Hai amazing people ! My name is Mina/Minahil and I am a South Asian fanfic writer ! I really like writing and I really want to improve as I wrote and post more of my stories. I also like art so maybe I'll also start posting some of my art here!! I am religious and bi so the jokes make themselves here.
This is mainly a kpop x reader blog but chances are I might post other types of fanfics too.
𐔌 . ⋮ 𝓡ᥙℓᥱʂ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱
Do's:- yandere, dark themes, poly, age gap (not too big), student x student, teacher x teacher, smut, fluff ...
No!:- teacher x student, minor x adult, step siblings/dad/mom any of it I will not write, non consensual, ...
I am very open to constructive feedback/criticism and my dms are always open for any advice (e.g. fanfic advice) or any questions you have about my stories! Tho I will not take any disrespectful or rude behaviour and I will block you if you act out! I don't mind when people DM but please don't dm and ask me uncomfortable questions.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
All my fanfics so far!
ateez
Head cannons!!
Jongho as your boyfriend
Yeosang as your boyfriend
One shots
Yunho as your roommate
A simple fic about Yunho and his dear roommate missing each other. Fluff, roommates, idol au, and cuddling, I apologise if I miss anything
Series
Yandere! Seonghwa x Makeup Artist! Reader
Forced relationship, toxic Seonghwa, mentions of killing, reader is scared, yandere themes, all main warnings written in the fic and masterlist!
Gift!
Inspired by @freyaphoria's run away
Yandere Seongjoong
Mainly about reader doing cute stuff to keep calm in the hell hole their living in.
Svt
Oneshots
Nurse Dokyeom x Vampire! Reader
mentions of blood, biting, choking, needles, feral reader, a bit suggestive, reader might be toxic, If I miss any I apologise!
≽^•⩊•^≼
mina's stupid time is simply when I yap
written by minako is the tag I use for all my written work
two is better than one ✿ཻུ p. seonghwa & k. hongjoong
𓎟𓎟 when two hot men are desperate for your attention, you don't leave them hanging, right?
word count 1793 college!au suggestive implications to sex but not really teasing fluff if you squint seonghwa and hongjoong are down bad lol
since childhood, hongjoong and seonghwa had been attached by the hips. where one was, the other was never too far behind.
they shared everything, like the toy cars that they had grown so accustomed to having at playdates, exchanged parts of their packed lunches in the fifth grade, and even shared their girls.
they always had a similar taste for everything, why not indulge together? it was no secret that they wanted to indulge in something specific, someone, rather.
you always felt their eyes lingering across rooms, it was never intense, just there.
the two men were constants in your life that never seemed to fade, so much so that you were almost starting to enjoy the chase.
when they entered rooms, time seemed to slow, like everything else happening around them suddenly became unimportant. you didn't have to look to see who it was, because everyone else already gave it away.
the way students' eyes locked onto the duo across the room, the echoes of their footsteps that rang in your ears like a nightmare, the cocky laughter that hongjoong brought with him everywhere, and the quiet charm seonghwa unintentionally carried.
it was hard to miss them, even in corridors full of people like this one.
you didn't turn, didn't have to. you already knew how it would go down—like it had been for the past few years now. a game full of teasing and lingering gazes, words that cut far deeper than the situation called for.
some girls whispered, giggled and hoped that maybe seonghwa would spare them a glance, that hongjoong might flash that addictive smile of his. others glared. at you. whispered that the boys shouldn't be "wasting their time" with someone like you.
in a sense, you agreed. wondered if they would ever get tired of running after you.
hongjoong is the first to break the deafening silence, voice cocky and unwavering per usual. "been wondering when you would get over this whole "shy" phase for a few years now, but i guess it's not a phase, huh," his hand finds your shoulder, not demanding, just lingering.
seonghwa is never far behind, black hair framing his face with unpracticed ease. he stands, quietly, lets his best friend do the talking before cutting in.
"maybe you're not pushing the right buttons, joong," he hums, leaning an elbow against hongjoong's shoulder.
you turn, shrugging off the ginger's touch and doing your best to display that confidence you'd been practicing for years.
some eyes still lingered, others returned to their own worlds, knowing better than to get involved with the dangerous game the three of you were playing.
"m'not shy, just know when and when not to show interest. you can guess what kind of situation this is."
"ooh, you wound me, pretty," hongjoong is quick to reply, hand hovering over his heart dramatically.
seonghwa nudges him in the ribcage with a soft chuckle, his smirk something hard to get over even after years of seeing it.
"we're going to the bar tonight, celebrating hongjoong's promotion to football captain," he starts, voice gentle enough to put you to sleep.
"y'know you're invited, always are. don't think about it too hard, sweetheart." he hums, ruffling your hair a bit in a way that made you feel at ease. you didn't feel small under their gaze, you felt important.
that feeling alone made your stomach churn.
"and if i don't come?"
hongjoong coos, giving you those eyes that are hard to resist. "you wouldn't want to make me sad, no? you always make our celebrations better." he hums, lips turning down into a pout.
you shook your head almost instantly, letting out a conflicted huff.
"you're insufferable," you mumbled, turning away before either of the two could respond.
seonghwa almost reached out, almost grabbed you by the waist to stop you from leaving, but a click of hongjoong's tongue stopped him.
"she'll come around, like she always does.." he reassures his best friend.
his words almost escaped you as you walked away. almost.
your ears heated up, because deep down, you knew that he was right.
the bad thing about you was that you always folded under little to no pressure, so, to nobody's surprise, you found yourself standing in front of a mirror checking out your outfit for the gig.
your phone buzzes, once, twice, three times, and you already know who it is.
hj (dni) can't wait to see you
hj (dni) wear something cute
hj (dni) not like it's going to matter
your brows furrowed at the last text.
you ew, don't even wanna come anymore
you ur lucky seonghwa's going
hongjoong chuckles at that, giving seonghwa a glance at the message. seonghwa's eyes skim your messages once, twice, before a soft smile breaks out onto his face, too. "you're corrupting my girl, joong," he hums.
"correction, our girl." hongjoong replied, shutting off his phone and popping the cap off of another beer.
you arrive not even 20 minutes later, heels clicking against the hardwood floor of the known bar on the far corner of 20th street like you owned the place. you had been to enough gigs at the place to know the layout of it all—where the owner kept his most prized bottles of wine, where seonghwa always sat and drank his sparkling drinks that joong loved to steal sips of.
your eyes found seonghwa first, leaning against the bar counter like he had all the time in the world, half indulging in a conversation with a girl that wasn't important. he didn't care enough to ask her name, didn't want anyones name but your own engraved into his memory.
when your eyes locked, he fought a smile, and his body stiffened like he almost hadn't expected you.
before your feet can bring you any closer, he's already pushing himself off of the counter, leaving the girl in the past.
"you came," he starts, soft, unhurried, like him.
"you know i never pass up good drinks."
"we both know you weren't thinking about good drinks when you walked through that door." he replied smoothly, hand finding your waist and hovering, asking for permission.
you indulge, smoothing the collar of his denim jacket. he eases into the touch, his palm meeting your hip and sending sparks up your spine.
"touché." you hum, not even trying to fight the smile that pulled at your lips, something that seonghwa wants to get used to so badly.
"how about we get you one of those "good drinks" you came for?" he offers in a mocking tone, though his palm caressed your skin too gently for his words to be perceived as rude.
before you can even nod he whisks you away to the bar counter and taps against it like the world revolved around him. "whip up something good for my girl, yeah?" he speaks with the bartender, turning his head back towards you who stood there almost entranced with his figure.
that is, until you recognize the presence lingering behind you.
the ginger-haired man rests his chin against your shoulder, arms wrapping around your midsection like it was the most casual thing ever, not bothering for permission like seonghwa.
"wow, you come to my celebration, get loose without me, and don't even greet me first? you're hurting my feelings, pretty." his warm breath hits your neck, the scent of whiskey and cedar wood radiating off his figure.
your breath hitches, and for a second you can't think. his scent consumes your senses, fingers tightening around your waist every second you don't respond.
seonghwa speaks for you, a tinge of humor in his voice. "you and your theatrics, joong,"
"what, you can't seriously expect to have her all to yourself on my night, hm?" the man replied with his usual sass.
"thought you guys were used to sharing, what happened?" was all you could muster, reaching out for the red cup seonghwa has been so busy conjuring for you.
hongjoong chuckles, his body heat mingling with yours. "nah, hard to share when it's you," your lips involuntarily curl upwards into a smile. "so, you did put on something cute. good girl, knew you would listen." he whispers, thumb brushing your skin with a surprising softness.
your cheeks flush at the pet name, eyes glancing over to seonghwa who shamelessly checks you out, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
"c'mon, baby, you gonna leave us hanging or come celebrate? this is for me, after all," hongjoong teases, swaying you a bit before pulling away.
you don't even notice the way your shoulders drop when he lets go, but the two capture it all, taking notes.
"he isn't wrong, it'd be rude of you not to keep us some company," seonghwa adds, eyes finally landing on your pouty lips.
you bite into your lower lip, thinking.
you've been avoiding them long enough. it's been years and you're staring to think that it's time you end this little game the three of you have been playing.
your eyes meet hongjoongs, then seonghwas, and your stomach twists.
"don't get any ideas,"
hongjoong practically beams and seonghwa flashes his teeth. "atta girl, c'mere, got something to show you, yeah?" hongjoong leads, and seonghwa nods towards the other man for you to follow.
your eyes dart between the two, but your feet drag you along before your brain can muster up an excuse.
hongjoong leads you into one of the booths sectored off for vip customers, illuminated with red lights and dark leather. it looked and smelled like sin in there.
the door clicks shut behind seonghwa, and suddenly the air feels thicker than before.
"need you to be serious with us, want to make sure we're not confusing anything." seonghwa murmurs, displaying a rare sense of vulnerability.
"you know how bad we want you, think about you all the fucking time," hongjoong adds, leaning in close but not invading your space. he moves like he's unsure, which was so rare you almost didn't believe your eyes.
"please, sweetheart, let us know what you want." seonghwa finishes, pushing himself off of the door, now towering above you besides hongjoong.
you swear you've never seen the two so desperate up until now, and it makes you fold. your fingers fist the leather of the couch behind you so tightly, you think they might rip right through the material.
you gulp, then nod, something slow and unsure.
"words, baby," seonghwa breaks the silence.
"i want the both of you, that's what i want, what i need." you finally utter, and you swear you visibly saw the way their pupils dilated.
hongjoongs ears perk up, lips curving into that familiar smile.
"that's all we needed to hear."
@jeongspetal 3.29.26
authors note: do i make part 2
Can you write about snow leopard hongjoong x human reader where she works at a hybrid shelter and he had been there for a long time and they were gonna put him down due to aggression so she adopts him
She wasn’t scared of him at first until he attacked her so then she just left him in peace and doesn’t bother him anymore
Until he gets anxious about her being around other hybrids and makes it up to her and it goes into smut
Cold as snow
Snow leopard hybrid!Hongjoong x human!reader
Hybrid AU, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff
Wc:~5.9k
Warnings: mention of euthanasia, past animal cruelty and fighting ring, violence (attack, clawing, blood), isolation and emotional neglect, possessiveness/territorial behavior, smut, unprotected sex, oral, creampie, use of tail?
The fluorescent lights in the east wing of Seoul Hybrid Sanctuary always buzzed like dying insects. You had stopped noticing the sound years ago, the way most people stop hearing their own heartbeat until something forces them to listen. But today the buzz felt louder, angrier, as though the bulbs themselves knew what was scheduled for Room 47 at 3:00 pm.
You stood outside the reinforced glass door, clipboard pressed against your chest like a shield. The chart on top bore Hongjoong’s name in red ink, never a good sign. Red meant high-risk, aggression history, repeat escape attempts, and, most recently, euthanasia approved. The signature at the bottom belonged to Director Park, who had never once hesitated when signing off on a hybrid deemed irredeemable.
Inside the room, Hongjoong sat on the far edge of the metal cot, knees drawn up, tail wrapped tightly around his ankles. The snow leopard hybrid had always been striking, even in captivity. His hair fell in uneven silver-white strands past his shoulders, ears tufted and restless, constantly flicking toward every sound in the corridor. Those eyes: deep brown, never softened. They tracked movement the way a predator tracks prey that hasn’t yet realized it’s already been chosen.
He had been here four years and seven months. Longer than almost any other hybrid in the high-security wing. Most aggressive cases either improved enough to be rehomed or… didn’t. Hongjoong refused both paths. He didn’t improve. He didn’t die. He simply endured, growing sharper and quieter with each passing season.
You had first noticed him during intake. A midnight raid on an illegal fighting ring in Incheon; thirty-seven hybrids pulled from cages reeking of blood and fear. Hongjoong had been the only one who didn’t cower when the lights came on. He stood in the center of his pen, spine straight, lips peeled back just enough to show fang. When the rescue team breached the enclosure he didn’t run. He lunged, straight at the handler holding the capture pole. Three officers and a tranquilizer dart to the shoulder later, he was dragged unconscious into the transport van. The report noted: "Subject displays unusually high prey-drive response toward humans. Recommend permanent isolation."
That was the beginning.
Over the years you watched him from a distance. You weren’t assigned to his case: senior staff handled the dangerous ones, but you passed his room every shift. Sometimes he ignored you completely. Sometimes he tracked your footsteps with slow, deliberate turns of his head. Once, when a new volunteer dropped a metal tray outside his door, the crash echoed down the hall and Hongjoong exploded off his cot, slamming both palms against the glass so hard it spiderwebbed. He didn’t roar. He didn’t hiss. He simply stared through the fracture lines, pupils blown wide, chest heaving, until security arrived with the stun baton.
After that they tripled the thickness of the glass.
You weren’t supposed to talk to him. Policy forbade personal interaction with red-chart cases unless under direct supervision. But rules had always felt elastic to you. On slow nights you would linger just outside the range of the hallway camera, speaking in the soft monotone you used for frightened kittens and traumatized wolf pups.
"I know you can hear me" you’d murmur. "I’m not coming in. Just… letting you know someone’s here."
He never answered. Not once. But he listened. You could tell because his ears would stop flicking wildly and angle toward your voice. His tail would loosen its death grip on his own legs. Sometimes his eyes would slide sideways, catching yours through the reinforced barrier, and hold there for one long, unreadable second before he looked away.
It wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t trust. It was acknowledgment: You exist. I see you. I haven’t killed you yet.
That small ritual carried on for nearly three years.
Then the notice came down. Director Park called an all-staff meeting at 8:00 am on a Tuesday in March. The conference room smelled of burnt coffee and antiseptic. Twenty-three employees sat in folding chairs while the director paced in front of a projected spreadsheet titled "Capacity Reallocation Q1 20XX."
"We are currently twenty-eight percent over safe occupancy" Park said, tapping the screen. "The Ministry has threatened to pull funding unless we reduce high-maintenance cases by fifteen percent before the next audit. I’ve reviewed every file. Unfortunately, several long-term residents have not responded to rehabilitation protocols."
A murmur moved through the room. Park clicked to the next slide. Hongjoong’s intake photo filled the screen: younger, angrier, lip split and one ear torn. Below it ran the red banner: Subject HK-0047 – SNOW LEOPARD HYBRID – EUTHANASIA SCHEDULED XX SEP 20XX @ 15:00.
Your stomach dropped so violently you tasted bile.
Someone (Minji from intake) raised her hand. "Has he… shown any recent improvement?"
Park’s mouth thinned. "He mauled Handler Choi last month during routine health screening. Four-inch lacerations to the forearm. Choi needed thirty-two stitches and is still on medical leave. That was the third incident in six months."
Another click. Security footage began to play, silent and grainy.
Hongjoong crouched in the corner of an exam room. A handler approached with a syringe. The moment the needle glinted, Hongjoong moved faster than should have been possible in the small space. One second he was still; the next he had the handler pinned facedown, teeth buried in the meat of the man’s shoulder. Blood bloomed dark across the white tile.
The video cut off.
Park folded his arms. "We’ve exhausted every option. Behavioral enrichment, scent therapy, even pharmacological intervention. Nothing works. He’s not adoptable. He’s barely containable. The decision has been made."
The room stayed quiet after that. You didn’t speak during the rest of the meeting. You didn’t speak when everyone filed out. You walked straight to the east wing supply closet, locked yourself inside among shelves of bleach and kibble and cried so hard your throat felt raw.
Then you dried your face, straightened your uniform and went to find Director Park.
He was in his office, already filling out the final disposition form.
You didn’t knock.
"I’m taking him" you said.
Park looked up slowly, pen still poised above the paper. "Excuse me?"
"Hongjoong. HK-0047. I’m adopting him. Today."
For a moment the only sound was the wall clock ticking. Then Park laughed, short, disbelieving. "You’ve read his file."
"I’ve read it more times than you have."
"He nearly killed a handler last month."
"He didn’t kill him. He could have. He didn’t."
"That isn’t the point-"
"It is to me."
Park removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You understand what you’re asking? If he hurts you or anyone else in your building the liability falls entirely on you. No shelter insurance. No legal protection. You’ll be blacklisted from every hybrid-related job in the country. And if he kills someone…" He let the sentence hang.
"I know."
He studied you for a long minute. "Why him?"
You didn’t have a clean answer. Not one that would satisfy bureaucracy. So you gave him the truth you’d been carrying for years.
"Because no one else ever stayed outside his door and talked to him just because they wanted to. Because every time I walked past that room I felt like I was leaving a piece of myself behind. Because if we kill him tomorrow, I’ll spend the rest of my life knowing I could have tried."
Park exhaled through his nose. "You’re insane."
"Maybe."
He stared at the form another moment, then slid it into the shredder beside his desk. The machine whirred.
"Get the paperwork started with admin" he said quietly. "You have until 14:30 to sign everything and take possession. After that, he’s your responsibility. Completely."
You nodded once and left before he could change his mind.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of forms, liability waivers, emergency contact sheets and a mandatory psych evaluation you barely passed because the counselor kept asking if you understood the danger and you kept saying yes.
At 2:15 pm you stood outside Room 47 with a transport crate on wheels (protocol oblige), a heavy-duty collar-and-leash set no one expected you to actually use and a heart that felt too large for your ribcage.
A security officer unlocked the door.
Hongjoong was already on his feet. He didn’t growl. He didn’t bare teeth. He simply watched as you stepped inside alone, closing the door behind you.
The room smelled of metal, antiseptic and the faint musk of snow leopard: clean, cold, wild.
You set the crate down slowly.
"I’m not here to trick you" you said, keeping your voice low and even. "They were going to kill you today. I told them no. I’m taking you home instead."
His ears flattened slightly. Tail tip twitched once.
"I know you don’t trust me. I know you have no reason to. But I’m not leaving this room without you and I’m not dragging you out in chains. So you have two choices." You lifted your empty hands. "Walk out with me, or I sit here until they come in with the needle anyway."
Silence stretched thin and dangerous. Then Hongjoong moved. Not toward you, past you. He circled the small space once, twice, tail brushing the wall. His gaze never left your face.
When he finally stopped, he was close enough that you could see the faint scars running through his left eyebrow, the way his pupils flexed in the dim light. He spoke for the first time in four years and seven months. His voice was low, rough from disuse. "You’re going to regret this."
You swallowed once. "I know."
He studied you another long moment. Then he walked to the crate, crouched and climbed inside without being asked.
The latch clicked shut. You carried rolled him out of the east wing, past staring coworkers, past the security desk, past the front doors into late-afternoon sunlight he hadn’t felt in years.
He didn’t speak again during the drive. But when you reached your apartment and opened the crate door, he didn’t bolt. He stepped out slowly, tail low, ears swiveling, taking in the new space: the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom down the hall.
You stayed by the front door, giving him distance. He turned to look at you once, eyes unreadable. Then he padded silently to the farthest corner of the couch, curled into a tight ball and closed his eyes. Not trust. Not gratitude. Just… survival. For now.
You stood there a long time, watching the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the faint twitch of his tail even in sleep.
The first week felt like holding your breath underwater.
You came home from the shelter each evening expecting chaos: overturned furniture, shredded cushions, claw marks on the walls like territorial warnings. Instead the apartment was eerily still. Hongjoong claimed the far corner of the sectional sofa the moment you opened the crate that first afternoon and he hadn’t moved much since. He slept in tight coils, tail tucked over his nose, ears twitching at every street noise filtering through the single-paned windows. When he was awake he watched. Always watched.
You learned his patterns quickly because they were so rigidly consistent. He drank from the wide ceramic bowl you’d placed on the kitchen floor, never from the glass you left on the counter everyday, as though human containers carried contamination. He ate the high-protein hybrid kibble you poured at exactly 7:00 pm, picking through it with delicate precision, leaving anything that smelled faintly of vegetables or grain. And every night at 11:43 pm (you checked the clock the first three times) he padded silently to the balcony door, sat with his back to the glass, and stared out at the city lights until dawn.
You gave him space. Not because you were afraid but because every book, every training seminar, every whispered story from veteran handlers said the same thing: forced proximity with a long-term isolation case was the fastest way to trigger a defensive snap. So you moved carefully. You spoke in the same soft monotone you’d used outside his shelter room, never raising your voice, never making sudden gestures. You announced your intentions before you acted.
"I’m going to turn on the kitchen light now."
"I’m opening the fridge."
"I’m taking a shower, it’ll take twenty minutes."
He never answered, but his ears would flick in your direction, acknowledging receipt. That small reaction felt like victory.
You bought things for him in careful increments, never all at once so it wouldn’t feel like overwhelming charity. A thick wool blanket the color of fresh snow (he ignored it for three days, then dragged it behind the couch and slept on it). A scratching post taller than you were, he tested it once with slow, deliberate drags of his claws, left faint silvery streaks in the sisal, then never touched it again. A wide, water fountain because the shelter notes said snow leopards preferred moving water, he drank from it exclusively after the first night, tail tip curling in what might have been approval.
You didn’t try to touch him. Not even close. You didn’t try to make eye contact for longer than a second. You didn’t sit on the couch if he was already there. Instead you took the armchair across the room, or the floor cushion by the coffee table, or, when your legs ached from twelve-hour shifts, you sat at the kitchen island with your back to him, pretending to scroll through shelter reports on your tablet. You let him dictate the distance.
And slowly, almost imperceptibly, the apartment began to smell like him. Not overpoweringly, just enough that when you came home after a long day the familiar musk of clean fur, cold stone and faint cedar greeted you before the smell of last night’s takeout did. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was… grounding. Like the apartment had finally decided to belong to someone other than you.
You started talking to him again, the way you had through the glass. Not expecting answers. Just filling the quiet.
"The new kid in intake today cried the whole transport. Wolf-dog mix, maybe sixteen months old. Kept asking for his mom. Broke my heart."
Or: "Director Park asked if you’d torn the place apart yet. I told him you’re neater than I am."
Or, once, very quietly after a particularly bad day: "I’m glad you’re here. Even if you never speak to me."
He never responded, but he never left the room when you spoke either. It felt like progress.
Then came the evening that would change everything. You’d had a double shift: two emergency intakes, a fight in the large-cat wing that required sedation of three tigers, and a power outage that sent half the shelter into backup-generator panic. By the time you dragged yourself through the front door at 10:17 pm, every muscle ached and your scrubs smelled like fear-sweat and antiseptic.
You kicked off your shoes, dropped your bag, flicked on the entryway light.
Hongjoong was already sitting upright on the couch, ears pinned flat, pupils blown so wide the amber irises were thin rings.
You froze. "Hey" you said softly. "Long day. I’m just gonna-"
You took one step toward the kitchen. He moved. Not the slow, deliberate prowl you’d grown accustomed to. This was explosive, silent, liquid violence. One heartbeat he was on the cushion; the next he was across the room, claws out, slamming you back against the wall beside the coat rack. Your skull cracked against plaster. His forearm pressed across your throat, not choking, but pinning. His other hand braced beside your head, claws sunk into drywall. Hot breath fanned your cheek. His tail lashed hard enough to knock a framed photo to the floor; glass shattered somewhere unimportant.
You didn’t scream. Training kicked in: don’t scream, don’t struggle, don’t challenge. You went limp instead, eyes fixed on the middle distance past his shoulder, breathing shallow and even.
He snarled, low, guttural, more vibration than sound. "You reek" he rasped, voice shredded from disuse. "Other cats. Dogs. Fear. Blood."
His nose dragged along your jaw, inhaling sharply. "Mine" he hissed, the word torn out like it hurt him to say it. "This place. Mine."
You swallowed carefully around the pressure on your throat. "I’m sorry" you whispered. "I didn’t realize-"
His claws flexed. Pinpricks of pain bloomed along your collarbone where fabric tore. Then, abruptly, he released you. He stepped back three paces, tail whipping, chest heaving. His ears stayed flat. His pupils hadn’t shrunk.
You slid down the wall until your knees hit the floor, hands trembling so badly you clasped them between your thighs to hide it. Hongjoong stared at you for another endless second. Then he turned, padded back to the couch, leapt onto the highest backrest and disappeared over the top into the shadowed corner he’d claimed as his den.
You stayed on the floor until your heartbeat stopped thundering in your ears. The scratches weren’t deep: three shallow lines across your collarbone, already clotting but they stung like betrayal.
You cleaned them in the bathroom with shaking hands, applied antiseptic, taped gauze over the worst of them. Then you changed into clean clothes, threw the blood-scented scrubs into the washer on hot and quietly set his dinner bowl down in its usual place.
He didn’t come out to eat that night. Or the next morning. You left the food anyway. Fresh water. A new blanket folded beside his old one.
From that moment on, you stopped trying. No more soft announcements before moving through the apartment. No more casual one-sided conversation. No more lingering in shared spaces.
You fed him on schedule, 7:00 pm exactly, then retreated to your bedroom with the door closed. You showered with the fan on to drown out any sound he might make. You worked late at the shelter whenever possible, taking extra shifts just to delay coming home to the suffocating silence.
When you were home, you became a ghost in your own apartment. You used the armchair only when he was clearly asleep. You walked wide arcs around the couch. You kept your gaze lowered, never meeting those glacial eyes even by accident. You stopped buying things for him. No more blankets, no more toys, no more attempts to make the space feel welcoming. If he wanted comfort, he could use what was already there. If he wanted interaction, he could initiate it. He didn’t.
Days blurred into weeks. The apartment stayed clean, unnaturally so. He groomed obsessively, fur gleaming like fresh powder. He ate every bite of food you left. But he never once approached you.
Sometimes, late at night when you couldn’t sleep, you would sit on the floor of your bedroom with your back against the closed door and listen. You could hear him moving: soft footfalls, the faint drag of claws on hardwood when he stretched, the rhythmic thump of his tail against the couch frame when something outside startled him.
Once you thought you heard a low, rumbling sound that might have been a purr. You told yourself it was the refrigerator.
December arrived with rain that hammered the windows for days. Hongjoong took to sitting on the windowsill, nose almost touching the glass, watching water streak down in rivulets. You wondered if he missed snow. You wondered if he remembered mountains. You wondered if he hated you now, or if he’d simply gone back to the state he’d lived in for four years at the shelter: watchful, untouchable, alone.
You stopped wondering so loudly inside your own head. You stopped wondering at all. In January, you had settled into a routine that felt sustainable, if joyless. You woke at 5:45 am, showered, dressed, left his breakfast on the way out. You worked. You came home at whatever hour the shift ended, set dinner down without looking toward the living room, retreated to your room. You slept. You repeated.
The scratches healed into thin pale lines. You wore high-necked shirts to the shelter so no one would ask questions. No one did. You told yourself this was better. He was alive. He was safe. He wasn’t in a steel room waiting for a needle. That had to be enough. But sometimes, when you passed the couch and caught the faint scent of musk and fur, you felt the absence like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing.
You had adopted him to save him. Instead you’d built a new cage. This one just had better lighting. And softer floors. And no cameras.
On one evening, you came home to find the food untouched. You paused in the doorway. The apartment was dark except for the blue glow of the city bleeding through the balcony glass. Hongjoong was on the windowsill again, back to you, tail curled tightly around his feet.
You set your bag down quietly, walked to the kitchen, poured fresh kibble anyway, set the bowl in its place. Then, because you couldn’t help it, you spoke for the first time in six weeks.
"I’m sorry I smell like the shelter" you said to the darkness. "I can’t help it. It’s on my skin now. Probably always will be."
Silence.
You exhaled. "I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight. Give you the whole place." (The spare room is the furthest from the living room)
You turned toward the hallway. Behind you, a low sound, barely audible. A single, rough word. "Wait."
You froze. He didn’t repeat it. He didn’t move. But the word hung between you like smoke. You waited another thirty seconds. Then you continued down the hall, closed the spare-room door behind you and sat on the edge of the bare mattress with your head in your hands.
He had spoken. After everything. One word. Wait. You didn’t know what it meant. You didn’t dare hope. But for the first time since you took him in, your heart beat fast enough to hurt.
The apartment had become a museum of careful distance. February slipped into March without fanfare. Snow gave way to rain that fell against the windows like a second skin. You kept the balcony door cracked at night for air, even though the city noise filtered in: sirens, distant laughter, the low rumble of delivery scooters. Hongjoong still perched on the windowsill most evenings, nose almost touching the glass, tail curled so tightly the tip trembled. You no longer spoke to announce your movements. You no longer spoke at all unless it was necessary: "Dinner’s down." "I’m heading out." "Good night."
He answered in monosyllables when he answered at all. "Yes." "No." "Fine."
That single "wait" from weeks ago had never been repeated. You told yourself it had been a fluke, a slip of the tongue after too many weeks of silence. You told yourself not to read meaning into it. You mostly succeeded.
Work became your anchor. The shelter was busier than ever. You started bringing home temporary cases: a pair of lynx kittens who needed bottle-feeding every three hours, a timid caracal recovering from a broken leg, a young clouded leopard hybrid who flinched at every sudden noise. They stayed in the spare bedroom you’d quietly converted into a nursery. You spent evenings there instead of the living room, rocking tiny bodies, murmuring lullabies, cleaning formula stains from your shirts.
Hongjoong noticed. At first it was subtle. His ears would flatten when you rolled a carrier past the couch. His tail would lash once, hard, against the cushion. He stopped sitting on the windowsill when the nursery door was open; instead he paced the hallway in slow, deliberate circuits, claws clicking faintly on hardwood. You pretended not to see.
One evening in late June you came home with a fox hybrid kit, barely weaned, red fur matted with street grime, trembling so violently his teeth chattered. You carried him straight to the bathroom for a warm bath. Hongjoong was already in the hallway when you stepped out of the elevator. He didn’t move aside. He stood in the center of the corridor, shoulders squared, pupils thin slits.
You paused. "I need to get him cleaned up" you said quietly. "He’s freezing."
Hongjoong’s gaze dropped to the bundle in your arms. The kit whimpered, pressing his face into your neck. A low growl rolled out of Hongjoong’s chest, slow, continuous, like distant thunder. You met his eyes for the first time in months.
"I’ll keep him in the spare room" you said. "He won’t be out here."
The growl cut off abruptly. Hongjoong stepped aside. You walked past without another word. That night the pacing started. Soft at first, footfalls up and down the hallway. Then faster. Then accompanied by the scrape of claws against baseboards. You lay awake in the spare room with the fox kit curled against your chest, listening to the restless rhythm on the other side of the door. At 3:17 am the pacing stopped.
You heard the soft thump of him jumping onto the couch. Then silence.
The next morning the food bowl was untouched again. You left it anyway.
Over the following weeks the pattern sharpened. Every time you brought home a new foster, every single time, Hongjoong’s behavior shifted. He would position himself between you and the nursery door when you rolled carriers inside. He would sit directly in your path when you left for work, forcing you to step around him. Once, when the clouded leopard hissed at you during a nail trim, Hongjoong appeared in the doorway so fast you didn’t see him move; he didn’t enter, just stood there, staring until the younger hybrid went quiet and hid under the bed.
You started leaving work earlier when possible, just to minimize the hours the fosters spent alone with him prowling the apartment. You told yourself it was protectiveness toward territory. You told yourself it wasn’t personal. You were lying.
May arrived with a heatwave that turned the city into a furnace. The air conditioner struggled; you kept it set to 24°C and still woke up damp with sweat. The fox kit had been adopted out. The lynx kittens too. Only the clouded leopard remained, still skittish, still healing, still sleeping in the crook of your arm every night because thunderstorms made him cry.
Hongjoong stopped eating on the days you came home smelling strongest of the nursery. You found half-finished bowls shoved under the couch. Water left untouched. Once you discovered the scratching post dragged into the hallway and shredded to ribbons, fibers scattered like snow. You stopped bringing fosters home after that.
Director Park raised an eyebrow when you requested to cut back on temporary placements. "Everything okay at home?" he asked.
You smiled tightly. "Just need a break."
He didn’t push.
The apartment felt bigger without the soft sounds of kittens or the patter of small paws. It also felt colder. Hongjoong returned to the windowsill. But now he watched you. Not the city. You.
When you moved through the kitchen he tracked every step. When you sat in the armchair with a book he stared until you looked up, then looked away. When you showered he waited outside the bathroom door; you could see the shadow of his tail under the gap.
You started locking your bedroom door at night. Not because you were afraid he would hurt you. Because you were afraid of what might happen if he didn’t.
One night, you came home late, overtime covering a staff shortage. The apartment was dark except for the blue glow from the balcony. Hongjoong sat on the back of the couch, tail hanging down, swaying slowly like a metronome counting something only he could hear.
You set your bag down. "I’m home" you said, habit more than expectation.
He didn’t answer. You walked past him toward the kitchen. His tail snapped out, curling around your wrist, not hard, but firm enough to stop you. You froze.
His voice came low, rough, barely above a whisper. "You smell like him again."
You looked down at the tail wrapped around your skin.
"The clouded leopard" he said. "His scent’s all over you. On your neck. Your arms. Your clothes."
You exhaled slowly. "He was scared tonight. Thunderstorm. I held him until he fell asleep."
Hongjoong’s grip tightened, just a fraction. "Then you came home to me smelling like him."
You met his eyes. Dark amber. Pupils blown wide in the dim light.
"Is that a problem?" you asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away. His tail uncoiled from your wrist, slid up your arm, brushed the side of your neck where the kitten had nuzzled.
"Yes" he said finally.
"Why?"
"Because I thought-" His voice cracked. He swallowed. Tried again. "I thought when you brought me here… you chose me."
The words landed like stones in still water. You felt them ripple outward, touching every careful wall you’d built for months.
"I did choose you" you said.
"Then why do you keep bringing them home?" His ears flattened. "Why do you let them sleep in your arms? Why do you come back smelling like someone else?"
You took one careful step closer. He didn’t retreat.
"I brought them home because it’s my job" you said. "Because they needed somewhere safe. The same reason I brought you."
His tail lashed once. "I’m not the same" he hissed.
"No" you agreed. "You’re not."
Silence stretched. Then he spoke again, so softly you almost missed it.
"I waited."
You blinked.
"I waited four years in that room. No one came close. No one stayed. Then you did. Every day. Talking through the glass like I was… someone." His gaze dropped to the floor. "I thought when you took me out of there, it meant something. Then you stopped. You stopped talking. Stopped looking. Started bringing others."
His claws flexed against the couch leather.
"I got scared" he admitted. "Scared you’d realize I wasn’t worth it. Scared you’d send me back. Or worse, keep me but never look at me again."
Your throat tightened. "Hongjoong…"
"I attacked you" he continued, voice raw. "I hurt you. And after that I didn’t know how to fix it. So I stayed quiet. Stayed away. Thought maybe if I didn’t bother you, you’d keep me anyway."
He lifted his eyes again. "I’m sorry."
The apology hung between you, simple, jagged, honest.
You stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough to see the faint tremble in his ears.
"I never stopped wanting you here" you whispered. "I just didn’t know how to reach you after… after that night."
He exhaled shakily. "I didn’t want to hurt you again."
"You didn’t."
"I could have."
"But you didn’t."
Another long silence. Then he moved, slowly, deliberately. He slid off the couch back, landed soundlessly in front of you. His hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed your cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Careful. Reverent.
"I don’t want to smell anyone else on you" he murmured.
You swallowed. "Then don’t."
His pupils dilated fully. He leaned in, slow enough you could stop him if you wanted. You didn’t. His nose brushed your jaw first. Inhaling. A low rumble started in his chest, not a growl. A purr. Deep, continuous, vibrating through both of you. He licked once, slow, warm, deliberate, over the spot where the clouded leopard’s scent lingered strongest. Then again. And again. Until your skin tingled and your knees felt unsteady.
"Hongjoong…"
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. "Tell me to stop."
You shook your head. He kissed you. Not gentle. Desperate. Teeth and tongue and the faint scrape of fangs against your lower lip. His hands slid into your hair, tilting your head, holding you exactly where he wanted. Tail wrapped around your thigh, possessive, anchoring. You gasped into his mouth. He growled approval.
Clothes came off in a frantic rush: your shirt over your head, his thin sleep pants shoved down, your jeans kicked somewhere unimportant. He lifted you effortlessly, carried you to the couch, laid you down on the blanket he’d claimed months ago. The one that smelled like clean fur and musk and him.
He hovered above you, breathing hard, eyes searching yours. "Last chance" he rasped. "Tell me no."
You reached up, cupped his face, pulled him down. "Yes."
He claimed your mouth again, deeper, hungrier. Then he moved lower. Teeth grazed your collarbone, over the faint silver scars he’d left. He paused there, licked them slowly, reverently, like an apology pressed into skin.
"I’ll never hurt you again" he whispered against the marks.
You believed him.
His hands mapped you: strong fingers, careful claws retracted, palms warm and rough from years of gripping bars and concrete. He kissed every inch he uncovered: the hollow of your throat, the curve of your breast, the dip of your waist. When he reached the inside of your thigh he nuzzled there, inhaling deeply, rumbling with satisfaction. "Mine" he growled softly.
Then he tasted you. Slow at first, exploring, learning. Then faster, hungrier, until your back arched and your fingers tangled in his hair and you were gasping his name like a prayer. He didn’t stop until you shattered: back bowed, thighs trembling, crying out into the dark apartment.
Only then did he crawl back up, kissing you so you could taste yourself on his tongue.
He settled between your legs, hard length pressing against you, hot and insistent. "Look at me" he said. You did. He pushed in slowly, careful, watching your face for any sign of pain. There was stretch, pressure, fullness, but no pain. Only heat. Only him.
When he was seated fully he stilled, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "You feel…" He swallowed. "Perfect."
You wrapped your legs around him. "Move."
He did. Slow rolls at first, deep, deliberate, letting you feel every inch. Then faster. Harder. The couch creaked beneath you. His tail curled around your calf, holding you open. His teeth found your shoulder, not breaking skin, just pressing, marking without drawing blood.
You raked your nails down his back. He snarled, pleased, primal. The rhythm built until it was frantic: skin slapping, breath mingling, growls and moans overlapping.
When you clenched around him he buried his face in your neck, fangs grazing, hips stuttering. "Come for me" he rasped. "Let me feel it."
You did, harder than before, crying his name, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. He followed seconds later, deep growl vibrating against your throat, hips grinding flush as he spilled inside you, marking you from the inside out.
He didn’t pull away. He stayed buried, arms wrapped around you, tail still curled around your leg, purring so loudly it rattled your bones. You stroked his hair, his ears, the base of his tail until the purr softened to a contented rumble.
He nuzzled your neck. "You're so mine" he whispered again, this time gentle.
You kissed the top of his head. "Of course, kitty"
He stayed inside you until he softened, then carefully pulled out, gathered you against his chest, and carried you to the bedroom, your bedroom.
He laid you down, crawled in beside you, pulled the covers over both of you. His tail draped across your hip. His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers lacing tight.
"I’m not letting you go" he murmured into your hair.
You squeezed his hand. "I’m not going anywhere."
He pressed a kiss to your temple. "Sleep."
You did, wrapped in fur and warmth and the steady thump of his heart against your back.
(mentions of death, r*pe, self harm, drinking blood, cursing, loss of child, south Asian inspired + fem reader, vampires, a bit of polyteez, I am so sorry I missed anything!)
You still remember that night.
How could you ever forget?
You were with your family, your mother was holding back tears while your father went on and off about how you and your husband would be amazing parents. Your husband held your hand while holding back tears of his own, everyone was happy about your pregnancy. The thought of having your own child after trying for so many years made you want to cry.
But nothing peaceful lasts for long. It all happened so fast but you remember seeing that creature in front of the door. In only a few seconds your mother's body hit the cold wooden floor, that thing threw your father outside for the other vampires to feast on. The screams of your father and those dead eyes of your mother. You tried saving them but you failed.
You gasped as you dropped your earring and looked at your shaky hands. That night. It haunts you every day, every night, every day you wake up from your slumber feelings that bastards hands all over you again and again. Telling you how beautiful you were, how it would be a waste to let you die. He killed your child, he took that opportunity away from you.
"[Name], are you alright?" A familiar voice spoke from behind you, Seonghwa's hands reaching down to rest on your shoulder. How unfortunately lucky you were, being taken in by the prince of vampires and his many companions. You were taken in this coven because you had no other option. Many would die to be in your position. "You don't have to do this, you know." He spoke with hesitation because he knew he was a fool to think you would ever listen to him. "I am honouring the death of my family, Seonghwa. I cannot miss this." He didn't need you to look at him for him to feel your glare, your tone was enough to make Seonghwa remove his hand from your shoulder and step back.
"I understand but I can hear your thoughts, everyone can-" "Well you don't have to listen to them!" You cut him off, collapsing your hands together with a loud smack as you turned your head to face him. The dim light of the room and the lit candles made you look more intimidating if he had to be honest. But that twitch of annoyance from him didn't go unnoticed. You were such an ungrateful child. He spoiled your rotten and this was the thanks he got, what bullshit.
The silence was deafening but you didn't care instead you picked up your earring and continued to put it on. Seonghwa stared at you before speaking up. "Hongjoong, Yunho and I are going hunting tonight. I expect you to be there when I reach, you will feast tonight or else should I make San force you again?" The fucking dick was threatening you. You knew Seonghwa wasn't asking you, he was telling you to be there before he arrives.
"Fine." You muttered and Seonghwa hummed with satisfaction before getting up and leaving the room, making sure to slam the door. The nerve.
𒇫
"That child." Seonghwa groaned, wiping the blood from his mouth. "What do you expect? The poor fledgling hates us, hates herself. She loathes being a vampire and I still remember how long it took to get her to stop hurting herself every now and then." Yunho came downstairs and threw two corpses on the floor, next to him Hongjoong nodded in agreement while stepping on one of the corpses head. "Might I add that she still isn't talking to San because of what happened. Think about it as Jongho's situation."
"This isn't the same as Jongho's thing!" Seonghwa shouted before pinching his nose and letting out a long sigh. Yunho and Hongjoong looked at each other both understanding that they needed to change the topic before Seonghwa would get mad and go on a killing rampage. "My love, you just need to give her time. She's still young and getting used to the ropes." Yunho spoke softly, he walked over to Seonghwa, his hands going to the Prince's cheeks. Seonghwa was comforted by the touch and relaxed his shoulders before muttering a simple yes.
Hongjoong and Yunho knew one thing, Seonghwa was sick of waiting for you to get used to everything. They knew he wasn't used to waiting for so long, the sweet prince never had to wait because he always got what he wanted. A year for a vampire was nothing but for Seonghwa it was longer than all the hundreds of years he's spent on this earth.
"I think this is enough for dinner. San and Wooyoung aren't coming home tonight, they'll get something to eat by themselves." Hongjoong spoke cooly, carrying spme of the corpses. Yunho and Seonghwa nodded and all three of them cleaned up before leaving to get back home.
𒇫
Your ankle bracelet let out soft clinks as you jumped from one stone to the other. How you missed when your husband and you would have competitions, races to see who would make it to the other side of the forest or who would make it home first. The moonlight felt so calm, it felt like it was just you and this forest. Finally you were away from this madness that you still can't accept. No matter how many days pass, you can't help but still think this is a dream. You still pinch yourself and hope you'll wake up with your family around you but it isn't. And your family isn't coming back.
That was the hard truth.
You were pulled out of your zone as a voice echoed in your head. "I hope you're close, Seonghwa and the rest are coming back. The hunt was successful." You didn't say much and you know Yeosang was hesitant to talk to you. His nonchalant attitude flattered before he spoke up again. "Seonghwa isn't in a good mood tonight, I think you shouldn't test his limit, [name]." You knew Yeosang was only trying to be nice, that's what he always did because he wasn't close to you and because you knew you've been on edge with everyone thanks to San.
"Well that's not my issue if the prince is whining." You spoke without thinking knowing well that somewhere out there that same prince was listening. A sigh escaped your lips and your hand went up to lay against your cheek as you muttered to Yeosang. "Fine, I'll be home soon." "Good." And saying that Yeosang's voice faded out of your head and once again you were left alone with your thoughts. You hated how they acted so normal, how they were always on edge around you. You only had that dumbass San to blame.
That day, when San used his powers against you, you haven't been the same and you know that. None of them have ever used there powers on you, maybe mind reading, but never anything intense.
"It doesn't matter what you do or how you do it, you are a killer, [name]! Look at yourself! You're a fool to think that there's any other way to live." San shouted baring his fangs at you, cornering you from the rest. Wooyoung and Yunho tried to stop you two but it didn't work. Instead San used his ability to make you comply, your whole body frozen under his submission as he fed you crimson red blood. You remember the choking, you desperately tried to not drink it but it didn't matter as when you finally gained control it was too late. Blood was all over your clothes, your chin, and it stained your teeth.. San shows his care in many ways, even through aggression.
He still tries to talk to you, often telling you about something he caught, apologising, asking you if you like a certain type of necklace, all his attempts fail. Eventually you learned to tune him out, you know it bothers him and everyone else. They hate it when you tune them out and hide your thoughts, day by day you get more control and whenever they try, all they can hear from your mind is radio silence.
You held your shoes and walked inside the mansion, fortunately for you, you came in a few seconds before Seonghwa came inside. Everyone sat down around the dinner table, Yunho say next to you and poured you a glass. They've started making you feed before everyone else, you know what happens when you don't comply.
The shake in your hands was evident but you gulped down the blood in seconds hoping the taste wouldn't linger. All their stares went away and everyone started their meal. You'll never get used to this life. They know that. But they'll force you into it even if you bite, scratch, shout, scream, kick, whatever you did it didn't matter. They had more power and they weren't giving up on you so quickly.
I'm so happy I finally got this done because I've been dying to write this for a while now. I've barely seen any south Asian reader fics so I wanted to try writing one myself! If you guys have any suggestions or comments please tell me!
(mentions of death, r*pe, self harm, drinking blood, cursing, loss of child, south Asian inspired + fem reader, vampires, a bit of polyteez, I am so sorry I missed anything!)
You still remember that night.
How could you ever forget?
You were with your family, your mother was holding back tears while your father went on and off about how you and your husband would be amazing parents. Your husband held your hand while holding back tears of his own, everyone was happy about your pregnancy. The thought of having your own child after trying for so many years made you want to cry.
But nothing peaceful lasts for long. It all happened so fast but you remember seeing that creature in front of the door. In only a few seconds your mother's body hit the cold wooden floor, that thing threw your father outside for the other vampires to feast on. The screams of your father and those dead eyes of your mother. You tried saving them but you failed.
You gasped as you dropped your earring and looked at your shaky hands. That night. It haunts you every day, every night, every day you wake up from your slumber feelings that bastards hands all over you again and again. Telling you how beautiful you were, how it would be a waste to let you die. He killed your child, he took that opportunity away from you.
"[Name], are you alright?" A familiar voice spoke from behind you, Seonghwa's hands reaching down to rest on your shoulder. How unfortunately lucky you were, being taken in by the prince of vampires and his many companions. You were taken in this coven because you had no other option. Many would die to be in your position. "You don't have to do this, you know." He spoke with hesitation because he knew he was a fool to think you would ever listen to him. "I am honouring the death of my family, Seonghwa. I cannot miss this." He didn't need you to look at him for him to feel your glare, your tone was enough to make Seonghwa remove his hand from your shoulder and step back.
"I understand but I can hear your thoughts, everyone can-" "Well you don't have to listen to them!" You cut him off, collapsing your hands together with a loud smack as you turned your head to face him. The dim light of the room and the lit candles made you look more intimidating if he had to be honest. But that twitch of annoyance from him didn't go unnoticed. You were such an ungrateful child. He spoiled your rotten and this was the thanks he got, what bullshit.
The silence was deafening but you didn't care instead you picked up your earring and continued to put it on. Seonghwa stared at you before speaking up. "Hongjoong, Yunho and I are going hunting tonight. I expect you to be there when I reach, you will feast tonight or else should I make San force you again?" The fucking dick was threatening you. You knew Seonghwa wasn't asking you, he was telling you to be there before he arrives.
"Fine." You muttered and Seonghwa hummed with satisfaction before getting up and leaving the room, making sure to slam the door. The nerve.
𒇫
"That child." Seonghwa groaned, wiping the blood from his mouth. "What do you expect? The poor fledgling hates us, hates herself. She loathes being a vampire and I still remember how long it took to get her to stop hurting herself every now and then." Yunho came downstairs and threw two corpses on the floor, next to him Hongjoong nodded in agreement while stepping on one of the corpses head. "Might I add that she still isn't talking to San because of what happened. Think about it as Jongho's situation."
"This isn't the same as Jongho's thing!" Seonghwa shouted before pinching his nose and letting out a long sigh. Yunho and Hongjoong looked at each other both understanding that they needed to change the topic before Seonghwa would get mad and go on a killing rampage. "My love, you just need to give her time. She's still young and getting used to the ropes." Yunho spoke softly, he walked over to Seonghwa, his hands going to the Prince's cheeks. Seonghwa was comforted by the touch and relaxed his shoulders before muttering a simple yes.
Hongjoong and Yunho knew one thing, Seonghwa was sick of waiting for you to get used to everything. They knew he wasn't used to waiting for so long, the sweet prince never had to wait because he always got what he wanted. A year for a vampire was nothing but for Seonghwa it was longer than all the hundreds of years he's spent on this earth.
"I think this is enough for dinner. San and Wooyoung aren't coming home tonight, they'll get something to eat by themselves." Hongjoong spoke cooly, carrying spme of the corpses. Yunho and Seonghwa nodded and all three of them cleaned up before leaving to get back home.
𒇫
Your ankle bracelet let out soft clinks as you jumped from one stone to the other. How you missed when your husband and you would have competitions, races to see who would make it to the other side of the forest or who would make it home first. The moonlight felt so calm, it felt like it was just you and this forest. Finally you were away from this madness that you still can't accept. No matter how many days pass, you can't help but still think this is a dream. You still pinch yourself and hope you'll wake up with your family around you but it isn't. And your family isn't coming back.
That was the hard truth.
You were pulled out of your zone as a voice echoed in your head. "I hope you're close, Seonghwa and the rest are coming back. The hunt was successful." You didn't say much and you know Yeosang was hesitant to talk to you. His nonchalant attitude flattered before he spoke up again. "Seonghwa isn't in a good mood tonight, I think you shouldn't test his limit, [name]." You knew Yeosang was only trying to be nice, that's what he always did because he wasn't close to you and because you knew you've been on edge with everyone thanks to San.
"Well that's not my issue if the prince is whining." You spoke without thinking knowing well that somewhere out there that same prince was listening. A sigh escaped your lips and your hand went up to lay against your cheek as you muttered to Yeosang. "Fine, I'll be home soon." "Good." And saying that Yeosang's voice faded out of your head and once again you were left alone with your thoughts. You hated how they acted so normal, how they were always on edge around you. You only had that dumbass San to blame.
That day, when San used his powers against you, you haven't been the same and you know that. None of them have ever used there powers on you, maybe mind reading, but never anything intense.
"It doesn't matter what you do or how you do it, you are a killer, [name]! Look at yourself! You're a fool to think that there's any other way to live." San shouted baring his fangs at you, cornering you from the rest. Wooyoung and Yunho tried to stop you two but it didn't work. Instead San used his ability to make you comply, your whole body frozen under his submission as he fed you crimson red blood. You remember the choking, you desperately tried to not drink it but it didn't matter as when you finally gained control it was too late. Blood was all over your clothes, your chin, and it stained your teeth.. San shows his care in many ways, even through aggression.
He still tries to talk to you, often telling you about something he caught, apologising, asking you if you like a certain type of necklace, all his attempts fail. Eventually you learned to tune him out, you know it bothers him and everyone else. They hate it when you tune them out and hide your thoughts, day by day you get more control and whenever they try, all they can hear from your mind is radio silence.
You held your shoes and walked inside the mansion, fortunately for you, you came in a few seconds before Seonghwa came inside. Everyone sat down around the dinner table, Yunho say next to you and poured you a glass. They've started making you feed before everyone else, you know what happens when you don't comply.
The shake in your hands was evident but you gulped down the blood in seconds hoping the taste wouldn't linger. All their stares went away and everyone started their meal. You'll never get used to this life. They know that. But they'll force you into it even if you bite, scratch, shout, scream, kick, whatever you did it didn't matter. They had more power and they weren't giving up on you so quickly.
I'm so happy I finally got this done because I've been dying to write this for a while now. I've barely seen any south Asian reader fics so I wanted to try writing one myself! If you guys have any suggestions or comments please tell me!
Hai!! I really like your mafia ateez series and I wanted to ask how would any of the boys react to reader just being numb? Like no crying, begging, just accepting punishments and obeying them °∆°
Hmmmm this is a good prompt! Thank you for the question! I love answering stuff like this. Anyways. Yes.
!TW! Mentioned self harm, this is still a Yandere mafia AU so please beware of said topics
Hongjoong I believe would be ONE of the firsts to notice. Deep down he would itch to hold you but would feel no remorse for making you feel numb. He would be proud of it. His project and perfect broken down doll. Definitely wouldn’t do anything to help you just giving you praises throughout the day.
Seonghwa would secretly LOVE it but he would say a word about it. Not a peep. Just always by your side for support and to listen. At the end of the day though that’s what Seonghwa also wants. A doll. Not having to listen to your cries about not wanting to be theirs would be such a weight lifted off of him. I imagine he’d become much more clingy.
Yunho although Yunho also wants a doll he would be one to get a little worried for you. Bedroom searches would become more frequent, more body checks “For no reason baby I’m just looking” with an intense gaze not missing a single surface of skin unchecked for bruises or cuts (caused by any of the pair of hands in that house….ANY) He would become more clingy to in the aspect of keeping an eye on you. After all your his in all of Ateez and he wouldn’t trust another member to keep a close enough eye on you.
Yeosang Similar to Hongjoong. He would be rather proud. Seeing you break down so beautifully would mean the world to him. Unlike Hongjoong though he wouldn’t just sit back and dwell on how perfect you are and praise you, he would still rather throw rude remarks your way and tease you, taunt you, try to get under your skin. His eyes boring into your soul looking for any reactions. He could never get bored of it.
San would sit and pout at seeing the spark leave your eyes. Whether it was because he missed the playful, angry, sad, mood swings it was still something and now that your eyes have become dull with nothing he would become sad, miss you and try to talk to you only to feel ignored and overlooked. Once he gets sad from the lack of attention he would distance himself tenfold.
Mingi would be similar to San. He’s rather sensitive on the inside. Seeing the sadness you bring San, the worry you bring Yunho, and the happiness you bring to Hongjoong he wouldn’t know what to feel. He’d become confused and distressed also missing you and distancing himself even avoiding you at all costs. Trying to distract Yunho from you in the meantime
Wooyoung I see getting angry more than anything. His love language is quite literally all the above so seeing you go numb would cause him to get defensive and think of you as ungrateful. Then see what you’re doing to Yunho? He would be furious. He would also give you rude remarks. Deep down it’s all a defensive facade knowing he’s been through similar conditions and seeing you fail to be as strong as him when he feels so weak would be something bad for him to be around.
Jongho would avoid the whole situation at all costs but wanna see you alone. It’s hard to get chances like that with Yunho always fussing over you but he would keep replaying paragraphs he wants to say to you. All varying between yelling at you, punishing you for some sort of reaction, to holding you and trying to sweetly coax it out of you. Jongho was ever a loving lover but what he knew was fighting- violence so sensing a tense situation makes him feel a sort of hatred towards you but just because he wants you to be you
OVERALL this would destroy them to see your spark burn out. Even that ones it made happy (ok maybe not Yeosang) but eventually it will cause problems amongst all of them and seeing each other hurting, they would wanna see you back on track and eventually coax you back to reality and give you back your fight
