were done collecting what felt like dozens of flowers, you sat yourself in the sunny grass clearing next to Changbin. He was lying flat on his back, the sun highlighting his face beautifully. His eyes were closed, and the soft snores (for his size, anyways), told you he’d fallen asleep.

You observed him for a moment, smiling to yourself over how soft and cute his features looked whilst sleeping before you got to work on the flower crown. It took quite some time considering you had to make it much larger than you typically would. Changbin eventually stirred awake and sat up, watching you work curiously but ultimately saying nothing as he observed– he didn’t want to distract you.

“Finally! All done!” you exclaimed after threading the final of the flowers you picked together, and Changbin did his usual inquisitive tilt of the head. “It’s pretty. What is it for?” he asked, watching as you rise to your feet with your creation in hand. “It’s a flower crown,” you answer as you hold it out to him to accept, “for you.”

He simply blinked in response, saying nothing as he processed the information. It may not have been the first time he’d ever been given a gift by another, but it was certainly the first one he’d ever received from a human. You didn’t intend to let it be the last, either. “Crown?” he finally asked after a moment, “I wear it?”

“Mhm! Like this,” you said as you held the crown around your head to try to show him what you meant. “It’s too big for my head since I made it for you, but.. Here, let me put it on you!” You hooked the flower crown you made gently around your arm after you spoke, and grabbed at one of his hands.

Changbin understood what you wanted him to do, and so he lowered his hands to the ground so that you could step onto them. You sat on your knees whilst in his hands, finding it much easier to keep your balance that way as opposed to standing; and then, as he had many times before, he lifted you carefully up.

You instructed him to tilt his head towards you, and he did without question. It occurred to you then that maybe you underestimated how big you needed to make the flower crown.

The one you made was definitely big– too big for a human head, that was for sure. Still, Changbin is at least double the size of every man in your village, and he has horns. Realizing there was no way to make it sit around his head the way it's intended to, you opted for simply placing it on his head between his horns, and letting it rest there.

You smiled at him when he lifted his head, and told him what you truly thought– that he looked cute. “Really?” he questioned, surprised to be considered such. There have been many words by humans and his little winged friends used to describe him, and ‘cute’ wasn’t usually among them.

You watched him as he processed his thoughts, another few moments passing before he moved his hands to one of his shoulders, urging you to get on. You did, clinging to his cape tightly when he moved faster than you expected him to. Changbin was always patient and careful when you were on him, always moving slowly– you hadn’t anticipated the sudden change in the slightest.

You were a little confused, unsure of what his sudden rush to leave the gardens was, but it quickly became clear; he was looking for somewhere to see his reflection. He tried the fountain first, but when he realized he couldn’t see himself clearly enough in the water, he made his way back to the castle.

The entry doors to the castle were tall and wide enough that he didn’t have to hunch or awkwardly step through them, but he still moved carefully through it. Despite his rush to see himself, he still wasn’t walking as fast as you both knew he could.

He was trying his best not to break the glass and porcelain inside nearby cabinets with his steps, though he was still moving quick enough that the castle’s floor shook as he continued through the entry hall. His desire to be careful even whilst in a rush was endearing; it brought a smile to your face.

The ballroom was Changbin’s ultimate destination. It had a large mirror, floor to ceiling, encompassing a substantial chunk of the wall opposite the windows. It was the only room in the entire castle that had a mirror large enough for him to see his entire reflection with, from the tips of his horns all the way down to his hooved feet.

His eyes changed when he first saw his reflection– so fast that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. He got up close to the mirror, examining himself with the flower crown you made for him resting between his horns, and truly, he looked happy.

You chose the colors of the flowers well, each one meant to compliment the deep brown of his hair. Soft yellows, vibrant blues, and light, pretty pinks– each selection, in your eye, was perfect. You were relieved that Changbin seemed to agree.

He wasn’t just looking at the flowers atop his head in the reflection though; he was also looking at you. Sat there on his shoulder, looking at him with more kindness than he’d ever felt from anyone. Your eyes met through the reflection, and he could feel his heart starting to beat faster– he wondered if you could feel it too, with your legs dangling over his chest.

He’d never felt this way before, and didn’t know what to do with himself. He knew from his books that humans give gifts to people they care about, and for many reasons. Kindness, appreciation, love.. What was your reason? He found himself hoping it was all of them. He hoped you cared about him as much as he cares about you.

“Thank you,” Changbin said, realizing that he should’ve done so from the start. He thought maybe he should read more books on human manners and improve himself. He hoped he didn’t seem inappreciative by taking so long to thank you for doing something kind for him. His worries melted away when you smiled at him again though, sincere and sweet as always.

“You’re welcome! You’ve always done so much to help me, I wanted to thank you somehow,” you explain. Changbin didn’t think you needed to thank him for anything. No matter who it was out in the forest that night, he would’ve helped them. He’d have let them stay in his home, fed them, and made sure they were well.

But he’s glad it was you; he doesn’t think he could envision the castle without you in it anymore. There may come a day when you grow tired of Changbin being your only companion, and of your daily life in the castle. On that day, you may wish to return to human society, even if your return isn’t to the village you grew up in.

He’d let you go if you wanted to; he’d never, never force you to stay. But he hopes you stay. He hopes that you’ll always be here with him.

“But that’s not the only reason I made it,” you continued, finding a moment of bravery to be a bit vulnerable with your feelings. Changbin watched your expression change in the mirror, your brightness replaced by something more timid as you twiddled your thumbs.

Apart from your tentative first nights here when you were still getting comfortable with his presence, you always met his gaze head on while talking. This was the first time since then that you hesitated to look him in the eye whilst speaking to him, even if it was just eye contact through the ballroom mirror. He found it curious; he wondered if he should be worried.

“The girls in my village also like to make these for people we care about. I wanted you to know that too. That I care about you,” you told him. It felt incredibly nerve wracking to say it aloud, though you didn't think he'd pick up on the underlying romantic sentiment that village girls usually tied to their gifted flower crowns.

Honestly, it was okay if he didn’t recognize how much you like him. Perhaps in some ways it was better if he didn’t; because you are a small human, and Changbin is so much more than that.

Difference in anatomy aside, you don’t think humans and beasts are supposed to have deep feelings for one another. Friendship was fine, you thought, but love? You just weren’t sure that was a line you should cross.

Still, regardless of whether or not such feelings towards him were okay to have, they were already there. Before that day, you thought you loved him; but seeing him look at you, pink in the cheeks and happy, with the flower crown on his head that you made him, you knew for certain.

You love him. And watching the concern melt away and turn to joy when you told him you care about him was more than enough to tell you how deeply you adore him.

You decided to leave the moment with one last, small gesture. You leaned over, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. It was a simple, innocent sign of affection, but his heart stuttered all the same, as did yours.

“I care about you too,” he’d said with his usual soft, timid smile when you looked at him again, the pink on his cheeks deepening, "very much.”

Laying awake as you are now, recalling your memories with Changbin, you yearn for him even more. You want him beyond friendship, foolish and impossible as it may be. You want to tell him you love him, to kiss him, to lie with him at night and feel his warmth envelope you all over.

You want to touch him, want him to touch you, want to straddle as much of his waist as you can as he lies beneath you, and– God, enough, you huff to yourself. You roll over, bury your head in your pillows and let out a frustrated yell into them.

You wish you knew what to do with these feelings. How would things go if you simply told him? What if you said nothing, and instead acted on them in one of your quietly shared moments of comfort? Would he accept your kiss? Would he return your feelings?

Tossing onto your back once more, you stare up at your canopy as you always do when your brain is plagued by thoughts of Changbin. You sigh after a moment, and close your eyes, wondering if he ever lies awake at night like you do, if he has feelings like yours that he too doesn’t know what to do with. Though you probably shouldn’t, you can’t help but hope that he does.

The arrival of winter didn't make your struggle with your feelings for Changbin any easier. The outdoors used to serve as a distraction; your growing love and attraction to him was never truly silenced, but at least you found it easier to focus your attention elsewhere whilst you were outside the castle walls.

All you can do when you're inside the castle is think of him. When you're in the same room, you find it hard not to stare at him. And sure, you stared at him a lot before, but now it felt different; because before, you were simply curious about him. Now it's purely because you're too lovesick to look anywhere else.

When you read books together, you often find that you don't actually remember what happened in the story. At some point, your thoughts always travel to Changbin, and they linger there despite all efforts to focus on the book in your hands.

The fact that his body is touching yours more often these days doesn't help. It's a particularly cold winter, perhaps the coldest it's ever been in all your years. Snow is piled up to your calves when you step outside, tree branches are completely frosted over, and icicles hang from nearly every inch of the castle's exterior.

Suffice it to say, you are often very cold. Changbin doesn't suffer from the cold nearly as much as you do, but he does his best to keep the castle warmer for your sake. The minute you step into a room he lights the fireplace for you, and you stick close to it, sitting before it with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

But even still, you found yourself shivering much more than either of you'd like. The only time you stopped was when you were in his lap, likely thanks to the inhuman amount of warmth that radiates off his body.

So now, instead of sitting or laying in his lap just being a part of helping him read, you'd spend a majority of your winter days there, clinging to his warmth. He'd sit himself as close to the fireplace as he could, with you curled snuggly on his lap.

His fur was like an extra blanket, warm and soft and comfortable. Nearly every day was spent next to the library's fireplace, as reading was about the only thing you could do whilst trying to stay warm.

Though, as previously stated, you found it hard to focus on reading lately. And even when you did manage to focus on the words in front of you, your eyes would quickly grow heavy; Changbin was just too comfortable to lay on– you just couldn't resist dozing off.

Every night was cold, but some were worse than others. On the first of one of those extra chilly nights, when the time in which you'd go your separate ways for bed came, Changbin hesitated to carry you back to your room. Even if he lit your fireplace before he left, you'd be cold without him, he knew it for a fact.

He looked down at where he held you in his arms, asleep and curled into him, cozy and warm, and he made a decision; he took you to his room. You would understand, he thought. You may be confused when you wake up in a room that isn’t your own, but you’d understand why you were there.

And you trust him now; you wouldn’t be upset with him, especially not when he has your best interest at heart. He hoped not, anyways; in his experience, humans can be unpredictable. But you're a good human– one that he likes and cares for more than he ever has for anyone else.

With such thoughts in mind, he carried you to his room. And as he hoped, you weren't upset in the slightest to wake up the next morning beside him (or more accurately, atop him.)

You were certainly confused at first, opening your eyes and blinking away sleep only to be met with slightly unfamiliar surroundings. The windows and the view through them were the same, but the room was brighter than your own, with no curtains to obscure the sunrays pouring over you. There was less furniture strewn about than in your own room, and you were higher up from the ground than you’d be if you were lying in your own bed.

It took a moment for you to become cognitive enough to register that the reason for this, along with what the blissful warmth you were feeling was, was Changbin's body underneath you. One of his hands was resting on your back too, heavy and limp with sleep, but you didn't mind it. Strangely, you found the weight of his hand on your back comforting.

Your head was on his chest, and you could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart, slow but steady. That too, was comforting. You closed your eyes again, but you didn't fall asleep like you might otherwise expect. You were simply basking in the comfort, enjoying lying with him in bed like you'd been wanting to for so long. You wondered if he'd let you stay even once winter came to an end.

When you felt him begin to stir awake, you lifted your head to look at him, watching him fondly as he stretched and hummed, and blinked away the last bits of whatever dream he was having. When your eyes met for the first time that morning, he seemed apprehensive; it was easy to deduce that he thought you may be uncomfortable with his choice to bring you here.

Ideally, he would've asked you first, or let you know that the option would be available should you want it; but when he thought about how cold you'd be shivering alone in bed, he just couldn't leave you be. When you smiled at him and whispered a soft good morning, you saw nothing but pure relief in his eyes.

You knew Changbin's heart, that he was nothing but sweet and caring. The trust you placed in him, and the way you wordlessly understood him made his heart soar. But not just that– laying with you every night, and waking up to you in general made his body react in ways entirely foreign to him.

Naturally, from that cold winter’s night onward, you always slept with him. Your body, so soft and smooth, felt good pressed against him. If you weren’t yet asleep when he’d lie down with you in his arms, you’d hug him after you both settled in; your arms obviously couldn’t wrap fully around him, but you’d still try to get as much of his body in your embrace as you could manage to.

And every morning, when you’d sit up in his lap and look down at him, his heart would always stutter, his already incredibly warm body growing hotter. Your sweet smile, your softly spoken “good morning”s, the way your lightly tousled hair beautifully framed your face– all of it affected him in ways he never imagined would happen to him.

Changbin knew of such feelings conceptually– he’s read more than his fair share of novels featuring romantic subplots within the library. But he always thought such experiences and sentiments would be out of reach for him; he was the only one of his kind in the forest, and normal humans feared him too greatly to build a bond with him.

Even you feared him at first, and while he hoped that it wouldn’t always be that way, he wouldn’t have been surprised if you never grew to like him. He was so, so happy when, in only a short time, you were no longer scared of him. He was even happier when you showed him kindness. He was happier still when he realized you considered him a friend. Having a companion after so many years of loneliness was more valuable to him than words could express.

In some ways, he supposes falling in love with you was natural. How couldn’t he fall in love with the first person to ever see him for who he was past his appearance? The first person who told him they liked his appearance. He didn’t believe you the first time you said it– how could he? All he’d ever known before from humans was fear and scorn.

He didn’t know how to accept it, always left in disbelief when you complimented him. But even if he didn’t quite believe it, he still liked hearing it. He liked it when you called him cute, or said he looked handsome, or kissed his cheek after calling him sweet.

He liked when you smiled at him, and the way you’d try to hold his hand despite how much smaller yours were than his. He liked listening to you talk, whether it was because you were reading a book to him, or because you had a lot on your mind; he could listen to you for hours, no matter the topic.

He likes hearing about your dreams, he likes the sound of your giggle, he likes the way you twirl in your dresses. He liked it when you taught him how to dance, and how you encouraged him when his steps were initially awkward. He liked how thoughtful and good you were to him. He likes that you help him believe he truly is all the kind things you describe him as.

No, he shouldn’t say he likes those things about you– it was much more accurate to say he loves them. Changbin loves everything about you. He wants to tell you as much, but he never imagined it’d be so difficult to say; he always thought that when the characters in his books struggled to find the words, it was merely exaggeration for dramatic effect.

In reality, it actually is quite hard to speak such things aloud. Changbin is normally a very candid person, able to speak whatever he thinks freely; but when it comes to you, and the feelings he has for you, his mouth runs dry, the words lodging in his throat. And realistically, should he even say them?

He knows it's true when you compliment him, he knows that you genuinely care for him and enjoy his company. But it’s hard to believe you can love him, it’s hard not to think he’s too different from you, hard to completely shut out the memories of humans fearing him. Sometimes, he’s scared that deep down there’s a part of you that still fears him.

"Changbin? Are you asleep..?" your voice calls to him softly, breaking him from his thoughts. It honestly startled him just a little; he's so used to you already being asleep before you're brought into the room, or falling asleep quickly if you aren't. He hadn't expected your voice to break the silence.

As is typical for your nightly arrangement, you're lying atop him with your head on his chest. It's only now that he realizes your fingers have been absentmindedly tracing his skin the entire time he was lost in thought.

Changbin doesn't have a bed in the traditional sense– he's much too big to fit on human mattresses. Instead, he has various pillows and blankets piled together on the floor. It's surprisingly comfortable, but you always find yourself laying on him, rather than next to him on his makeshift bed.

"I'm awake," he murmurs, trying to keep his voice as soft and low as possible, "..was thinking." You hum, and lift yourself up to look at him. The room is dark, but his lack of curtains allows you to clearly make out his features in the moonlight.

He can see you just as clearly, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest; you're always so pretty when the moon illuminates you.

"So was I. Made it hard to fall asleep," you reply, and Changbin eyes you curiously. He can tell by your somewhat solemn expression that something seems to be weighing on you. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you for a while now, something I can't stop thinking about," you continue.

Changbin swallows, suddenly nervous. Given where his thoughts were just moments ago, he can't help but fear that the moment he's been dreading has finally come– this is where you ask him to take you home.

Maybe not home, as the village you grew up in is a place you don't wish to return, but away from here– away from him. Back to human society where you belong, to a place that he could never hope to follow, a place he could never live in with you.

"Wh-What.. What is it?" he asks, hesitant; he really hopes you can't tell how anxious he is, but he's certain his voice has betrayed it already. He wishes he wasn't so terrified of losing you.

Even in the dim lighting, you could clearly see the way his expression changed to one of immense trepidation. You wonder if he's nervous because he can see that you're nervous. It takes you a moment to even begin to speak again, timidly fidgeting with your fingers as you try to will your voice to return to you.

"Have you ever.. been in love..?" you ask him, voice so soft and timid that Changbin almost misses it, even with his exceptional hearing. You watch as his ears flick, his eyes widen slightly as he takes your question in, his cheeks growing ever so slightly pinker.

His surprise is to be expected– from his perspective, this question must seem incredibly out of the blue. But truthfully, it's been eating at you for weeks. You know you're in love with Changbin, but you don't know how possible it is for him to love you back. You don't know if he's ever loved anyone at all– and you have to know.

If not to give yourself hope, then to put your infatuation with him to rest once and for all. If he rejects you, living with him may be awkward for a time, but at least you could try to put an end to your hopeless pining.

Changbin blinks, unsure how to respond. If he were to answer on the basis of what his life was like before you were in it, then the answer was no– he'd never been in love. Never, in all his years, had met someone and fallen for them.

But if he were to answer for the present.. Is he in love now? Yes, he is– he's in love with you. Your eyes search his desperately, and it's clear there's an answer you're hoping to hear– but which answer is it? You chew your bottom lip nervously as you watch him consider his answer. "No, and yes," he finally responds.

"No, and yes..?" you mimic, uncertain and curious. Changbin nods, and he's thankful you're no longer laying on his chest, because you'd certainly hear the quick, erratic thumping of his heart.

"I was never in love. Not before. I.. am in love now," he says, letting out a nervous exhale as the last word leaves his lips. The implication is clear, and he watches apprehensively as your eyes widen, and the truth fully settles itself within you.

Changbin is always honest and forthright, in a way that humans typically never are. Free of societal norms and expectations, he's never had to lie about anything, nor does he feel the need to. So when he looks into your eyes, deep and vulnerable, and tells you that what he feels now is love, you believe him entirely.

"Me too," you utter softly, voice a timid whisper, "I was never in love, not before.. I am now."

Changbin sits up from his makeshift bed, quickly bringing one of his large hands to your back so that the sudden movement doesn't cause you to topple off him. He doesn't want to be lying down when he asks you if this means what he thinks it does– he wants to meet your gaze directly.

"Do you mean that? Can you really love me?" he questions, hopeful but unsure– it nearly breaks your heart that he even has to ask. If there's anything in your life that you're certain of, it's that Changbin is the best man you've ever known.

It doesn't matter that he's not entirely human, it doesn't matter that he eclipses you in size and stature, it doesn't matter that he has horns, hooves, and a tail. All that matters is how he treats you, and makes you feel; and you've never known anyone who makes you feel as warm, safe, and cared for as he does.

Sitting in his lap, you look up at him and smile, warm and affectionate. "I've never meant anything more than I mean this– I love you, Changbin."

In all his life, even at his loneliest and most isolated, in his most saddened and hurt, he'd never had the urge to cry. But now he feels it, welling from deep inside and choking him up. He's always wanted to be accepted, loved– even when it seemed impossible and entirely irrational, he wanted it.

What is it that humans do when they're filled with so much emotion for another? All his books have different answers, but there's one that sticks in his mind predominantly– they get married. And perhaps he can't marry you the way a human man can, but he can make the same vow; he can, and will, promise to love you for the rest of your lives.

You reach out to him, placing your hands on round cheeks, the heat of his blush incredibly warm on your palms. "Can I kiss you?" you ask him, and he sucks in a breath, nodding shyly. His ears pick up on the loud thumping of his quickly beating heart– he wonders if it's loud enough for you to hear it too.

You lean up as he leans down for you, both of you closing your eyes as you touch your lips softly to his. You linger there, feeling the blush on his cheeks flare with more heat as you kiss him. When you pull back, you can see his eyes sparkling with awe and adoration. Shyly, he breaks his gaze away from your eyes, darting them down to your lips; it’s easy to tell he wants to kiss you again.

With your hands still on his cheeks, you guide him back to you. You kiss him again and again, slow and gentle. Eventually, you let your hands move to his chest, and you can feel the rapid thumping of his heart beneath your fingertips. He brings one of his hands to your waist, and pulls you closer, until your tiny body is flush with his.

His lips are so plump and soft, and now that you know what they feel like against your own, you never want to stop kissing him. Unfortunately for you, your lungs are much smaller than Changbin’s, and you run out of breath very quickly, often having to be the one to pull away first.

He always watches you intently when you do, all the care and affection he has towards you pouring out of him in droves as he stares at you. But there's a new emotion written in his eyes too– desire, yearning. All you’ve done is kiss him, but he’s positively, undeniably enchanted by you, a deeply rooted need for more of your touch clawing its way to the surface.

When you kiss him again, you tentatively run your tongue across his bottom lip. The feeling jolts him, sending a shiver down his spine. He parts his lips, cautiously slipping his tongue out to run over yours, butterflies erupting in his stomach over the soft noise of approval you give him in response.

His tongue is longer than yours, as well thick and textured– it makes you imagine what it’d feel like if you progressed further, and allowed him to run it over every inch of your body. For now, you simply open your mouth for him, letting him lick and explore; it fills you with a strange sensation unlike anything you’ve ever felt, but you love it.

Changbin carefully scoops his hands beneath you, lifting you up so he doesn’t have to hunch down to kiss you anymore. You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as closely as you can whilst your kisses continue to deepen and become more heated. He eventually grows just as breathless as you, his broad chest heaving as his thirst for you grows in intensity.

It’s almost too much for him– the feeling of you in his hands, of you trying to press as much of your body to him as you can, of your sweet scent all over him. The need he feels for you goes beyond anything he’s ever felt, a deep innate hunger and desperation beginning to gnaw at him, clawing at his sense of reason.

He wants more of you– how much more he doesn’t know, but to simply kiss you isn’t enough. All of you, he thinks; he needs all of you in every way. He wants to feel you everywhere, to taste you everywhere, needs to experience the depths of love and intimacy with you.

He’s been trying for so long to deny how bad he wants it, so scared of scaring you off with unwanted advances– but now that he knows you feel the same as him, now that you’re kissing him like this, fevered and hungry, he can’t deny his craving for you any longer.

“Please,” Changbin whines under his breath when you next pull away, his voice the most light and airy either of you have ever heard. Anything, he’ll take anything you’re willing to give him– he just wants you, so badly he can hardly think straight anymore. It sends a wave of heat through your body, butterflies thrashing in your stomach.

“Set me down, please?” you ask, and instantly he worries that he crossed a boundary, made you uncomfortable by wanting too much too soon. Still, he does as you ask, lowering his hands to the ground so you can reunite with the ground. He swallows nervously as he watches you step off his hands; thankfully, some of the tension he feels is eased when you shoot him your characteristically sweet, yet currently more bashful, smile.

The heat on his face flares when you break your gaze away from his face to look at his erection, fully unsheathed and visibly leaking large amounts of pre-cum. It’s thick, as is to be expected given his size, but to actually see it with your own eyes is astonishing. “Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed, starting to grab one of the many blankets littering the floor so he can cover himself.

You shake your head and reach for his hand, stopping him in his tracks. He slowly sets the blanket back down, both of you gazing at each other shyly as you swallow down your nerves to speak. “I want to.. Can I touch it..?” you ask, and oh, the way he throbs from the question alone. You can see it, heavy where it lies against his thighs, throbbing with desire and anticipation.

“Y-You- you want to?” he asks, very nearly sent reeling when you shyly nod your head. He’s wanted this for so long; and he tried not to, really. It felt inappropriate to want you that way, almost shameful every time he got hard with you in mind.

You always interacted with each other so sweetly, innocently– it felt perverse to lie in his makeshift bed at night and throb over the way your breasts looked pressed together in your dresses, or over the glimpses he got of your legs and thighs when you twirled around.

It wasn’t this way from the start; when he rescued you deep in the woods, he had nothing but pure intentions. He didn’t know you were beautiful, he didn’t know how soft and sweet you were, didn’t know how radiant you were in body and soul. He didn’t know he’d grow to love you, nor could he have predicted how badly he’d want you as his infatuation for you grew.

Little does he know that you always wanted him just as bad, your late night thoughts always consumed by him. None of the village men ever made you feel the way Changbin does, never made your heart race or stomach erupt in butterflies, never filled you with such insatiable need for touch.

“Ahh, I-” he exhales, trying to discreetly wipe away the sweat accumulating in his palms due to his nerves, “I.. yes, please, I’d like it.” Even just the thought of you touching his cock makes him feel like his heart is going to leap out of his chest– he has no idea how he’ll feel when you actually do it. Still, he wants it; and he watches you, unconsciously holding his breath as he waits for you to act.

He’s leaking so much, and it occurs to you that your dress will get very wet and messy if you leave it on while you touch him. The thought of being naked in front of Changbin makes you nervous, but also excites you somehow; and technically speaking, he’s always naked in front of you– apart from the cape he wears during the day, anyways. So there’s no reason to be so shy about it, right?

You gaze up at him, still timid despite the pep talk you’re giving yourself internally, and you reach behind your back to untie the ribbons that keep your silk gown on your body. You can hear Changbin’s breath hitch as the fabric loosens and begins to fall away, your bare torso becoming visible to his eyes for the first time.

Your breasts were so pretty, so full– and yet even then, they’d surely look small in his large hands. Still, you weren’t done revealing yourself to him just yet; reaching lower down your back, you loosen another ribbon– the one keeping it held around your waist. Your gown falls down your hips and to the floor once untied, now left only in your panties before his eyes.

Fuck, he wants to touch you– but you asked him first, and he’s not going to interrupt whatever you have planned for him. You step closer to him, and climb up his leg to sit yourself on one of his large thighs. He can’t help but gasp when you bring your hands to his cock, and just as you thought it’d be from seeing it, it’s heavy.

It’s much too thick to wrap your fingers around, your hands appearing impossibly small in comparison. You rub your hands over his sensitive tip, glancing up at Changbin’s face when he lets out a whine. Your hands quickly become slick from the steadily leaking pre-cum, gliding easily up and down the length of his cock. There’s not as much friction as there’d be if it was Changbin’s own hand, but he prefers this despite it– having you touch him is much, much better.

He moans when you lean forward to kiss and lick the tip, his pre-cum smearing over your lips and cheeks. He fists the blankets below him, his breaths growing harsher as he watches you work him up. Your hands stroke his length in a steady rhythm while you continue to lavish his tip with attention using your mouth, and he can’t help the frequency of his whines and moans.

He already feels so close– you're so soft, so wet, it drives him crazy. When you stop kissing and licking his cock, you sit up to look back up at him, and God, the sight of you– you’re glistening with his pre-cum and your own saliva. It’s dripped down your chin, falling to your breasts and the sight proves too much for him– he whimpers, stuttering out your name as his cock twitches and spurts of thick cum begin to shoot from the tip.

You make a noise of surprise, watching in awe as it coats your bodies; his stomach, your whole torso, your hands– you wouldn’t be surprised if some ended up on the blankets beneath him too. Your stomach flips when he finally comes down from his high and looks at you. Reddened cheeks, flushed body, harsh breaths– and yet he still gazes at you hungrily.

“Your turn,” he breathes as he effortlessly scoops you into his hands, paying no mind to the mess that covers you. His carnal desire for you is fraying at him, his shyness becoming increasingly eclipsed by his need. “Can I-” he starts, lifting you up towards his face, “Is it okay? Can I do the same for you? Please?”

He’s sure you can feel how much his hands are trembling for you– he hasn’t even seen between your legs yet, hasn’t yet tasted you, but his mind already feels like it’s in a frenzy. “Yes, please,” you tell him with a nod, and he brings you closer, responding with an appreciative, hungry kiss. He licks away the mess left there, then swipes his tongue over your torso, not at all minding the taste of his own cum.

You squirm in his hands, and when he’s done, he gently nudges you with his nose, urging you to lay back. Your back meets his fingers, your butt cradled in his palms while your legs dangle over his wrists. “Can you take them off like this?” he asks, and you nod, letting out a nervous exhale as you bring your hands to your sides, and hook the hem of your panties in your fingers.

You know Changbin would never drop you or let you fall, but you’re still careful not to make big movements as you slide them down your thighs, and then lift your legs to pull them off. You toss them aside, and shyly spread your legs open for him to look at your dripping pussy. You smell so sweet– he imagines that you’ll taste even sweeter.

You shiver when he starts by placing kisses between your thighs, your legs spreading further apart to accommodate him. He sticks out his tongue, and the whine you let you when he licks between your folds is intoxicating. His tongue is too big to focus only on your clit, but the sensation of him licking up and down is still utterly delicious.

He moans and hums as he devours you, and the vibration of it makes you tremble. You let out a loud whimper and your eyes roll back when he dips his tongue carefully into your hole. It reaches deeper than your fingers ever could, feels so much better than them too– you never imagined something could feel this good.

Your nails dig into his palms, but Changbin pays no mind to it, continuing to alternate between dipping his tongue into your hole and licking you up from top to bottom. He can feel your body tensing, the shaking of your legs and twitching of your thighs growing more intense as he drives you closer to release.

You cry his name over and over, the syllables broken between whimpers as your back arches and your cum gushes on to his tongue. He licks it up and swallows it eagerly, and it serves to effectively draw out your orgasm, the sounds you make easily the prettiest he’s ever heard.

You collapse back against his fingers when your high ebbs away, and you feel positively euphoric, every inch of your body buzzing from the pleasure. Changbin waits until you catch your breath again to kiss you, and you bring your hands to his face, holding him close as he shares the taste of your release with you.

He carefully adjusts his hold of you afterwards, cradling you in his arms and laying you against his chest as he rises from his floor bed. “Need to take a bath,” he mumbles to you as you instinctively curl into his embrace. He cringes when he thinks about how much effort it’ll take to clean the mess from his fur and sheath, but he wouldn’t have done anything differently; the night was perfect– you were perfect.

You’re exhausted, but you do your best to help him get clean once you’re done washing yourself, and he covers you with appreciative kisses when the task is done. You giggle from the attention, and Changbin giggles too before he scoops you back into his arms to carry you to bed.

Doing away with the soiled blankets he’ll leave to clean tomorrow, he replaces them with some from the many empty rooms littered about. You’d fallen asleep shortly exiting the bath, and it was a bit challenging for Changbin to fix the bed one handed, but he wasn’t going to set you down onto the cold floor– and you surely would’ve pouted if you woke up without him in reach.

He heaves a heavy sigh once he finally lays down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he rests his own against the many pillows beneath him. He whispers that he loves you before he closes his eyes, and he guesses you were just awake enough to hear it, because you sleepily whisper it back.

It makes him smile, and he squeezes you in his arms just a little. And as he drifts to sleep, he thinks about how lucky he is to have you, how wonderful it is to be loved, how happy he’ll be spending every moment in his life together with you.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

#the fact that it took me so long to finish this that I'm posting it on /my/ birthday instead of bin's is so gsdgsdfh #happy birthday to me ig lmao!#ksmutsociety #skzstarnet #skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 months ago

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Why I fucking hate "The Handmaid's Tale" comparisons to real life (ie "this means THT is going to come true!!!")

that was not an elected government in the story. it was a fringe group that slaughtered the entire US government and took control by force. which makes little sense if you think about it, but that's because it doesn't matter HOW the dystopia happened; it just had to be there for the fiction to make a comment upon the author's present.

Dystopia is never a future prediction. see above: it's always a comment on the present in which it's written

That is massively fucking insulting to women who have actually lived with systemic oppression. They don't have to take away your name or your ability to read and write or put you in a color-coded costume. That's not what violent systemic misogyny looks like, because we KNOW what it looks like.

Sarah Emerson (1762-1784) could absolutely read. Based on what was expected of wealthy girls in her era, she probably spoke at least two languages- English and some French -as well as having knowledge of household accounting, basic first aid, history, literature, drawing, music, etc. She was still married to a man in his twenties when she was fourteen, because he wanted the inheritance her parents had left her (property she owned because, yes, women COULD own property back then). His family disapproved- they called her "the child bride" -but it still happened.

Women in the 19th century who couldn't vote, were discouraged strongly from public speaking (as in, speeches, not conversation), who sometimes had no control over that property they could in fact own, if they married, did normal things. They laughed and cried and petted cute animals. They spoke their minds. They wore what they wanted, albeit with societal constraints. They had names and voices and they still had so few rights under the law.

Women who died from backalley abortions as late as the 1960s could read and write. They had jobs. They dressed in ways we wouldn't consider remarkable today. They voted. They had access to the fucking pill, for gods' sakes. And yet that still happened to them. And yet they still died because the government didn't care about their lives as much as clumps of cells inside them.

Shirley Jackson (1916-1965) was a popular author with a rapier wit that she wasn't above using freely, living once again in a time we'd recognize many features of today. she married a Jewish man over the objections of...well, most of society back then, really. the nurse still wrote "housewife" for her career when she said "writer," during hospital admission to deliver her daughter Sarah

and that's all without getting into the double-damnations of women who aren't white, who aren't Christian, who aren't straight or cisgender. women in non-western countries where some of those things- like clothing laws or movement restrictions -have come to pass, but still not all and not in that way precisely

It doesn't have to be The Handmaid's Tale. In fact, it usually isn't, historically speaking. It's Call the Midwife. It's Harlots. It's Hidden Figures. it's Carol. It's astonishingly normal, among normal women living relatively normal- even happy lives, many of them.

Don't insult their memories by implying that it has to be speculative fiction to be real.

#long post #misogyny #systemic misogyny #abortion #and I even LIKE The Handmaid's Tale! I've been watching it a lot lately precisely because it's so fantastical that #it doesn't scare me #it's less realistic than something like (again) Call the Midwife which I have been avoiding like the plague

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scoobydoodean · 1 year ago

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what is your opinion on people calling dean a heavy misogynist? i don’t agree personally but i feel like you could put my thoughts into better words

First, I have to chuckle a little at "heavy misogynist". Apparently, some people have begun to realize their fave is also guilty of misogyny crimes therefore they focus on making sure all of us know Sam is a light misogynist and Dean is a heavy misogynist. I just find that amusing.

This is a broad topic in a long show, so I won't endeavor to address every conceivable incidence of misogyny in the show I can think of. Instead, I'm going to create a few headings, at least one of which I think most criticism falls under.

Misogyny through the writing team

How Sam's misogyny gets a pass

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

How Dean actually treats women

Misogyny Through The Writing Team

First, Supernatural in of itself has issues with misogyny—as in, the writers of the show (including female writers) have issues with misogyny which they are happy to put on display semi-frequently. The show started in 2005, during a period of time where casual sexism was absolutely rampant on TV and no one thought anything about it. Female celebrities were regularly mocked and dragged on cable television in a way men simply weren't. They were called bitches and skanks and whores, and even "progressive" voices were inundated with casual misogyny and a fixation on purity culture (that largely applied to women only). Quite simply, I think fandom tends to be far too generous toward the writers, assuming certain things were "flaws" the writers intentionally wrote for the characters.

Put another way, there are some criticisms I prefer to level at the writing team rather than the characters, because what is written plainly reflects their ignorance in the real world rather than any intent to give Sam or Dean or any other character meaningful flaws—much less outright terrible ones that greatly harm their image. I'll give a few examples:

2.17 "Heart" makes me very uncomfortable as I sit here in 2024 and observe how Sam and Madison's romance develops. Me feeling that way does not mean the authorial intent of 2007 Sera Gamble was that I think to myself, "Man Sam comes off as uncomfortably rapey here." Hopelessly bad with women, perhaps—but not creepy.

In season 2, the writers begin to develop a running “joke” that Sam is afraid of not just clowns but also little people. The latter “joke” is (wisely) dropped fairly quickly. I have never criticized Sam for being afraid of little people, and I never will. It is readily apparent to me that this running "joke" reflects the ignorance of the writing team rather than an intent to give Sam meaningful or interesting flaws. Their intent was to use little people as the butt of a joke. I personally find this "joke" distasteful, and the idea of trying to take that and somehow "dunk" on Sam for the bigotry of the writers is more distasteful to me.

This is also how I feel about the running "joke" of a porn magazine and website (BAB) that solely features Asian women, that is put on display on multiple occasions during the show—first in 2.15 "Tall Tales", where the context is Gabriel infecting Sam's laptop with a virus from the website and making him believe Dean is responsible. BAB continues to make "Easter Egg" appearances in the show afterward. While often associated with Dean by fandom, the writers clearly think of BAB as a general, "funny" (it isn't), running gag with no more depth than "haha men like porn funny". An issue is stolen by a sentient teddy bear in 4.08 "Wishful Thinking". An issue is owned by the teenager who swapped bodies with Sam in 5.12 "Swap Meat". The Men of Letters also collected a considerable number of issues (8.17). I simply do not believe the writers thought for a single moment about BAB being a grossly racist gag. They most certainly did not write it as an intentional criticism of Dean from that perspective. It reflects nothing but their ignorance and racism here in the real world, and absolutely SHOULD be criticized from that REAL WORLD impact.

How Sam's misogyny largely gets a pass

One of the things I have not been able to stop noticing on this rewatch is Sam's issues with misogyny, and how often Sam's misogyny comes out in conflicts with Dean... starting from the very first episode of the show. Pretty much any time you get anything that feels like it might be a misogynist Dean or horn dog Dean moment... Sam either just has or is about to follow that up with some misogyny of his own.

In 1.01, right after entering Sam's apartment and meeting Jess, Dean mentions the Smurfs on Jess's shirt. We think to ourselves "Okay. A little misogynist... a little horn-dog Dean." Sam is happy to 1-Up that in two ways. First, Jess voices her intentions to go get dressed. Dean dismisses this, but while doing so, makes it clear he intends to leave the room with Sam, as he'd like to have a private conversation with Sam anyway. Sam objects, walking over to Jess and putting an arm around her, demanding Dean say whatever he needs to say right then and there. Maybe this would feel supportive if Jess wasn't in her underwear and hadn't just made it clear that now that the panic over a possible break-in is over, she'd really like to not be in her underwear in front of a stranger. But nope. By god she needs to stand there so Sam can prove a point about misogynist Dean! Second, Sam immediately (and I think quite erroneously) jumps to imply Dean is trying to cut Jess out of the conversation because she's... a woman? Or... something? He makes a big show of moving over Jess and standing beside her, saying anything Dean has to say, he can say in front of Jess. However, the moment Sam actually understands that Dean is here because John is missing on a hunting trip, he dismisses Jess to speak to Dean alone... because he's lying to her. By painting Dean erroneously with this "The men are talking" bullshit that had nothing to do with anything, Sam sets himself up to be viewed as a misogynist by his own framing of the situation and what it means to leave Jess out of a discussion. He also reveals his own alleged principles as a performative illusion. Despite being his intended life partner, Sam never intends to tell the woman he loves about his past as a hunter (he makes this clear later on the bridge). However, I think because Sam's actions usually co-occur with what gets called out more directly or more immediately recognized as misogyny from Dean (should have gotten him for the Smurf's comment, Sam!) Sam's misogyny often flies under the radar... and he's really... pretty bad.

I spoke here at length about how Sam tends to look down on women who interact with Dean (often before meeting them). There is absolutely an intersection with purity culture here and there's discussion in that thread about that as well, and whether this is a "2000s writers" issue or intentionally written flaws.

In 1.06, Sam cuts Dean off before Dean can accept an offered beer from Rebecca, but then as soon as Sam needs Rebecca out of the room, Sam asks her to not just bring them those beers... but also fix them sandwiches. Rebecca says, "What do you think this is, Hooters?" and Dean mumbles, "I wish" and we somehow lose sight of the fact that Sam literally just asked a woman to make him sandwiches which is possibly the number one misogynist man trope. Sam vaguely suggests Dean is a misogynist in 1.19 for nudging Sam to go on a date with Sarah Blake and possibly get information on the case, because that would be "using" her, but Sam wants to "use" Meg Masters in 1.22 and he wants to "use" Ruby to get what he wants, and when he said getting information from women was "Dean's job", he was also showing he was perfectly willing to use Dean and Sarah—he just doesn't want to get his hands dirty. It also comes to light in 1.19 that this is more about Sam's belief that he has to protect women from him, and Sarah herself ends up calling Sam antiquated for it.

I mentioned before that Sam doesn't plan to ever tell Jess who he is, and he makes the same plans with Amelia. Dean, meanwhile, confides in Cassie (it's what leads to their breakup) as well as Lisa.

I also have to mention... one of the funniest things I see deancrit samgirls in particular dig at time after time after time is Dean calling women "bitches". Never mind that Sam also calls women like Ruby and Bela bitches and calls a woman a bitch in front of Madison. Apparently none of these occurrences count because... *looks at notes* reasons. "Bitch" only counts as misogyny when it's Dean saying it. Also, let's not mention that Sam exclusively uses the word "bitch" to refer to women, while Dean also calls men and creatures bitches at different points so it isn't a gender specific insult for him.

Dean is definitely the "heavy" misogynist here... right? (I guess Sam is a "tall" misogynist instead).

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

Dean is commonly treated in fandom as if he's some kind of sex pest, and quite blatantly... he isn't one. Women almost always proposition Dean first (thejabberwock has sets on this here and here), but him asking people out also isn't inherently creepy in any way? Co-occurring with Sam's purity culture inundated judgements, we often see fandom's own as well, where Dean is some kind of sex pest because he... likes women? Or... because he has sex with consenting women who also want to have sex with him? Sometimes it's giving purity culture wank, sometimes it's given big radfem energy... but regardless, I sometimes see people talk about Dean like him so much as making eye contact with a woman is a violent sexual threat, and that's just laughable—as is denying the agency and autonomy of consenting women in general.

Even though it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, I'll also add that Dean... doesn't even actually have sex with the frequency that people talk about it? Dean has sex with Cassie—who was a long term partner of his in 1.13. He has sex with an actress in 2.18, and with Doublemint twins in 3.01. He has sex with a waitress 4.05. He plans to have sex with someone in 3.04, but turns her down when he realizes she's a prostitute who's working. This happens again in 10.07. I'm on season 4 of my rewatch and haven't been formally keeping up... but Dean is not actually having a lot of sex? We get implications he's been out partying a few times, and can maybe infer he scored, but we don't actually know.

I'm not a huge fan of performing Dean, in the sense that I think over the years I have seen it wildly overstated far too many times. But I do think Dean sometimes plays a character for Sam especially. Dean tells us this himself in 2.03 "Bloodlust" when confiding in Gordon. He never says so directly when it comes to the sexy sex guy doing sex persona, but his actions reveal him. One can think of plenty of examples of Dean saying horny stuff about women to Sam... but what about his actions?

How Dean actually treats women

Finally, there's how Dean actually treats women... and one would be very hard pressed to prove to me that Dean is sexist toward the women in his life. He's been close friends with multiple women and worked with women on hunts on multiple occasions and never once batted an eye. Jo in 2.06 is sometimes floated as an example, but it's actually discussed within the episode. Dean makes it very clear that he thinks women can do the job just fine. What he has a problem with is Jo's lack of experience and her romanticization of the job (especially during a period where Dean has fallen deeply out of love with the job himself). Everything we see as the series progresses supports Dean's assertion as truth. He's very good friends with Charlie, Jody, and Donna and doesn't go around excluding them on hunts while favoring men. That is not a thing that happens. While he initially tries to talk Claire out of the life (as he does everybody—this is not unique to women—see Adam for example) when she decides to hunt, he supports her regardless. There is nothing uniquely overprotective about how Dean treats women who hunt. End of. Dean has no illusions about traditional gender roles or any of that nonsense, jumping to clean dishes after dinner at Jody's and cooking breakfast for Lisa and Ben. (Our knowledge of Dean and the chores he does for his family already tell us this—but regardless). Even Demon Dean, an entity with no love for anyone and close to zero principles, targeted men who abuse and threaten women, and when Crowley ordered him to kill Lester's wife to fulfill the terms of Lester's demon deal, Demon Dean instead became so deeply annoyed with Lester's hypocrisy (he cheated on his wife first) and his assertion that it's different when men cheat, that he killed him and smiled while doing it.

So anyway, nope—I don't think Dean is a "heavy" misogynist.

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hwasoup · 11 months ago

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Tale As Old As Time

Playlist to read along with !!

songs used for inspo: The First Branch, Belle, Nice and Airy How Does a Moment Last Forever (music box), No Matter What,

art credit goes to Marbipa

this au is very heavily inspired from the 1991 movie, 2017 movie, and the musical, some things will seem similar and at times different, some parts of dialogue will be familiar, however it's for the sake of the plot. to summarize, this is basically a retelling of the story. I hope you guys enjoy!!

also let me know if you want to be on the taglist!!

<< prev. | ch.2 >>

Warnings: brief mention of character death, slight misogyny

word count: 1.9K

summary: life as the inventor's daughter

Chapter 1 : The Village

In a small province, east of the castle, there was a small village called Arachna,

This village is quite unique on its own as there are many people of different personalities, Men go to work and get an education and the women stay at home to learn how to be housewives and tend for children. Reading was considered wrong for women to read…Men didn’t want them to develop ideas or think for themselves and only solely focus on the children… However…At the edge of the village, at a small house lived an old inventor, he knew how to fix clocks, create music boxes, and most importantly invent. He would slave the day away just tinkering and figuring out new ideas on how to make life more comfortable and convenient, he proposed his ideas constantly to the villagers to help them make their lives a bit easier, but alas…the villagers called him a loon and demented for frivolous ideas. He would go home dejected, but his greatest pride and most precious invention would be at home; Y/N…

He had raised y/n all on his own after his wife passed away when y/n was 5. To his precious daughter, He promised himself that he wouldn’t shun her from her curiosity and instead showed her all there is to know. Y/N learned how to read, write, speak, analyze, and even sing a little, all due to her father’s promise that he made to her dying mother and to his daughter. Eventually, Y/N grew to be a lovely and beautiful woman. She’s kind, compassionate, loving, and even imaginative. She even has a huge affinity for reading and especially having a bit of a collection of books at home.

You may wonder, what is Y/N’s life like at her village

well it goes a bit like this…

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A rooster crows in the distance, as the sun rises, signifying the day to begin..

Y/N has woken up and looked at her book beside her bedside table and smiles “well now...time to return this to the bookstore” she says softly to herself. She opens her curtains and opens the window, smelling the morning dew from the fresh air. Y/N gets dressed in her favorite blue dress, tying her hair in a low ponytail with a ribbon and walks downstairs to cook some breakfast for herself before leaving. She puts her book in a little basket and walks out and heads for the village. “Any moment now…before I hear-” she gets interrupted by the waking village “BUENOS DIAS MI GENTE”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she sees the empty streets quickly fill up with people with errands and work to do. She smells fresh wheat from the bakery, and she smiles as she thinks how the baker always sells his bread right on time. “Ah, Buenos Dias Y/N” the baker says. “Oh Buenos Dias, señor”, The Baker looks at her and smiles and asks, “where are you off to?” Y/N smiling and excited to tell him says “Oh I’m going to the bookstore! I just finished reading this amazing story about an ogre, a donkey, and a cursed princess-” she gets interrupted “oh that’s nice. OYE MARIA, LOS BOLILLOS” he ends up yelling to his wife in the bakery. Y/N shrugs and moves along her day.

The villagers see her and start whispering amongst themselves, they gossiped about how she would always read, always having her nose stuck in a book.However, they could all mutually agree that despite her odd personality, she’s truly a sight for sore eyes, a truly beautiful woman who sadly knows how to think.

Y/N arrives at the bookstore and opens the door, the bell on top of the door chiming, announcing her arrival. “Buenos Días señor ! vine a devolver el libro que me prestaron” she says handing the book back to the salesclerk with much care. The salesclerk laughs “ Already? Y/N my dear, it's only been since yesterday.” Y/N who was already on the ladder searching for another book looked down at him sheepishly “yea, well I couldn’t exactly put it down…” Her hand lands on a familiar blue book, she pulls it out of the bookshelf and hands it to the salesclerk “I’ll borrow this one !” The salesclerk looks at the title of the book and shakes his head, amused by her antics “you’ve read this book almost 2 times already, are you sure you want this book again ?” he says, while helping Y/N down the ladder. “Well I can’t help it, faraway places, tense sword fights, magic spells, and a prince in disguise”

The salesclerk chuckles and hands her the book “well if you like it so much it’s yours...” Y/N holds the book in her hands in excitement “I-I… are you sure?” she asks hesitantly. “I insist, please take it” he tells her. “Well then thank you, thank you so much!” Y/N leaves the bookstore happily, immediately opening to the first page.

While Y/N is in the distance walking with her new book, next to a tavern there is a strong, tall, blone, handsome brute of a man, checking himself out in the mirror, making sure that his looks are impeccable. “BEN! I caught your uhh…whatever this bird is, oh and some girls told me to tell you you’re an amazing hunter” says a shorter looking pudgy man to him.

“Why thank you Eddie for reminding me how perfect I am,” Ben says. Eddie nods as he pretends to agree with his own statement. “I bet that not even a beast or girl can handle you,” he says, feeding the man’s ego. Ben looks down at Eddie and grins “oh and that’s true as well, but my next hunt is that one over there” he says pointing at Y/N. Eddie looks at him a bit appalled and says, “the inventor’s daughter?” Ben then inhales and goes on a tangent “Why yes, Eddie…she’s the one I’m going to marry, the most beautiful girl in town. As soon as I met her, I knew that I have to make her my wife, a handsome man like me and a gorgeous woman like her are meant to be together” Eddie agrees with him reluctantly as he sees Venom speed walk to catch up with her.

Ben goes through a bustling market in order to reach Y/N who is easing her way through the crowd despite reading a book. “Please let me through” he said exasperated, not wanting to let Y/N out of his sight. Eventually he does finally reach her by climbing the roof of a house and landing right on his feet like the man he is. “Hello, Y/N” he says as his eyes scan her from head to toe. “Hola, Ben” she says in response while still focusing on her book. ben then smirks and quickly takes the book away from her hands to get her attention.

“Ben, por favor give back my book” she says politely. Ben ignores her by butting in her way and flipping the pages in the book “How do you read this… there’s no pictures…”

“Well if you read books then you would know that some people have something called an imagination”

Ben looks at her and throws the book somewhere as he tries to charm her “well Y/N, I believe it's finally time for you to stop reading books and pay attention to more…attractive things, like me” he says. “The whole town talks about it. It’s not proper for women to read...besides women thinking means they develop ideas and start assuming things” he says with a bit of a grimace on his face.

“Ay, Ben you’re so antediluvian.”

Y/N then reaches down to pick up her book and wipes the dirt off with a handkerchief. She turns around to keep on going back home but is stopped by Ben yet again as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, mentioning how she should join him at the tavern so that they could talk and bond. “Oh, but I can't. I have to go help my father, goodbye now” she says, as she walks away as fast as her feet can take her away from the brainless man.

A few minutes later after speed walking, Y/N sees smoke coming out of the basement and rushes there quickly. “PAPA!” She opens the basement door to let out the smoke and searches for her father “ay papa, que paso? estas bien?” she asks as she helps him get up from the floor “Ay Hijita, I'm fine... I just can’t get this piece of metal to start working” Y/N chuckles and kisses her father’s forehead “papa you always say that when you’re frustrated… Besides, if you get this to work… you can finally go to the contest and win that prize you’ve always wanted.”

Her father thinks for a while and nods “ you’re right…i shouldn’t give up, i’ll get a patent on this and i’ll finally be Mauricio, the greatest inventor ever seen!” Y/N smiles and hugs her father before leaving to let him finish his invention. “Oh right, papa did you…” she looks at him with a knowing look “yes I did mijita, it's upstairs at the kitchen table.” Y/N nods and dashes up inside the house and speeds to the kitchen. She stops when she looks at the table and smiles fondly. It was her mother’s old music box…now fixed after so many years…

Y/N sits by the table and winds up the music box and hums along to the melody being played remembering the lullaby her father used to sing to her before going to sleep as a child. She then looks up and sees her father smiling at her, enjoying the melody as well. “Papa…do you think i'm..odd ?” she says softly to him. Her father raises an eyebrow and sits beside her “y a donde sacaste eso??”

“People talk papa…” she says looking to the side. “Solecito…they talk about me too, we’re not odd at all…” He brings his hand to her shoulder to console her “you’re my daughter…and you’re mother’s daughter as well, They’re the common people and you…you’re unique Hija. No matter what you do I’m always on your side ok?” Y/N smiles and chuckles “are you sure that’s just not you being biased?” Her father laughs and shrugs “Maybe…maybe not…don’t ever change who you are, ok?” Y/N smiles and nods “ok papa” A few days later, Y/N’s father was finished with his invention and had prepared the wagon, placing some food, medicine, horse fodder, and his invention all neatly placed inside the wagon. As he adds the saddle onto Felipe’s back, placing the reins properly on the horse’s side. He then looks at Y/N and smiles “Hijita…what do you wish for me to bring back for you? Shall it be jewelry, or dresses, or new perfumes?” Y/N thinks for a minute and says, “A rose, like the one mama had embroidered on her dress” He chuckles “But, you ask for that every year. Y/N smiles as she looks at her father “and yet every year you’ll bring it...” “Fine then, you’ll have my word, adios por ahora y/n” he says as he gently caresses his daughter’s cheek. “Adios Papa...” Y/N would watch her father ride up the hill into the distance.

“Stay Safe...”

taglist: @cupcakeinat0r , @miguelhugger2099, @mcmiracles, @xxsugarbonesxx,@codenameredkrystalmatrix,@deputy-videogamer,@lxverrings,@miguelzslvtz,@itsameclinicaldepression

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel 2099

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 6 months ago

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The Blackwood Knight prt. 2

Disclaimer: not my work. My sister is just a legend pulling a second part to this fic out of the bag, but she doesn't have tumblr. Please give her all the love so she writes more parts :)

Description: In which the knight defends his lady from an unexpected foe.

Warnings: female reader, swearing, westeros typical misogyny, Kieran Burton fancast.

Over the course of the following weeks, the Bracken lady and her lately sworn knight continued to meet at the base of the golden Bracken tree. The golden flourish of the leaves above them mirrored the incipient, fragile feeling, which had begun to bloom in both hearts, reaching out to meet the other like a golden, invisible string. Ostensibly heedless of the danger posed by their precarious proximity to the border of their feudal lands, Benjicot continued to place himself in harms way by crossing the border into Bracken lands.

Each day, Benjicot would appear at the base of the tree, his back turned and held in tension until the light tread of footsteps approaching from behind would have him turning with a grin to meet the gaze of the lady who had won his fealty and was quickly stealing his heart. They would sit together, shoulder to shoulder, hands nearly touching, as she told him of the stories of knights and dragons she read about in her books, as well as her dreams for the future. His gaze would hold hers throughout her tales, in understanding and quiet admiration, betraying a latent adoration.

Regaling her with his own feats of bravery defending the Blackwood lands, he would embellish them for her amusement and perhaps, if he was being entirely truthful, to impress her. If her head happened to fall onto his shoulder when the light of the day began to fade, heralding the approach of twilight, he would gently tilt his shoulder down towards her to accommodate a more comfortable position for her head to rest against. A satisfied smile would illuminate his features as he looked down, careful not to wake her, his heart buoyed up by the trust and comfort she appeared to invest him with...hopeful that one day his own tender feelings for her may be reciprocated. At the very least, she would allow him to serve her, protect her and adore her, even if only in silence.

Living far from the daily skirmishes of the Riverlands, ensconced for years in the Red Keep, the lady Bracken had a heedlessness towards the topographical demarcation of ancient feudal border disputes that would have been alarming, had she not been accompanied on her walks past the Bracken tree by her self-appointed knight. Patently aware of these feudal and geographical lines himself, even more so now that they reminded him of those he would have to cross to win his lady's heart to him, he would subtly move a border stone with the heel of his boot, if they drew too close.

Rolling the stones further into Blackwood lands, allowing Brackenlands to encroach on his own. As he did so, he would school his features into a look of innocent complacency if Y/N turned to him with a look of curiosity. Only after he had walked his lady, for she was so, if only in his mind, back to the safety of her own lands would he return the boundary stones to their correct placement. Wondering, as he did so, if the day would come, when she would cross into Blackwood lands to reside in his own ancestral halls, as she already did in his heart. Y/N would return to her own ancestral halls, little knowing of the daily sacrifices of his land's holding Benjicot continued to make to ensure her safety from accusations of trespassing from potential Blackwood assailants. Although he'd like to see them try in his presence.

Walking out towards their tree on this day, the lady Bracken was disappointed to find it desolate. Determining to wait for her knight to appear, for she called him so in her mind and when she addressed him, her heart warming at his willingness to go along with her fancies, she settled by the trunk of the tree. Opening a new volume on the heraldry and history of the Blackwoods, time wore on and dark clouds began to mass overhead. Rising with a dejected sigh, she rose to continue her walk past the Bracken tree before resolving to return to the dark confines of Stone Hedge. As she continued across the uneven copse and fern, she paid little heed to the stones she passed along her way, until she heard a rough shout from behind her.

Whipping around, her face paled as she saw a group of four Blackwood bannermen striding towards her. Before she could depart, they were upon her.

"Bracken! What do you think you're doing on our lands!"

"My apologies, I didn't realise. Forgive me for the intrusion, I will depart forthwith."

As she turned hurriedly to leave, a rough hand grabbed her elbow and spun her harshly around.

"What do you think the fucking boundary stones are for?"

He shouted in her face.

Becoming increasingly desperate and holding back the tears which threatened to fall from her eyes, she stuttered another apology.

"Bracken wench, I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget." He shouted, raising his arm to strike her.

Closing her eyes in anticipation of the blow, Y/N turned her head, but the impact never came.

Opening her now watery eyes, she saw her assailant's arm, poised to strike, arrested by the firm grip of Benjicot Blackwood. He threw his arm down with a fury she had not seen from him, his eyes ablaze with anger, pushing the bannerman to the ground. He cast one more look of contempt at him before taking a step toward her, softening his gaze and reaching out gently to take both of her hands in his.

"Are you alright, my Lady?"

"What kind of fucking cowards are you to attack a lady!"

Unable to answer him verbally, for fear that her voice would break with the effort, she nodded almost imperceptibly, tilting her head downward in embarrassment at the situation he had found her in. A gentle hand tilted her chin upwards, redirecting her gaze back up to his concerned eyes, as the thumb of his other hand brushed away a stray tear that glistened down her cheek. His eyes darkening, he turned once again to address his bannermen, angling himself so that he was placed firmly between her and them.

Stepping forward, not without trepidation, one of the men retorted, "she's a Bracken, trespassing on Blackwood land."

"I don't care if she walked right up to the fucking entrance of my ancestral halls, you don't attack a lady on my land."

"But the assize..." another volleyed before Benjicot harshly interrupted.

"Fuck the assize, and fuck you" He returned in a low voice, casting a glance behind him at his stricken lady who reflexively gripped the back of his cloak with one trembling hand and the crook of his arm with the other. Fuelled with further anger at seeing her so frightened, and at himself for having not first prevented it, he withdrew his sword, pointing it towards his own men.

"Fuck off back to where you crawled out off and don't let me catch you terrorising any other ladies on Blackwood lands or I'll show you where to stick the pointy end."

Casting nervous glances at one another, they nodded in obeisance to the heir of their liege Lord before departing.

Waiting until they had completely withdrawn, Benjicot bent down to examine his lady's face, once again taking her hands gently in his.

"Are you well, my Lady?"

Y/N nodded quickly but not before her lip wobbled and tears began to spill from her eyes. Stricken by her discomfort, he gently cupped her head with his hand, moving it slowly to rest against his chest, where his heart beat. To his surprise, her hands rose to grip either side of his tunic, as she pressed her face further against him. They stood like that, holding each other in silence for a few moments, before he planted a feather-light kiss on top of her head. Whispering soft assurances to her and taking her hand in his, he wrapped it around his arm, placing the other hand onto hers as he began to guide her back to safety of Brackenlands, determing that he would never let anyone make her cry again.

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #benjicot blackwood #house blackwood #davos blackwood #hotd season 2 #benjicot blackwood x reader

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hecates-corner · 11 months ago

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When I first heard There Are Other Ways, I was a little disappointed by the fact that Circe didn’t successfully seduce Odysseus, considering the huge Greek Mythology nerd I am.

Bear with me.

Then, I played the saga, and that song, for my wonderful mother tonight. About halfway through, I gasped.

The story is accurate to the Homeric version: he confronts her (clandestinely at first), she fights back, he pulls the sword.

But she’s not afraid. Of course she isn’t.

Why would an immortal being, with the rage and power of commanding a million different beasts if her Plan A goes down, be afraid of a measly man with a flimsy toothpick to her throat, just because he ate a flower and said “Be afraid!”?

That’s right! She wouldn’t.

Because Jay didn’t submit to the blatant misogyny of the tale.

Read this article for incredible information, if you please. It changed the way I saw Circe’s story.

If Circe cowered, simply because a man held a sword to her throat, only then would she have seduced him (if we’re going ultra-canon with the storyline, which Jay isn’t), which would have, yet again, thrown off the balance of power.

Circe could give less of a shit about the sword, in the song. She thinks he’s pretty hot, and maybe she’s manipulating him into coming to bed with her so she can trick him, so she offers a tryst or two. Here, if you read the article, she is throwing off the nature of men and women by being the active sexual partner.

He refuses, too enamored with Penelope, and shuns his curiosity in her. You can hear how it pains him, it’s a struggle to say no. But he does. He’s strong, he’s no god, cheating on his wife for the sake of sex appeal. He’s just a man.

He begs. That’s the thing that got me. Not her, him.

“So I beg you, Circe, grant us mercy, and let us puppets leave~”

Then, Circe offers to help him — not because she’s restoring the nature of being submissive — but because she has empathy and compassion for the man. She helps him because he’s proved himself, to be weary, and faithful, and human. She knows the feeling of love.

So, yes. So many layers. Like an onion, worthy of making you cry.

1. Jay is spitting in the face of misogyny and gender roles, and having her help him because she empathizes. Because she’s in power.

2. It’s sort of a jab, if interpreted a certain way, at sexual assault. He says no, and he holds true to it. Even though everything is telling him to give in, to let it happen, he refuses, and remains as sure as he can be.

3. It shows how very human Odysseus is. Athena forgot it, and somehow held him to it. Even the men forget it. But he never does. There is only so much he can do.

This is my favorite saga so far.

#epic the musical #I am so in love with this theory #this means so much to me #feminism #jorge rivera herrans #jay herrans #epic the circe saga #circe saga #Circe epic #epic circe saga #speculation #theory #interpretation #greek mythology #greek myths #the odyssey #odysseus #circe #homer

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deceitfuldevout · 1 year ago

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Blessed Be The Fruit

Soft!Dark!Sergeant!Tommy Shelby x Maiden!Reader

Word Count: +1,620

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Hints of misogyny, Loss of virginity, Mild gore (blood), Cunnilingus, Mentions of past kidnapping.

Author's Notes: This is a one shot. It's a fanfiction that has a few ideas from the handmaiden’s tale that are altered cause it's my fic lol.

As the population decreases, the government has no choice but to intervene. Every citizen is now required to marry past a certain age. Those who were part of the military or government, were given a registry of approved wives to choose from. Often the families of the women were forced to participate. Yours was one of them. It was a week after you turned twenty when an officer knocked on your parents' door. He will inform you of the news. A husband has finally chosen you.

You read the profile of your soon-to-be husband, Sergeant Tommy Shelby. He'd served in the British army for a few years, returning home as a decorated solider. His first wife had been murdered, the second divorced. Your eyes rake down the list. A widower who'd been married twice. He'd lost his youngest daughter to an illness, his first son in a local gang's crossfire. Charlie is his last remaining heir. He can't risk losing him, what Tommy needs now is a spare.

You remember your earlier days of scouting. Should any family find themselves under bankruptcy, their daughters will be forced into the draft. A law passed by the government to decrease the poverty line. You along with the other women were kidnapped and forced to attend months of dreadful etiquette classes.

Training you on how to walk, talk, behave, and care for the home. In simpler terms, you had to learn how to sell yourself as someone interesting enough to marry. You were a brand, put on display for any eligible bachelors. Only at the graduation ceremony did you feel relieved. Finally allowed to return home.

Every family that had been in the registry was part of the working class. They'd been forcibly placed in the registry because of debt or bankruptcy. It was the government's solution to decrease the amount of poverty. Their daughters would be used as sacrificial lambs. Otherwise, they'd be rounded up and forced into imprisonment, or worse. How could you say no with such a severe punishment?

He has given you a week. A week to come with him willingly or face the consequences. It rained on the day of the wedding, the ceremony itself was cut short by how dangerous the weather became. Your now husband wastes no time dragging you away and into a car. He wastes time returning home. Tommy led the way to the bedroom. There were certain things to expect on your wedding night. A contract that now legally binds you to him.

There is a list of conditions that the each of you were to follow. One being him taking care of you and your family, as long as you promise to give him an heir. However, many it would be. There was one last thing to seal the contract, marriage consummation. Mandatory by law, punishable by imprisonment. You remember the advice given by the elderly women who worked for the registry program. As soon as you spot the bed, covered in white sheets, your breathing hitches.

Tommy faces away from you, stripping himself of his coat. You remove each strap and let the dress slip off. You approach the bed, now splayed in only a white lace set, relaxing on your side. You tilt your head. Now gazing at your new husband with a playful smirk. If only he knew what was going on inside that little head of yours. How badly you wanted to break free.

A happy husband means an easy life.

That's what the elders had taught you. He turns around, taken aback by your sudden eagerness. His cold eyes rake your figure. He starts to approach the bed. Your seductive expression starts to crack. You find yourself now trapped under his cold, hard gaze. Still, there was too much at stake.

Appeasing your husband is what keeps the house in order.

This wasn't just a marriage consummation, it's a test to see if your husband wants to keep you. Everyone you love and care for will pay for one mistake, and that terrifies you.

A good wife must tend to all his needs.

That's when he gave the orders, "Present," to which you immediately began removing the rest of your garments. A procedure all the wives had practiced for. You feel a calloused hand holding your hip in place. Both hands digging into the soft blankets below. It takes everything in you not to burst into tears. Because good wives hide their pain well. He spits into the palm of his hand, spreading the slick on his length. He starts to pump himself, tugging on his cock a few times. But only enough to get it hard.

Tommy doesn't want to waste any more time. He presses his tip against your entrance, dragging it up and down your slit. He spits at your entrance before pushing in. Tears form in the corners of your eyes. You held back a scream, digging your nails into the bed. He places an arm to each side, shifting his bodyweight against yours. A grunt of discomfort broke from your lips. It felt like he was breaking you in.

There's only one thing that Tommy needs from you. Tonight, he's going to make sure it happens. If not, then he'll breed you every day until you take. He doesn't want to stop from there, no. You'll give him another one, then another after that. As many as he can make from that tight cunt of yours. Just the thought of it has him moaning, "Fuck...so good for me...my wife..." he juts his hips, finding a rhythm, "You will obey me," he fastens his pace, with both hands now grabbing your hips in a firm grip, "Your only job is to give me an heir," Tommy starts to lose himself in the pleasure.

It had been a while since he's had a good fuck. His brows furrow from how hard you were squeezing him, "Fuck...such a tight cunt..." he groans, he hovers over your naked form. His body heat spreading to your back. A thick wall of muscle traps you against the bed. He growls in your ear, "It's going to be like this every day...every day until this womb gives me an heir," a promise he's going to make sure comes true.

Tommy's grunts became louder as he was close. Sweat trickles from his body to yours, the intensity of it reduced you to a whining mess. He splays his body flush against yours. A stray of curse words escapes his lips, "Fuck...fuck so good...so good for me..." he dips his head in the crook of your neck, muffling one last moan before bottoming out. He doesn't remove himself, no. Tommy kept you plugged with his spunk. He pushes his length in as far as it could go before pulling out.

He flips over right next to you to catch his breath. When he hears sniffling, he turns his head. What made his little wife upset? He turns you over. Your eyes are red, there are tear tracks that trailed down each cheek. Spit had dribbled down your chin and onto the bed. Tommy had a gift for reading people. It was obvious you were trying to keep a plain expression. He hovers over you now with a stern look on his face. Tommy is determined to find the source of your worries.

That's when he felt it, the small wet patch on the bedding. Blots of crimson were in stark contrast to the white sheets below. You cower under his gaze. Frozen by fear yet still, you try to please him. But Tommy could see it clearly, and he wouldn't have it. He reaches below your knees, pulling you closer towards him. He lifts your lower half, until your bare slit is close enough to his mouth.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar sensation has you gasping. Tommy flattens his tongue against your core, dragging it up and down your slit. He takes his time, suckling and kissing at your sex. Practically smothering himself in it as he thrusts his tongue inside your spent cunt. You press a palm flat against your mouth, muffling any whimpers that would escape. Now this wasn't something you were prepared for.

Tommy wraps his lips around that bundle of nerves you whine. Your hole twitches with need, he'll fix that. Tommy slowly stretches the now slick opening, collecting any slickness he would need. He latches his mouth around your bud while thrusting his fingers in and out. Faster and faster, until a wave of pleasure has you arching your back. A gush of arousal splashes his chin, but he doesn't stop. Not even after you're pumping at his fingers in a vice grip. He keeps thrusting them at a rapid pace, until you've come undone again. He retreats from your drenched sex with a triumphant 'huff'.

You were exhausted, trying your best to catch breath. All you could do was stare at Tommy though hooded eyelids. He's sporting a cocky smirk, "I'm sorry dear wife," he interwinds his fingers with yours, holding them in place, "Do you forgive me?" licking up the slick on his lips. A flush of pink is spread across his face and ears. His icy blues are now overpowered by the large iris'. You could only give a faint nod, too tired to react as he pulls you in.

There the two of you lay, sprawled naked across the bed sheets. Your head against his chest as he brushes his hands though the locks. Tommy lets you rest for now. He sighs, "understanding now that you weren't a willing participant. All for the sake of 'societal standards'. He won't give you a harder life than it already had been. "Blessed be the fruit," he announces, marking the end of the night.

#dark!tommy shelby #dark!tommy shelby x reader #dark!tommy shelby x you #reader #reader insert #dark!fic #dark!fanfic #dark!fanfiction #dark!smut #dark fic #dark fanfic #dark fanfiction #dark smut

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amethystarachnid · 28 days ago

Text

CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Request: Fantastic event 😍 I want to make a request for Fem reader + Tony Stark, please! "Christmas morning surprise", breakfast in bed made by Tony, a surprise gift: Tony proposing the reader and saying the most beautiful things and cuddling by the tree later, drinking hot cocoa 😍 (@heygoodgirly)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: Tony Stark has never been one for romantic things but for you, oh, for you he'd become the most romantic man on earth. And that's exactly what he's trying to be as he gets ready to pop the question

ᯓ★ TW(s): fluff fluff fluff

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The morning light spills softly through the gaps in the curtains, painting warm streaks of gold across the bedroom. You’re cocooned in the blankets, your face nestled into the pillow, completely oblivious to the world. For once, there’s no sound of the whirring gadgets or the mechanical hum of some early-morning project Tony’s working on in his lab. The quiet feels suspicious. But you don’t wake, not yet.

Downstairs, the man himself is pacing. Stark Tower—or what’s now become a semi-permanent Stark-and-You Tower—is unusually serene, save for the sound of Tony muttering to himself. In the kitchen, an array of utensils clutters the countertop. Pots, pans, and a suspiciously stained cutting board bear evidence of an attempt at cooking. Actual cooking. Not JARVIS ordering the latest Michelin-starred meal.

“Okay, okay, just… flip it gently,” Tony says under his breath, staring down a pan like it’s a volatile science experiment. His hair is a mess, and there’s a smear of flour on his cheek that he hasn’t noticed yet. “How hard can eggs be? They’re just tiny little things. People do this every day.”

The spatula makes contact, but predictably, the omelet doesn't cooperate. It folds awkwardly, and a piece flops onto the burner. Tony groans, his free hand tugging at his hair.

“Yeah, this is going great. Real Gordon Ramsay stuff here.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm as he glares at the breakfast carnage. He pauses, tapping his fingers against the counter, before grabbing another egg and cracking it into a fresh bowl. “She better appreciate this. Slaving away like a 1950s housewife… minus the pearls. Or the misogyny.”

JARVIS chimes in unprompted. “Might I suggest using a lower heat setting, sir? You appear to be—”

“No, no, no. I got this, J. Do not swoop in with your fancy AI advice. This is a Tony Stark original, and I’ll be damned if technology fixes my… whatever this is.”

“As you wish,” JARVIS replies smoothly, the slightest hint of amusement in his tone.

Tony manages to plate something passable, a mixture of eggs, toast, and fruit that—miraculously—looks edible. He surveys his handiwork with a critical eye, then lets out a huff. “If this doesn’t scream ‘romantic Christmas breakfast,’ I don’t know what does.”

There’s a small box tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants, a box that has no business being near sizzling pans or flour-covered counters. He knows better. He’s Tony Stark, after all. Precision is his thing—normally. But today? He feels like a live wire, energy sparking unpredictably under his skin.

“Okay. Breakfast first. Then the thing. Easy.” He picks up the tray and heads for the stairs, deliberately ignoring the persistent flutter in his chest.

The bedroom is still quiet when he pushes the door open with his shoulder, the tray balanced precariously in his hands. You’re exactly where he left you, sprawled under the covers with one arm flung lazily over your head. The sight makes his lips quirk into a crooked smile, the kind he reserves for moments no one else gets to see.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he says, his voice low but teasing. “Or should I say Sleeping Beast? You snore, you know.”

You stir slightly, mumbling something incoherent, and he snickers. “I’ll take that as a ‘good morning, Tony. Thanks for the breakfast-in-bed surprise. You’re the best boyfriend in the known universe.’” He sets the tray down on the nightstand and leans over to press a kiss to your temple. “I know, I know. I’m amazing.”

You blink awake slowly, your eyes adjusting to the soft light. “What…?” Your voice is thick with sleep, and you prop yourself up on one elbow, squinting at him. “What are you doing?”

“Delivering five-star cuisine,” he says, gesturing grandly at the tray. “Emphasis on the ‘five.’ I wouldn’t check the Yelp reviews if I were you.”

Your gaze shifts to the tray, and a small laugh escapes your lips. “You… made this?”

“Shockingly, yes. With these very hands.” He holds them up for emphasis. “And I only started one tiny grease fire, which I think is a personal record.”

You sit up more fully now, the blankets pooling around your waist. “Why? What’s the occasion?”

Tony shrugs, leaning casually against the bedpost, though there’s nothing casual about the way his heart thuds at your question. “Can’t a guy just do something nice for his girlfriend without getting the third degree? It’s Christmas, in case you forgot. Figured I’d play Santa and spoil you a little.”

Your smile softens, and you reach for the coffee mug on the tray. “You’re full of surprises, Stark.”

“That’s what they say,” he replies, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching as you take a sip of the coffee. He’s relieved when you don’t grimace. Coffee, at least, is one thing he knows he can’t mess up.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, picking up a fork and spearing a piece of toast.

“Of course I did,” he retorts. “You’re lucky I didn’t bring out a violinist for ambiance. Thought about it. Decided it was too much.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are. Voluntarily waking up next to me every day. Who’s the ridiculous one now?”

There’s a comfortable rhythm to your banter, one that makes the rest of the world fade away. He watches you eat, his expression softening when you’re not looking. Every now and then, you catch him staring, and he brushes it off with a quick quip or a self-deprecating joke, but the truth is, he’s just… captivated.

He’s done a lot of big things in his life. Saved the world, built a legacy, even cheated death a couple of times. But this—sitting here with you, on a lazy Christmas morning—is one of those rare moments that feels monumental in its simplicity.

Tony taps his fingers against his knee, his mind racing even as he tries to keep the conversation light. He’s thinking about the box in his pocket, about the way your eyes will light up when you see what’s inside. He’s thinking about how terrifying and exhilarating it is to want something so deeply, to want you forever.

“So, on a scale of one to ten,” he says, breaking the silence, “how would you rate the masterpiece I just served you? Be honest. But remember, I have an ego to protect.”

You tilt your head, pretending to deliberate. “Hmm… solid eight. Maybe eight-point-five.”

“Eight-point-five?” he echoes, feigning offense. “What, did the toast offend you?”

“It’s a little… uneven,” you tease, holding up a slightly charred edge. “But I’ll let it slide.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Unbelievable. This is the thanks I get.”

Leaning closer, you kiss the corner of his mouth, a soft and lingering gesture that immediately shuts him up. When you pull back, your grin is mischievous. “Better?”

“Marginally,” he mutters, though his smirk gives him away.

You settle back against the pillows, the tray balanced carefully on your lap. Tony leans on one arm, his gaze drifting over your face as you savor the last bites of breakfast. He’s nervous, though he’d never admit it out loud. Not yet. He wants to do this right—to give you a memory you’ll carry with you forever. But more than that, he wants you to know just how much you mean to him, even if he’s not always the best at saying it.

For now, though, he keeps it light, keeps it normal. There’s time. At least, he hopes there’s time.

“By the way,” he says, his voice tinged with mock seriousness, “you’re washing the dishes.”

Your laughter fills the room, and for a moment, all his nerves fade away.

The warmth of the room is a cocoon against the chill of the winter morning outside, and you’re tangled in each other, limbs intertwined and bodies pressed close beneath the covers. The breakfast tray is forgotten, pushed aside to make room for this: the kind of quiet intimacy that feels like a luxury. Tony’s arm is draped over your waist, his thumb absently brushing along the curve of your hip as if he’s memorizing the feel of you.

His voice is soft when he speaks, carrying none of the usual bravado. “Y’know, if I could freeze time, I’d keep us here. Just like this.”

You hum contentedly, your cheek resting against his chest, where the steady thrum of his heartbeat feels like a secret melody. “I wouldn’t mind that,” you murmur, tilting your face to meet his gaze. His brown eyes are warm and intent, studying you like you’re a puzzle he never wants to solve.

The comfortable silence stretches, broken only by the faint sound of the city beyond the windows. But then, a sudden thought strikes you, and you sit up slightly, your hair mussed from sleep and your eyes sparkling with realization.

“Wait,” you say, breaking the spell. “We still have to open gifts. It’s Christmas morning, remember?”

Tony groans dramatically, flopping back against the pillows as though you’ve just suggested something truly exhausting. “Oh, come on, can’t we stay in bed for a few more hours? Maybe the gifts will open themselves.”

You laugh, wriggling free from his hold, but he’s faster. Before you can fully escape, his arms wrap around you, pulling you back down onto the mattress. You let out a playful squeal, but he doesn’t relent.

“Tony!” you protest, though you’re grinning. “The gifts—”

“Can wait,” he says firmly, his hands settling at your waist to keep you firmly in place. His voice softens, turning almost serious as his eyes meet yours. “Besides, I’ve got something more important right here.”

His tone makes you pause, your smile faltering for just a second as you study him. There’s something in his expression—a mix of vulnerability and determination—that you don’t see often. It sends a flutter through your chest, though you can’t quite put your finger on why.

“More important than presents?” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. “That doesn’t sound like the Tony Stark I know.”

“The Tony Stark you know has layers,” he quips, though his usual sarcasm feels gentler now, like a shield he’s only half-raising. His hands find yours, lacing your fingers together, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“Look, I had this whole plan,” he begins, his words coming quickly now, like he’s worried he might lose his nerve. “Candles, music, maybe even fireworks—because, y’know, I’m me. But then I realized… all of that stuff doesn’t really matter, does it?”

You blink at him, your brows knitting together in confusion. “Tony, what are you—?”

“Shh,” he cuts you off gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Let me do this, okay? Just… let me get it out before I explode or short-circuit or something.”

Your heart is racing now, a mix of anticipation and disbelief. You nod, unable to find your voice.

“I’ve been a lot of things in my life,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “A genius, a billionaire, a total pain in the ass. But with you, it’s different. You make me want to be better. Hell, you make me better. And it’s not just the big stuff—though saving the world is a hell of a lot easier when I know you’re waiting for me to come home. It’s the little things, too. The way you laugh at my stupid jokes, or how you somehow manage to make this place feel like an actual home.”

His voice wavers slightly, and he swallows hard, his grip on your hands tightening. “I used to think I had everything I needed. The cars, the suits, the fancy tech. But then you came along, and suddenly none of that mattered. Because you… you’re my everything. And I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t know that.”

Your breath catches as he shifts slightly, pulling a small box from the pocket of his sweatpants. He holds it up, his hand trembling just enough for you to notice.

“I’m not great at this kind of thing,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know one thing for sure: I don’t want to wake up another day without knowing you’re mine. So, will you—?”

“Tony,” you interrupt, your own voice trembling now. You press a hand to your mouth, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions surging through you.

His face falls slightly, panic flashing in his eyes. “Oh, no. Is this a bad time? Did I—? I should’ve waited, shouldn’t I? Or maybe done the whole fireworks thing. Damn it, I knew I should’ve—”

“No, no, it’s not that,” you say quickly, though your tone is teasing now, even as tears glisten in your eyes. You let out a shaky laugh, leaning back slightly as if considering. “I don’t know, Tony… this is a pretty big decision. I mean, are you really sure you can handle me forever?”

He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “What—? Of course, I’m sure! Are you seriously asking if I—?”

“I mean,” you continue, biting back a grin, “I do snore, apparently. And I’m not great at remembering where I put my keys. Plus, I make you watch all those sappy holiday movies—”

“Yes!” he blurts out, his voice a mix of exasperation and desperation. “Yes, I can handle all of that. Hell, I’d watch ‘Love, Actually’ on repeat for the rest of my life if it means you’ll say yes. Just—please. Don’t make me beg. I’m Tony Stark, for God’s sake.”

You can’t hold it in any longer. The laughter bubbles out of you, and you reach up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over his stubble. “You’re such a dork,” you whisper, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”

For a moment, Tony just stares at you, his brain clearly struggling to process your words. Then, his face breaks into a grin so wide it’s almost boyish, and he lets out a breathless laugh, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

“You’re really saying yes?” he asks, as if he can’t quite believe it. “You’re not messing with me, right? Because if this is some elaborate joke—”

“I’m not messing with you,” you assure him, your own smile mirroring his. “I’m saying yes, Tony. A thousand times yes.”

He doesn’t wait another second. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into a kiss that’s both fervent and tender, a kiss that feels like a promise. When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads still pressed together.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of wonder.

“Merry Christmas,” you reply, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him again.

The massive tree in the corner of the penthouse sparkles like something out of a holiday dream, its glittering ornaments and twinkling lights casting a warm, golden glow over the room. The fireplace crackles softly, and the faint sound of holiday music hums in the background, setting the perfect cozy scene. You’re curled up on the plush couch, nestled into Tony’s side, a thick blanket draped over both of you. Your legs are tangled together, and in your hands is a mug of steaming hot cocoa, its sweetness enhanced by the swirl of whipped cream and the faintest hint of peppermint.

You glance at the tree, then at the pile of opened gifts scattered around the room. Wrapping paper is crumpled in corners, bows are tossed aside, and the faint smell of pine from the tree mingles with the chocolatey aroma of your drinks. But none of that holds your attention for long.

Your eyes drift down to your left hand, where the delicate engagement ring Tony slipped onto your finger just a little while ago catches the firelight. The diamond—a perfect, understated yet dazzling stone—is framed by a sleek, modern band that feels so you it’s uncanny.

“I still can’t believe this,” you murmur, holding your hand up slightly to admire the ring again. “It’s perfect. The size, the design… it’s like you read my mind.”

Tony smirks, taking a sip of his cocoa before setting the mug on the coffee table. “Please. You think I’d propose to you without doing my homework first? I might be reckless, but I’m not stupid.”

You turn to him, one brow raised in playful skepticism. “Homework? Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Absolutely,” he says, his tone teasing but with a glint of pride in his eyes. “I had spreadsheets. Diagrams. A whole team of—”

“Tony!” you cut him off, laughing as you swat at his chest. “You did not have a team.”

“Fine,” he relents, grinning. “But I did pay attention. All those times you casually pointed out rings in magazine ads or that one time you dragged me past Tiffany’s and sighed at the window display? Let’s just say I’ve been taking notes.”

You shake your head, marveling at him. “And the size? How did you get that right? Don’t tell me you measured my finger while I was sleeping or something creepy like that.”

Tony’s grin widens, and there’s a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Would you believe me if I said I have a natural talent for guessing ring sizes?”

“No.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes. “I may or may not have borrowed one of your rings when you weren’t looking. For research purposes.”

“Research purposes,” you repeat, your voice dripping with amusement. “Wow, I didn’t realize getting engaged to you would involve so much corporate espionage.”

“Hey,” he says, feigning indignation, “it worked, didn’t it? Look at that ring. Perfect fit, perfect style… just like the woman wearing it.”

The sincerity in his last words catches you off guard, and your playful retort dies on your lips. Instead, you feel a warmth spreading through your chest, a kind of joy so profound it’s almost overwhelming.

“You’re really something, you know that?” you say softly, setting your mug down so you can turn toward him fully.

Tony leans back slightly, a cocky grin on his face. “Something amazing, I hope.”

“Something infuriating,” you tease, your fingers brushing over the stubble along his jaw. “But yeah… amazing too.”

His grin softens into something more genuine, and he cups your face with one hand, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “You make it easy, you know. Wanting to get this stuff right. You deserve it, all of it. The ring, the world, the whole damn galaxy if I could give it to you.”

You feel your throat tighten, and you lean into his touch, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I don’t need the galaxy, Tony. I just need you.”

There’s a flicker of something vulnerable in his expression, a glimpse of the man who hides beneath the sarcasm and the bravado. He leans in to kiss you, a slow and tender kiss that feels like a promise, like the future you’re both stepping into together.

When you pull back, you settle against his chest again, letting out a contented sigh. “So,” you say after a moment, your voice light, “what’s your favorite gift so far? Besides me saying yes, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he echoes, smirking as he runs his fingers through your hair. “That’s number one by a mile. But if I had to pick something else… I’d say the socks.”

You blink, confused. “The socks?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding seriously. “You know, the ones with my face on them? Absolute game-changer.”

You laugh so hard you nearly spill your cocoa. “I knew you’d love those. Happy to know they rival the engagement ring.”

“Well, they don’t exactly rival the ring,” he admits, his tone turning thoughtful. “But they do add a certain… flair to my wardrobe. Can’t wait to wear them to the next board meeting.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest. “Please don’t.”

“No promises,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

You’re quiet for a while after that, the two of you simply enjoying the warmth and comfort of being together. The fire crackles softly, and the snow outside begins to fall more heavily, blanketing the city in a shimmering white coat. You watch it through the enormous windows, your head still resting against Tony’s shoulder.

“I think this might be my favorite Christmas ever,” you say after a while, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Only might?” Tony quips, though there’s a softness to his tone. “What do I have to do to make it the undisputed champ?”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think, holding up your hand again to admire the ring. “You’ve set the bar pretty high, Stark. Proposing and getting me the perfect ring? You might’ve peaked.”

“Peaked?” he repeats, feigning offense. “Please. This is just the beginning. Wait until next Christmas. I’ll have holographic wrapping paper and drones delivering your presents.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, tightening his hold on you, “you said yes.”

You smile, snuggling closer to him, and let your eyes drift shut. The weight of the moment settles over you like the warmest of blankets, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Neither of you speaks for a while, content to simply be. The snow falls outside, the fire burns low, and the city below buzzes quietly with life. But up here, in this little corner of the universe, it’s just the two of you—and that’s more than enough.

The fire crackles softly in the background as you nestle further into Tony’s side, your legs draped lazily over his lap beneath the plush throw blanket. The mug of cocoa you abandoned earlier sits on the coffee table, now lukewarm, but neither of you has the energy or desire to move. The world beyond the enormous penthouse windows is a snow-covered wonderland, the city twinkling like something out of a postcard. But here, in Tony’s arms, the rest of the world feels like an afterthought.

You’re staring at your ring again—still unable to get over how perfectly it suits you—and twirling it gently on your finger. “I can’t believe we’re actually engaged,” you murmur, the words still foreign and thrilling all at once.

Tony hums, his fingers idly tracing patterns along your arm. “Yeah, well, it was bound to happen eventually. I’m a catch, after all.”

You snort, poking him in the ribs. “You’re lucky I love you, Stark. Otherwise, you’d be proposing to your ego.”

“Please,” he retorts, grinning. “My ego would’ve said no. Too much competition.”

Your laughter echoes warmly in the cozy space, and he pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But seriously,” he continues, his voice softer now, “I’m the lucky one.”

The sincerity in his tone melts your teasing grin into a tender smile. “We’re both lucky,” you say, leaning up to kiss him briefly before settling back against him. “But now that you’ve got me locked down, we should probably start thinking about the next steps.”

Tony perks up at that, his eyebrows raising in mock surprise. “Next steps? Wow, didn’t realize we were rushing through the milestones. What’s next, matching sweatpants?”

“Don’t tempt me,” you tease, poking him again. “But seriously, we should start thinking about the wedding. You know, dates, locations, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, sure,” he says, waving a hand as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “We’ll rent out a castle or something. Maybe a yacht. Or both. Castle on a yacht. I’ll make it happen.”

You roll your eyes, laughing. “Tony, we don’t need a castle on a yacht. I was thinking something more… intimate.”

“Intimate,” he repeats, like the word is entirely foreign to him. “Okay, define ‘intimate.’ Like… eighty people instead of eight hundred?”

“More like thirty,” you say, smirking at his dramatic gasp. “And maybe somewhere beautiful but low-key. A vineyard? A garden? Somewhere that doesn’t involve holographic invitations.”

Tony pouts, his bottom lip sticking out like a child denied dessert. “You’re no fun. I had this great idea for AI-driven seating charts.”

“Tony,” you groan, laughing as you swat his arm. “No AI at the wedding.”

“Fine, fine,” he concedes, though you can tell his brain is already whirring with ideas. “But we’re keeping the open bar. And there will be cake. A ridiculous amount of cake.”

“Deal,” you agree, grinning. “And maybe a live band? Something classic.”

“Classic, huh?” Tony muses, tilting his head as he considers. “Sinatra? Ella? Or are we talking ‘classic’ like… AC/DC?”

You laugh, burying your face in his shoulder. “I should’ve known you’d sneak AC/DC into this somehow.”

“Hey, it’s our wedding,” he says, his tone teasing but with a playful wink. “And by ‘our,’ I mean you’ll pick all the details, and I’ll just show up in a ridiculously expensive tux and look charming.”

You snuggle closer, your smile softening. “That’s all I really need, anyway.”

There’s a pause as the two of you settle into the quiet again, but you can feel Tony’s fingers fidgeting against your arm, a sure sign that his mind is still racing. You glance up at him, your brow raised. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, though the sheepish look on his face betrays him.

“Tony,” you press, sitting up slightly. “Spill.”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes darting toward the window as if searching for an escape. Finally, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. It’s just… I was thinking. About… you know, after the wedding.”

“After the wedding?” you echo, tilting your head. “You mean the honeymoon?”

“Sure,” he says, though his tone is distracted. “But I was also thinking… further out. Like… a house. Or maybe—hypothetically—a kid. Or two.”

Your mouth drops open slightly, caught completely off guard. “You’re already thinking about kids?”

“Hypothetically!” he clarifies quickly, though there’s a nervous energy to his voice. “I mean, I’m just saying… it’s crossed my mind. Once or twice. Or, you know, a dozen times.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. Then, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you lean back against him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Tony Stark, are you saying you want to be a dad?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink. “I’m saying… I wouldn’t hate the idea. I mean, think about it. A tiny human running around with your smarts and my charm? World domination is practically guaranteed.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, grinning now, “you said yes.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with affection. “I think you’d be a great dad, Tony. Once you figure out how to baby-proof all your gadgets.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffs, though his smile is genuine. “I’d invent a whole line of Stark-brand baby-proof tech. Patent it. Make billions.”

“Of course you would,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But maybe we should focus on the wedding first before we start planning our takeover of the parenting world.”

“Fair,” he concedes, pulling you closer. “But just so you know, I’m already brainstorming names. You should’ve heard the one I came up with yesterday. Absolute gold.”

“Oh no,” you groan, laughing again. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tony Junior. Think about it. T.J. for short.”

You burst out laughing, your head falling against his chest. “We are not naming our child Tony Junior.”

“Fine, fine,” he says, chuckling along with you. “We’ll workshop it.”

As your laughter fades, you settle against him again, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his chest. The firelight dances across the room, casting shadows on the walls, and you feel a profound sense of peace, of rightness, in this moment.

“Hey,” you say softly after a while, looking up at him. “I love you.”

His expression softens, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you too.”

You smile, your hand drifting down to rest over his. “And for the record, I can’t wait for all of it. The wedding, the house, the future… everything. As long as it’s with you.”

Tony’s grin is slow and warm, and he wraps his arms around you like he never plans to let go. “Then it’s a deal.”

The two of you sit there for a long time after that, the snow falling steadily outside and the fire burning low. Together, you dream and plan and tease and laugh, painting the picture of a life that feels almost too perfect to be real. But with Tony by your side, you know it’s all possible—and more.

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