i’ve mostly fallen out of kpop fandom spaces due to: 1. i’m 21 now and my patience for the constant petty drama within kpop is below 0, and 2. it’s something i tend to rely on when i’m in a bad place. i still love shinee and a handful of other groups, but my views on them as people and performers has grown with me, and writing fan fiction about kpop men as a lesbian is just not something i have energy for anymore. I simply have to admit that comphet really pushed me along in how i used to participate in kpop.
so, having said that, this account will no longer be posting fanfiction specifically. i’ve found myself needing a space where i feel completely unobserved to people in my life, where i can work out everything going on with me through writing without worrying who will read it, or if they’ll think it’s good enough (read: that i’m good enough). writing, ever since i was a young child, has been the greatest form of escapism and depressurization i’ve ever had; as i get older, it gets harder and harder for me to remember my moments of disarray and happiness without recording them. so, i’d like to keep them here, if only to find my inner voice again.
if you follow this account exclusively for shinee fanfiction or fanfiction in general, you can unfollow if you don’t want your dash cluttered with a stranger’s ramblings on the internet instead of a journal. thank you for liking what i’ve posted here regardless, your support was lovely! However, when i made this account i desperately craved validation from a peer group who shared my interests, and to an extent i still crave that validation but contemplation revealed that i have a big big problem with disconnecting outside validation with the worth of the things i produce, and in turn, my own worth. so i want to change that, or work towards feeling more at peace with how i’m seen by strangers and friends, and a baby step is changing the purpose of this blog.
thank you for following, for enjoying my old proudest projects, and for the kind comments and tags on old fics. best of luck to you all!
Maybe, you thought, a small shred of sympathy flaring in your chest, you should throw him a bone. After all, he had been good this whole time right? Quiet, doing his best to stay still regardless of what you did, the only signs of his frustration found in the clench of his jaw and the way he bit down on his lip to keep any noise in his throat.
You traced your fingertips along his jawline, shivers racing up your spine at his sharp inhale through his teeth, a delighted smile pulling at the corners of your lips. He was so...responsive, to everything you did, every perfectly innocent thing you did. Your thumb along his cheekbone, fingernails grazing the silk of the blindfold as he leaned further into your palm, breath puffing against the skin of your wrist.
You hummed; he made it so hard to deprive him. He was always too sweet, always too ready to bend to your every demand even if it prolonged his torture.
The idea was still forming on the tip of your tongue as you pushed yourself back down on his cock, letting the sigh fall from your lips freely (he always got so much more flustered when you made noise), smiling as he tensed, his jaw falling open and a shuddering gasp puffing from his wide lips. Mean, you were still being so mean.
You breathed in deeply, humming and burying your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, “Jonghyun?” You murmured.
He inhaled sharply; you wondered if he even realized how his teeth worried at his lip at your voice, probably assuming this was another test. He was so cute.
“I’ll let you get rid of one thing, cuffs or the blindfold?”
He paused.
You smiled again. He was such a good boy.
“You can speak”
“Just one?” His voice was hoarse, low, absolutely fucked out, all from you.
You hummed, pressing your lips to his jaw “Just one.”
The ultimatum in itself was kind of cruel, in hindsight. The difficulty of the choice became apparent in the sound of the handcuffs as he tugged on them before he sighed, head thumping against the wall behind him as it fell back.
“You’re mean” his voice was a soft, petulant whine, the chains behind his back clinking.
“Oh? Mean?” Your voice lilted in fake hurt and you watched as he inhaled sharply at his mistake.
“Maybe I should leave everything the way it is, and should I bring back no talking?”
“No!” desperation choked his voice, his words cracking, “I’ll be good, I’ll be good”
You hummed, pressing your thumb to his bottom lip, “you’ll be good? Promise?”
He leaned into your palm again, obediently, softly, “I’ll be good”
I’m procrastinating writing my novella by posting this. whatever. Maybe i wanted to read some slightly angsty, slightly fluffy, slightly ambiguous jinki fic. Here u go
You feel stupid; like the world’s biggest idiot, the laughing stock of god himself as you walk home in the rain, hoping to whatever force that spit on your existence that you would get frostbite and die.
You don’t know why everything always ended like this. You didn’t know why everyone was always so jealous of him, why they always felt so insecure, so upset, so emotional that they would need to-
You let out a hiccuping, shivering sob and wipe your cheeks with your soaked sleeve. It doesn’t matter; your face is already streaked with rain, rivulets of frigid water pouring from the strands of hair plastered to your face. But it’s pride that makes you rub your eyes raw. Fuck her. Fuck her and fuck everyone in the world who cheated. Why was it your fault? Why did she have to yell, and throw things, and cry- you could never handle it when she cried and she knew it. She cheated and made you feel guilty for it.
Your socks are soaked through and you can’t feel your fingers, your cheeks, your ears, or the way your teeth are chattering, but you manage to unlock the front door anyway. His car is pulled in, but you don’t want to see him.
“I wouldn’t have needed to if you weren’t so close to him”
He’s your best friend.
“How do you think I felt? When I saw you hung all over him?”
It was a hug. Jinki was your best friend. Why would she cheat on you over a hug?
“I was scared. You know what I’ve been through.”
Why did she blame you? Why was her trauma your fault?
You put your palm over your mouth and sob again, squeezing your eyes shut as the warm tears run down your cold-bitten cheeks. The light is on in the living room; Jinki’s home, he’ll give you those worried eyes at the state of your clothes and ask you why you didn’t call him to pick you up.
“If I had known you were in love with him, I never would have tried so hard”
You hated her right now.
It feels like your lungs are bleeding, twinges of pain in your ribs when you breathe in too hard, and you only realize he hears you crying when you hear hurried footsteps across the carpet.
“What happened? Are you okay?” His voice travels down the hallway; you can hear the furrow in his brow, the downwards quirk of his lips.
You snivel, hiccup, “No.”
His breath catches when he sees you, and you’re sure you’re a puffy eyed, red faced mess, but he still rushes forward to press his warm hands to your cold cheeks.
“Why didn’t you call me?” there it is, “I would have picked you up- you could get hypothermia!”
You sniff again and nod. The feeling in your chest gets worse, like your corseted and someone keeps pulling the strings tighter and tighter. You just wish the seams would rip already.
When he realizes you’re not saying more than that, his eyes soften, and you curse him internally.
“You can tell me about it later, okay? Let’s just get you warm.”
And he takes you softly by your trembling hands, pulling you to the restroom to throw some towels over your head, instructing you to take a warm shower, that he would have some hot chocolate ready for you when you get out. And after you finish, standing in there long enough to hope that he got tired and went to bed already, he’s still on the couch, two mugs of steaming hot cocoa with whipped cream on the coffee table and your favorite documentary playing. Your eyes well up again at the sight, and you sniffle quietly over sips of your drink as he dries your hair, hands soft and comforting and familiar.
And then, when he stops fretting that you’ll catch a cold, you lean into his side and throw your legs over his lap, like you always do. There’s a colony of penguins on the tv, honking and collecting small pebbles as the narrator pauses for effect; Jinki coos at them, and you crack a small, sad smile.
“She cheated on me.” You say, softly, voice rough from cold and tears. His hand, the one that had migrated to your shoulders, tightens on your shirt. Looking up through your lashes, you see his jaw clench.
“Was it the bisexual thing again?” He asks. He only ever sounds this annoyed when someone leaves you. It makes you feel warm.
“Kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“Mhm.”
You just want to leave it at that, for now. Just until you’re finished with your hot chocolate and the Arctic episode switches to the desert. You want to stay in this bubble and forget that this is exactly what she meant; the comfortable way you were so touchy with Jinki when it took two months for you to initiate skinship with her, the way you shared and apartment with him and didn’t want to move in with her. The way you were close with Jinki that you couldn’t be with her.
You set the mug down, the remains of undissolved cocoa swimming in the bottom of the cup in a chocolatey sludge. The rain patters against the window, and your hands have finally stopped itching after the shock of numbness to warmth.
“You’re in love with him”
You hated her because you loved him. Because she was right. Not right for cheating, not right for saying it was your fault, wrong for letting it bother her instead of talking to you, but right because you were so, so in love with Jinki.
“It wasn’t all because of the bisexual thing.” You whisper, staring at your fingers at they pick at the frayed hem of your pajama shorts. It’s scary, but you’re done pretending.
“Why, then?”
Your skin is buzzing where his hand is over your shoulder, warm and spreading through your skin like static. His steady breathing is against your cheek, and you’re warm, at home.
Fluff, soulmate!au (all of them at once kinda bc im indecisive), it’s really just me projecting and also wanting to hold jinki’s hand, drabble
Jinki isn’t scary. In fact, he’s the dictionary definition of whatever the antonym is for terrifying; his eyes are kind and bright, his smile looks like sunshine, and his voice sounds like springtime. Jinki is lovely, and most definitely not scary.
Soulmates, however, are heart-stoppingly horrific
Jinki isn’t scary. In fact, he’s the dictionary definition of whatever the antonym is for terrifying; his eyes are kind and bright, his smile looks like sunshine, and his voice sounds like springtime. Jinki is lovely, and most definitely not scary.
Soulmates, however, are heart-stoppingly horrific, if you’re, well, you. The kind of horror that makes you sweat when you’re freezing; the kind that keeps you up at night with what if’s and how.
How do you know your soulmate will actually care?
What if you don’t actually like them and it’s just the soulmate bond editing your emotions?
What if they’re not really your soulmate?
Well, the last one isn’t true on your half, at least. The glow from the red string around your pinkie keeps a good amount of certainty in your heart, and the other end is attached tightly to him.
Soulmates are scary, and Jinki is lovely. You already put him through hell, running away when you saw your string around his finger and he looked at you with a metaphorical light bulb over his head. You had handed him the money for your coffee and ran out of the shop like a bat out of hell. Of course, you came back; you felt too guilty. So, you did your best to explain; that you were scared, so scared of that word. Soulmates.
He’s your soulmate alright, but the red string isn’t his soul type. He can’t see your string, and you don’t know what his mark is.
But he smiles, that wonderful, sunshine-y smile, and said, “We can just call it friends!”
It felt like a cool breeze on a hot day, like a weight lifted off your chest.
“Friends,” you breathed. Soulmate horror, minus one.
Jinki is not scary. Not at all. You care about him enough after three weeks to scare you, though. He’s never pushed the boundary of ‘friends’; he was fun, accommodating, kind, friendly, and never asked for more than you knew how to give. Perhaps to a fault. Maybe not his fault, almost one hundred percent yours, because maybe you had never understood soulmates like you thought you did.
It keeps you up at night, that glowing red string, but not like before. You know now where it starts and where it ends, and you’re curious. What is he doing right now? Has he eaten? He should be off work right now, he’s had a hard day, you shouldn’t bother him.
But you want to talk to him. You’re curious.
Did the 8-shots-of-espresso lady come into the shop today? Did that annoying high schooler finally finish their two weeks? How was his day? Overall good? Overall bad? Overall meh? It was killing you, you had to know.
As if on cue, your phone beeps, every time.
[9:28]Jinx: i just got home!!! are you still awake?
You smile at the little moon emoji he puts at the end and sit up, flicking on your lamp.
Soulmate horror, minus ten.
Soulmates aren’t scary when it’s Jinki, but he still makes you nervous. Nervous about stupid, childish things, like how you look to him, and how you want to hold his hand. The ‘friend’ line was becoming blurred by now, at least, it was for you; the outings that were once just two friends hanging out had started to feel more like dates, and the feeling in your chest was a new kind of “I love you.”
You wanted to hold his hand, but hand holding is a breach of the line. Contact has never been your thing; too warm, too close, too heavy- it scared you. But for him, it felt different. You want to reach out and lace your fingers with his. It would be so easy, standing side by side like this- maybe his hands are cold. You’ve been outside for a while, and your hands have remained in your pockets, not quite warm, but still a few degrees above the windy December air.
But it’s still too much. Something smaller, you need something smaller that doesn’t make your heart feel like it’s stopping.
You take your hand out of your pocket; the thread is so short when you’re so close together like this, just a faint red streak against the desaturated, grey air. He’s talking about what to get his parents for christmas- gift cards seem too impersonal, what should he do? A cookbook? A subscription to netflix?
You steel yourself and reach out your hand, hooking your pinkie around his until there’s barely any excess thread left between the two knots, snug enough to stay, soft enough for him to pull away if he wanted to.
His sentence falters for just a moment before he picks up where he left off, about the pros and cons of a netflix account for a middle-aged couple; he turns to you, smiling, “would that be a good idea?”
He hasn’t snatched his hand away. He doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving.
“What if you print out some family photos? Like for a scrapbook? Parents love that stuff.”
He makes a quiet, Oooh, and nods.
He’s smiling as he starts looking through store windows with a new purpose, and you can’t really feel your nose right now, but the sight makes you feel so, so warm. You squeeze his pinkie lightly and think to yourself, “I’ll get better at this, I promise”
Everyone make sure to take care of yourselves today, it’s okay to feel your emotions strongly as they come, but if that’s too much right now don’t be afraid to step back for a while until you’re ready. I hope you all can find some small happiness in your day 💝💖
There was just barely a sheen of sweat on the smooth skin of his face and glossing over the ridges of his neck, highlighted from his labored breathing and the thin outlines of veins under his skin. Your nails traced down the faint contours of his stomach, scratching ever so slightly against the sharp outline of his hips and relishing in the way he tensed, basking in the muffled gasp low in his throat.
It took a while to get like this. He always had something to say, always had to have a foot in the door, always had some way of keeping the power in his favor, even when his wrists were handcuffed to the barred headboard of the bed behind his head.
It took over half an hour of coaxing, edging, and tying a thin, burgundy red scarf around his head and between his lips.
You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, eyelids fluttering as your fingertips ghosted over his thighs, your own eyes catching on the darkened parts of the cloth at the edges of his lips. His jaw was clenched; you could see the muscles tense as he bit down harder on the gag, stifling reactions as if to stop your teasing.
You hummed, bringing your free hand to brush through the thick hair at the nape of his neck to the top of his head, pulling lightly.
Without a hint of resistance, his head rolled back, eyelids half shut as he gazed down at you, pink resting high on his cheeks from exertion and a muffled, needy whine escaping past the gag.
You swallowed and tried to ignore the way your body shivered at the sight.
I’m a firm believer that in order to be a good writer you have to read and this is just a stupid way of me asking y’all for fanfic recs bc I need inspo
hiiii could you please write taemin smut soon? loved your minho smut
i actually have a taemin smut in the works so ill try and work on that soon!
i also have like...,,, a key college au that’s long enough to split into chapters, and the first half of a jinki reincarnation au,,,,,,so let me know if yall would want any of those.
anyways. taemin smut. it’ll definitely happen sooner or later
Ok i see you disabled anons but that’s ok I just wanted to tell you that your recent Minho smut is 👏🎉💦😱💕 and I wanted to ask if you could write some smut with Kibum 👀 pretty pls 👀 can be about anything but I don’t mind a rough Kibum haha (👀💦)
oh shit i didnt realize anon was disabled, but thank u hehe. i have something in mind sooo
