Heyyy!! Can you do a seungmin x reader?? like seungmin hiding his smile, and the reader doesn't like that because we do not like seungmin hiding his precious smile.
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Summary; We all know Seungmin hates his smile, but what if we convince him?
Taglist; @straykidsdreamer @gabriellamaria
Pairings; Kim Seungmin x reader
Your smile brings me joy, Seungmin.
You and Seungmin were on a classic date, dinner, some candles being lit on your table, body guards outside the restaurant, the usual date that Seungmin got you to.
But you have noticed something, every time you said something or noticed something funny, he always covered his beautiful laugh, his amazing smile, full of happiness, the smile you originally fell in love with.
You decided to ignore it, maybe it was because he had food in his mouth maybe? So, you ignored it this date – and only this date.
But ever since you noticed that small detail, you almost noticed it in everything.
You won’t lie, you were starting to get frustrated, how dare he hide his smile? The one that spread happiness and joy, the smile that made you feel alive
One day, you confronted him. “Seungminnie?” you sweetly called out for him, and his head and attention were facing you, for you, “Yes, baby?” he replies with his honey voice, god how much you liked when he called you a petname, he made you feel happy, giddy even.
“Why do you always hide your smile?” At first, you hesitated to ask the question, but after some hesitation – of course you asked the question, this was the main reason you were confronting him about it.
He blinks, “Uh…” you could tell his head was running around in laps, trying to find any type of excuse. He sighs, deciding against lying to his beautiful fiancee, “I don’t… lots of people tell me my smile is bad… especially some… stays.” he whispers.
He looked at you, knowing that you would judge him, or at least he thought.
What he didn’t expect, is you taking him in your arms, holding him against your chest lovingly.
He hugs you back, waiting for any backlash, any word from your mouth.
“I don’t think your smile is ugly,” you speak after some time, “Fuck those stays, they don’t appreciate your beauty.” you hold his face in your hands.
“Kim Seungmin, do you know what made me fall in love with you?” you ask the ultimate question, the one question where he wanted to know why… or how.
“Not because of your fame, no, it was because of your smile, your laughter, your happiness shining through-” you pause, “-it reached to me, and from that day, I knew I couldn’t let you go…”
His eyes were full of tears at your words, to you, these were romantic words, yes, but to him? These were the reasons he will never worry about anything, his reassurance.
“That’s why, and I will never judge you for your smile, your smile is what makes you… well, you.” you chuckle, stroking his soft, wavy hair, “Never stop smiling.”
Slight warning; depression, drugs mentioned, close death of reader.
Don’t leave me! pt.2
Time passes by, and you were staying in a hotel nearby, you didn’t tell him where you were, nor knew anything about him.
But you were watching all of his videos, his vlogs on the official Stray Kids channel, his tiktoks on the Stray Kids account, you even had him on bubble! You couldn’t help it.
Yes, he hurt you, but you couldn’t stop loving him.
Meanwhile, he was slowly losing himself, depression crept on him badly, he couldn’t even get up to make a simple bowl of ramen.
But those were just the first stage…
Weeks passed, and suddenly there was an announcement that Stray Kids, Lee Felix, had taken a hiatus, aka a break, for personal reasons, which were unknown.
You got worried, why did he take a break? Was it because of the fight you had?
Meanwhile, he was really going somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, taking drugs.
Depression hit him like a bitch, he was crying every night, hallucinating that you were back to him, in his arms, he had an oversized shirt of yours, which was a slight fit on him, but he wore it to sleep, oh who am I kidding? He wore it every day, everywhere
One day, he found your hotel, went over there and asked for your hotel number, he was high and drunk, his breath stinking of alcohol.
The receptionist informs him of your room number, and he nods, stumbling to the elevator and clicking on your floor number. Once he arrived, he stumbled around, finding your room.
He knocked on your door, calling your name brokenly. “Please… open up, love.” he whispers against your door drunkenly and quietly.
You instantly open the door, and his eyes sparkle at the sight of you, he quickly falls into your embrace, murmuring your name like a prayer. “I missed you so much… I missed you, come back home, please…” he begs, holding onto you tightly, not seeming to let go anytime soon.
“Get off of me!” you snap, trying to push him off, “ ‘m not leaving.” he mumbles against your neck, his body relaxed, he was finally in your embrace again. He inhales your scent.
You freeze, smelling the scent of alcohol coming from his breath. “Felix? Have you been drinking?” you push his head away from your neck.
His eyes held longing, desperation, he wanted you home, to be his wife again.
“ ‘m not leaving till you-” he lets out a hiccup, “-till you come back!” he stumbles around.
“You’re drunk! What are you- why are you drunk?” you were shocked, how could Felix be this drunk?
“ ‘m drunk cause you aren’t-” another hiccup from him, “-you aren’t wit’ me… why did chu leave..?” another hiccup, his eyes were red as well, from the tears and the alcohol.
As you were about to yell at him, you noticed some kind of markings on his arms, you quickly snatched his arm, taking a closer look.
“Have you been taking drugs?” you ask the big question, and he becomes silent, “Felix, answer me, have you been taking drugs?”
He looks everywhere, before landing on you. “So, what if ‘m? Hm? Whatcha gonna do? You left me!” he snaps, tears flowing freely for the 100th time.
“Because you cheated on me!” you yell back, “You did-” your eyes widen as he suddenly kisses you, holding your waist, pulling you closer.
You push him away, “What do you think you are doing!?” you back away, your back facing the open window.
Felix’s eyes widen, calling your name. “Love-” a hiccup, “Get back from the window.” he was slowly starting to sober up.
“No! You get away! Get out! I don’t want to know you! You are drunk AND high!” with each step he took towards you, you took one backwards.
“Love, just come here.” he tries to hold you, but you step back, stumbling out of the window.
He yells your name, his eyes wide with panic. “No, no, no.” he calls the ambulance, while speeding down the stairs of the hotel.
Once he was in the reception, he darted outside the hotel, finding your body laid on the ground, your eyes closed, but thankfully no blood was gushing out. How?
He looks above, seeing that there was a cloth teared up, indicating you fell through it. He let out a shaky breath, kneeling beside your body, calling your name as tears were flowing freely from his eyes.
He shakes your body gently at first, but when you do not respond, he start to panic.
His tears flow down his cheeks like a waterfall, holding onto the small hope lighting inside of him that you were still alive, still with him.
He shakes your body more roughly, violently, trying to magically wake you up.
But when you do not wake up, he quickly calls the ambulance, and you were loaded into the car, with him holding your hand.
It was just a normal day, you were sitting in your shared house with Felix, watching some k-drama to entertain yourself.
After you finished the series, you decided to open your phone and — of course open tiktok, what else?
Lots of videos were shown in front of you. And as you swipe, a specific video caught your eye. The video consisted of your husband, aka, Felix, walking around and there was a woman beside him.
You stare at the woman, was that you? Or someone else? You couldn’t tell, but then you remember, you didn’t go out with Felix this entire week, so who was she?
You looked at the caption, reading the words written by the publisher. “Stray Kids, Lee Felix, caught hanging out with a mysterious woman! Who could that be, stays?”
You were furious, “Mysterious woman”? Who was she? And what was she doing? Why was she with him? He’s your husband, not anyone’s.
Just as you were about to call the said man, the sound of keys jigging as the front door opened was heard throughout the house. “Honey! I’m home!”
Felix was tired, all he wanted was your embrace, your soft voice humming him to sleep, your gentle touches that made him instantly relax.
He wasn’t expecting you to be furious, an angry look on your face, glaring at him with hatred and hurt. “Love? What’s going on?” he was concerned, hence his tone of voice, “Did something happen?”
“Yes! Something did happen.” you show him the video, “Who’s that woman, Felix? Who is she?” you snap at him, you couldn’t contain your jealousy, your anger, you were hurt.
How dare he do such a thing to you? You loved him when he was low, when he got famous, you did everything! How dare he just cheat on you that easily?
Felix stared wide-eyed at the video, that wasn’t him, he would never do that.
“Darling, that’s not me…” he shakes his head, “You believe me right? That’s not me.”
You glare at him, “Not you? How so? The man in the video has the same hair colour and length as yours, he has the same build like yours, and that’s your face!” you yell.
He looks at you, “Angel, please… that’s not me!” he pleads, he was slowly going to panic, he didn’t want to lose you.
“Felix, I won’t say it again, who is this woman?” you ask the previous question again, awaiting for his confession. You stare at his shocked and slightly panicked expression, your gaze softened, just slightly.
“I wasn’t with any woman, you know I’ve been with the members practicing all week, please love.” at this point, he was begging you, he was scared of the result of this, you would leave him. “I won’t be able to live without you, please…”
“Felix, leave.” those were the words uttered from your mouth, shocking Felix.
“No, no, I won’t leave, we will figure this out.” he steps closer to you, holding your hands in his.
You flinched back, you didn’t want him to touch you, you were disgusted – by something which was never real – you didn’t believe he could be doing something like that.
You stare at him, “If you won’t leave, I will.” you throw the wedding ring in his face, heading up to your shared room, gathering your stuff in a small suitcase, tossing them inside angrily.
Felix quickly followed you, recovering from his shock. He calls out your name. “Don’t do this, please, we can fix this!” he tries to stop you, but gets pushed away every time.
You close your suitcase, carrying it downstairs, as you get in front of the front door, Felix already beat you to it, blocking the door. “Please, we can sort this out!” at this point, tears were dropping from his red eyes like a waterfall, his breath heavy and uneven.
“Let me go.” you pushed him away weakly, not wanting to look into his face, your eyes were teary, but not sad… no, angry tears.
He grabs a hold of your wrist, pulling you towards him and wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me, please!”
You push him away. “She’ll probably be better than me, yeah?” you call a taxi, leaving the house behind.
here is a super helpful website for this kinda thing!
the first result isn’t always the one you’re looking for but when you press enter it’ll give you a ton of words related to your query that’ll probably have what you’re wanting, or something better
You were relaxing in your apartment, humming as you cleaned your wardrobe, it was a routine for you, whenever you felt bored or lonely, you always cleaned it up — and of course, cleaned Changbin’s side as well!
You heard the front door open, the sound of the keys jiggling was heard throughout the apartment. You head outside of your shared bedroom, calling out for your husband. “Changbin? Is that you?” you softly call, when you receive no answer, you see Changbin sitting on the couch, manspreading, his tie loose and his shirt was unbuttoned a bit, his hair was messy as well.
His head turns towards you, his eyes softening at the sight of you wrapped in a fluffy onesie. His arm extends out, as if calling you to come rest besides him.
You were instantly at his side, looking at him, then you slowly laid your head on his shoulder.
A sigh was heard coming from his mouth, his hand was stroking your hair lovingly. “Long day…” he mumbles, zoned out.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” you mumble back, looking up at his handsome face. He shakes his head at your question. “Just… Can we stay like this?” he looks at you, his eyes clearly tired, you nod, laying your head on his shoulder again.
You both stay like that for an hour, then you raise your head again. “Changbin, are you tired? Let’s go to bed.” you suggest softly — and as he nods, you help him to your shared bedroom, changing his clothes for him, brushing his hair and teeth for him, then tucking him in.
He waits patiently as you lay beside him, instantly cradling you to his chest, and sighing in relief, contentment.
“What did I do to ever deserve you…?” he mumbles tiredly, kissing your head as he slowly falls asleep, his arms tight around you.
imagine not knowing your roommate is a vampire. he leaves for weeks at a time on 'missions' and comes back, stained in blood, while wearing a mask that looks an awful lot like some cartoonish thing he bought at a halloween store so he could pretend he was military.
he's also pale. like unnervingly pale. but you chalk it up to the fact that he rarely goes out during the day, only training and going for runs in the night. he says it's because he's a night owl.
your arrangement had started something simple--you needed someone to help so you'd have less trouble with rent, and that was it. the first person to apply was a shady man, but with years of claimed military history under his belt, it was easy for you to just believe him when he asked you not to ask any questions.
but one day, you're exceptionally annoyed, and you give him hell for not helping around the place enough. which is fine--it was true that he really didn't cook or clean... or do much of anything.
begrudgingly he accepts cleaning the dishes whilst you make yourself dinner. you're complaining about him the whole way through, about how you'd much rather have a better roommate--
and then you slice your finger open.
there's not that much blood, really. it's a small cut, but you hadn't been paying attention. hissing, you grab your finger with your palm and squeeze--it smears blood over your skin, and has simon's pupils dilating.
he'd only been eating criminals off the street. he'd never had a pretty girl like you underneath his jaws.
he tries to hold it back--he's been kicked out of so many apartments, and you're the only person who hasn't really questioned his actions so long as he paid.
but the longer you cuss him out for distracting you, the more he wants to bite. you're reaching for the bandaids in a cupboard when he comes up behind you, hands on your waist and takes them from where you're struggling to reach. at the same time, he practically folds you over the counter.
"fuckin'... teasing me like that," he hisses, pupils dilated fully, the usual colour in his eyes overridden by pitch black. as he speaks, his fangs are the next thing visible, sharp points no longer hidden by the seal of his lips.
you're terrified. and strangely, you're aroused--moreso when he leans his head down to the nape of your neck to catch the sweet scent of your blood under your skin.
Summary; The company decided to place Felix on a very strict diet for their comeback, but you noticed that Felix was getting slimmer, so you decided to take care of him yourself, I mean… fuck the diet.
NOTE; guys... I took this idea from myl, @/dead-flight, check their blog, seriously, I'm not joking, their writing style is awesome.
That’s it, I’m taking care of this.
A comeback was announced to all of the Stray Kids fans from all around the world, which meant Stray Kids needed to start preparing for it, the company was doing their usual check-ups, their fat percentage, their muscle weight, and their total weight.
Each of the members has stood on the in-body machine, their results being printed and read by the staff members, just like every comeback, they were put on a diet to help maintain their health and body weight.
Each of the members had agreed to the diet, except Felix — he was the only one who chose the water diet.
Meanwhile, you were excited for your boyfriend’s comeback, knowing how much he missed his fans, how much he missed the stage, and performing for every one of his fans.
But, you’ve noticed him always disappearing fast — sitting with you only for an hour or so.
One day, you decided to confront Felix, “Felix?” you called softly for him, his attention shifts from his phone to you, “Yes, love?” his deep voice replied to your call, his smile beaming at you.
“You’ve been-” you pause, thinking on how to say it, “-ignoring me, as if I’m never there, no calls, no mid-day texts.”
He raises a brow, staring at you patiently as you try to speak — trying to find some words for him to understand.
“You’ve been losing weight-” you start again, “-like, a lot of weight.” your voice comes out, concerned like always when his health came into question
He smiles, “I’ve been on the company’s diet, it’s strict… but, it’s for the comeback.” as soon as those words were uttered from his mouth, you were furious — what kind of company treats their idols like this?!
A notification ping was heard from his phone, both of your heads turn towards the phone, seeing Bangchan’s message. “Felix, come back to the dorm, we have dance practice.” the message was simple.
You sigh as you look at Felix, “Will you come back here? Please?” you ask, you wanted to spend more time with him, since he was — of course, going to travel for his tours.
Hours passed since Felix left the apartment, and then, the sound of keys were heard, the familiar creek of the door was heard throughout the entire apartment.
You stand up, leaving your comfortable bed and checking who it is. “Felix!” you exclaim happily, “You came back here!!” you hugged him tightly, happiness was everywhere.
You drag him to the dining table, “I made you some food, you really need the energ-” your voice fades from his ears, he was just admiring you. What did he do to deserve such a caring, loving angel like you?
You look at him, noticing the sparkle in his eyes as he stares at you, “What?” you giggle, feeling flustered. “Sorry for the rambling, but I mean, you really need to eat, Felix. At this point, you won’t have strength to attend the concert! Nor any of the tours!” you ramble, your concern for him was going over the clouds.
“Hey, it’s fine, I’ll eat.” Felix speaks, gazing at you softly. You beam, “But, I’ll feed you! Please?” you look at him, and he sighs, his head nodding as a sign of accepting the weird request.
No matter what, you won’t become the “unhealthy skinny” , I’ll take care of you.
That was the promise you made to yourself, and to him.
you shouldn't be here, slipping into the alleyway like a streetrat. but you were running out of solutions, and maybe, for once, you'd find one.
your friend had recommended it. you chose not to deliberate on whether or not your friend was a reliable source at all—they clung to the wrong kinds of people, in crowds you didn't really enjoy.
but maybe your friend had a solution for you.
doctor riley, she had said—a doctor with results that always worked, but methods too concerning for him to have any real doctor's lisence. that's why he operates out of a door in a side alley.
you knock, cheeks already flushed—your problem? you couldn't come. you'd faked hundreds of orgasms with your current boyfriend, and it was getting harder and harder—you needed to fix what was wrong with you.
doctors said you were normal, but you didn't believe it. not after so long.
so here you were.
"come in," a gruff voice sounds from the door, and you jolt at that. scrambling to slip inside and close the door behind you, you come face to face with a dingy couch, and a man lying across it like he were some dingy, underpaid therapist.
"what's your problem?" he asks, and it's almost insulting—
"i… um, can't…"
he laughs. you don't even get to speak, and he laughs. "you can't cum, can you? funny that. get loads of pretty things in here for that same reason, and they all look like you. all red and pretty in the face like y'scared o'sayin' the words. the word orgasm too crude for you, eh?"
and you're caught in his headlights, blinking at him slowly like his words weren't quite processing in your mind.
"i've never let a thing like you down, luv. ain't gotta worry. s'just your partners. shit, the lot of them. they don't know how to treat a lady."
and you just let him, watched as he rose from the couch, already sporting a large boner. was it cheating? …no, it couldn't be. he was a doctor, he just wanted to help.
he pushes you up against the door, notches his knee between your thighs and stares—looms, down at you.
"fuckin' hell, look at the state of you. you already look desperate for it."
it's exactly what you asked for, his thick fingers pulling at the band of your panties between your legs, helping you step out of them and stuffing the fabric into your mouth. "can't have you makin' noise, it's a covert operation i've got goin' on here."
his fingers prod at your clit with efficiency. you're already soaked, maybe from the humiliation of it all—you only look up at him with pretty eyes that boil his blood and send it shooting to his cock.
he's quick with it, efficient. it turns you on, how he preps you with one, two, then three fingers, then folds you over the back of the couch. your breasts press into the pillows, and he takes a second to appreciate the view. "you're a pretty one. shame you've only been dissapointed before."
he doesn't give you time to adjust—why would you need any time, when he'd already prepped you? he notches the thick head of his cock at your entrance, before pushing himself as far as he could go. he grunts into the room, "fuckin… tight as hell, dollie. ain't even been fucked that hard before, have you?"
he fucks you like he's trying to break a record. and he is—you've never felt this good, fingers scrabbling at the pillows beneath you for some sort of purchase as he roughly fucks you against the couch. if it weren't for his hands on your hips, you might've fallen over.
it sneaks up on you before you realise it. a pressure blooms in your abdomen, and thick fingers press against your clit again—it's nearly overstimulating, but you're coming apart around his cock.
he pulls out and away once you quit pulsing around him like the vice that you are, "ain't that somethin'. record time, pretty. one minute."
he walks around the couch and takes a seat, beckoning you over. "i helped you, now you can help me, no? c'mon, come clean it off."
Summary; You decided to surprise Minho by cooking in the kitchen, but you didn’t know how to cook…
TAGLIST; @straykidsdreamer @gabriellamarie
Genre; fluff & stupid.
Never go into the kitchen again.
You were sitting on the couch, watching another episode of SKZ-CODE, your eyes sparkled every time your boyfriend, Minho, appeared on the screen.
As the episode ended, you suddenly had motivation to do something around the house, but you didn’t know what to do. Scrolling on tiktok, you finally got an idea of what to do, what if you cooked dinner for him? He always comes home tired, only takeout was seen on the kitchen counter.
You stand up, heading to the kitchen, your nose scrunching up in disgust at the scent of the remaining dishes. You let out a sigh, starting on the dishes, How would you cook if the dishes weren’t washed?
Meanwhile, Minho was just finished with his dance practice, sweating a lot, the sweat wetting his shirt, his hair stuck to his forehead. He sent a text to you, then redirected his focus on the road again, god, why was the road pocked today? He impatiently waits for the road to clear.
He couldn’t wait to be finally back in your arms after a long day of practicing for their new album, a headache was slowly creeping.
Back to you, you were trying to make beef wellington, but failed… You failed miserably to cook, burning the food to the point where it looked like some… garbage food spat out of a raccoon's mouth, it smelled bad, tasted bad as well, and did not look appealing to the eye at all.
You started to slightly panic, thinking that Minho would have to come back, disappointed from the takeout food, you didn’t tell him nor warn him about how you can't cook, and didn’t want to, you felt embarrassed that a human your age, didn’t know how to cook.
The sound of the keys unlocking the front door were heard loud and clear, indicating that Minho was finally back home, he was tired, exhausted even, they spent hours dancing on their new album.
Just as he entered the kitchen, you quickly threw the burnt food from the window, but to your surprise, a few burnt bits were on the floor, and the cats started eating them.
Minho raised his brow, just what were the cats eating from the floor? He looked at you, seeing the awkward smile, “Hi, Minho,” you speak, laughing nervously as if trying to hide the problem you did, “How was… uhm, practice?” Minho looks at you, sensing something is wrong.
“What did you do?” Minho asks, he could smell the burnt food, but where was it? “Uhm… nothing! Nothing at all.” you giggle nervously.
Just as Minho was staring at you, you cracked, instantly speaking. “I tried to cook dinner for you, but I couldn’t and I almost burnt the whole apartment down and now I don’t know what to do!” you quickly spoke, faster than Han’s rapping.
Minho blinked his eyes several times, his brain trying to process the fast words that were spitting from your mouth. “So… you burned the food? That you were trying to cook?” Minho says again, making sure he heard right.
You nod your head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you that I can’t cook but I wanted to surprise you…” you sheepishly look at him, and Minho’s gaze softens, “I don’t want you to cook for me to love you, just you being with me is enough.” he kisses your forehead, hugging you to his chest tight.
He didn’t need warm food for when he came back, he just wanted your embrace.
In regard to submitting my drabbles, answers, oneshots, series, headcanons, or any other piece of writing I have posted here on Tumblr to AI.
This applies to all people who view my content.
I do not condone the usage of AI, and with that, I also do not condone supplementing AI with my intellectual property. I will not tolerate the insertion of any of my works into any kind of generative AI.
This includes taking inspiration from my ideas & summarizing a fic I have written in a chatbot.
Thank you for your time. Here is a list of resources to put into perspective why I dislike AI and what it is doing.
Why Generative AI Is Bad For Writers
The Environmental Impact of AI
AI Is Using Up Our Fresh Drinking Water
These are just a few reasons, but the ones that come off the top of my mind. Thank you very much for your time, loves. xo
Summary; Bangchan was engaged to you, yet he couldn’t fulfil his promise to marry you.. Why? Because you died in the hands of a crazy stay after you guys revealed your relationship to his fans.
Type of oneshot; angst
Flashbacks are awful…
Everyday, Bangchan visits your grave, talking to you about his dance practices, his song-writing, and he even takes your opinion, but of course, you couldn’t reply, because you were dead.
He hated how he felt alone, how he felt like his heart was cut in half. Everynight, he cried himself to sleep, he couldn’t forget you with whatever he tried…
One day, his members suggested that he go on a walk, and he agreed — maybe that could help him…
He wore your oversized hoodie, which was a good fit on him, your scent was filling his nose, vanilla and cinnamon. He wore his shoes, his phone’s wallpaper and a picture of you.
He took his headphones as well, walking around.
But everywhere he goes, he remembers the places where your dates took place…
[FLASHBACK INCOMING…]
You were at a restaurant, a famous and classy one at that. You were wearing a beautiful dress, the color making your face pop, your hair was left loose, he couldn’t help but admire your beauty.
The waiter came to take your meal orders, “I’d like a steak with mashed potatoes and some gravy sauce, make the steak medium rare, please.” Bangchan says to the waiter, before looking at you, “And you, darling? What would you like?” he smiled, the smile making you melt in your seat.
“So many options…” you mumble, looking through the menu, then looking at the waiter. “I’ll also order the same as him.” you order, giving the menu back to the waiter.
Bangchan reached out a hang, holding yours on top of the table, his thumb gently, softly stroking your hand,
He couldn’t believe it, he was feeling happy, this was the 3rd date for you, yes, but, he was happy, content, relaxed.
He was free of the paparazzi, free of any stress, just you and him.
You talked together, you told him about your work, your manager that was slowly pissing you off, “I just can’t believe it! Why take that much from me, because I was working more than usual?” you scoff, “It’s supposed to be a good thing.”
Bangchan hums as he listens to you, his head leaning onto his hand, while his other hand holding yours, he is absolutely smitten for you, admiring you, staring at you as you talk and rant to him about your day.
You stop talking once you notice his gaze, laughing shyly. “What? Why are you staring at me?” you giggle, hiding your smile.
He grins widely, taking your other hand into his free hand, “Never hide your beautiful face, is it wrong to stare at my beautiful girlfriend?” he says softly, his gaze just on you.
[FLASHBACK DONE…]
He remembered that date, the third date for the both of you, how beautiful you looked that day… You always looked beautiful in his eyes, always glowing in front of him, but now? He couldn’t even see your face…
He continues to walk, remembering the fair date…
[FLASHBACK INCOMING…]
You had gotten a call from Bangchan, saying he had a surprise date for you. “But wear something comfortable, yeah? It’s gonna be a long walk."That's all what was said in the call, then he hung up.
You shake your head while smiling, getting ready for the date he planned. Wearing some jeans, and a thin-sleeved white top, your hair braided in a french braid.
As you step outside of the apartment door, you find Bangchan waiting for you, holding a bouquet of chocolate flowers, smiling widely like a child.
You gasp at the surprise, “Oh, that’s amazing! Thank you, channie…” you kissed his cheek, took his arm, which he offered, and went down the stairs and into his car, you didn’t know where the date was taking place, all you knew was you had to wear something comfortable, which you did, “Where are we going?” you ask the simple, yet predicted question.
Bangchan looks at you, grinning, “You’ll know… it’s something you really love.” he redirects his focus on the road, his hand on your knee, stroking it softly.
When you arrive at your destination, your eyes sparkle excitedly, “You took me to the fair?!” you bounce happily, and Bangchan stares at you, not in disgust, no, but full of love, admiring your happiness, which is exactly the reaction he was looking for.
You take his hand, dragging him to the fair, pointing at all the games you want to play, and he doesn’t disappoint you, paying for every game you pointed at.
At this point, you were wearing a teddy hairband, a large plushie in your arms, swaying as you hop happily. He couldn’t help but stare at you, his focus only on you, full of love, admiration, and happiness.
[FLASHBACK ENDED…]
He held back the tears wishing to come out, he couldn’t cry in public, no, there was no way he would do that, he didn’t want to seem as if he needed help, he wanted to help, yes, but get help? Hell no.
The news of you being murdered somewhat became a trend, “Bangchan’s fiancée murdered?!” “Bangchan had a fiancée?!” all the comments being the same, stays were just finding out stuff really fast.
It’s something tender, aching pitifully in his chest like an untended bruise... but pain is so easily drowned by indulgence.
TAGS: fluff/smut, mild angst in the beginning, soft dom/sub dynamics, penetration, consent checks, keeping quiet, fucking in the childhood bedroom, brief inserts of reader's parents, female reader with female parts, canon!simon, mutual indulgence, edging, dacryphilia.
4.5k words. - happy birthday, @avgdestitute
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The room is well-furnished, walls plastered with some tacky wallpaper and decorated with family photos. It’s not small, but it’s not extravagant either–it’s homey. It’s enough for Simon to gather some understanding of how your childhood went.
His eyes focus on the tablecloth. It’s faded from years of wear, the patterns succumbing to an off-white. It feels stuck in a time he hasn’t ever experienced, a childhood he wishes he had. But he has you, and you’re his taste of joy, a sweet burst on his tongue he’d forgotten the taste of. Compared to you? Simon was ruinous, a catastrophic blend of desecrated skin and emotional stagnancy.
You made him feel less like an amalgamation of trouble and more like a quietly fading scar.
Relationships tend to shift, when Simon is added to the mix. They fall apart when he pulls away, and he’s used to it. You’re the only one that has stayed, and he’s thankful–it doesn’t stop the nerves from bubbling up and eating at his stomach.
Especially now, in your childhood home, your parents sat across from the two of you. The meal prepared in front of you is nothing short of delicious, flavours melting into Simon’s tongue. It’s a far cry from the harsh tastes of the MREs he eats on missions.
The food on the table is straight from England. He supposes they’d tried to make him feel welcome–he’s antsy despite it, his hands fidgeting with your fingers in his lap. It’s something tender, aching pitifully in his chest like an untended bruise.
It’s not you or your family. It’s him, and his inability to find peace in the aggressive roaring of his mind. You seem to sense his unsettled twitching, offering his fingers a gentle squeeze, a reminder that it’s at his own pace. And it is, really–he was the one who had suggested meeting your parents, though he’d only done it because he thought it would make you happy.
It does, and he’s proud that he’s managing to keep up with you, somewhat. Your parents are kind to him. Your mother is doting on him like he’s a wounded puppy, constantly peppering him with, “Oh, Simon, dear, you must be hungry, the drive was long. Here, have more–you’re a man, after all. You must eat a lot to keep your muscles.”
And Simon is happy to oblige, too used to counting rations and measuring the food in his pantry.
They don’t push his military career, or ask what he’s done, instead they goad him on his hobbies, his favourite drinks, what kind of animals he likes. It’s good, for once, not having to dodge prying questions with carefully structured answers. Maybe you’d asked your parents to go easy on him. It’s just another reason why he can’t seem to let you go.
Eventually, conversation dwindles. Simon is sucked into cleaning the dishes with you, a chore he is happy to complete–it fixes his urge to do something with his hands. You’re leant against his side, ear pressed to the bulk of his shoulder, drying off the plates that he hands to you.
He runs each plate under the water, rubs the soapy sponge over the dish and removes the residue left from the meal, before passing it to you. It’s methodical and mindless, a pleasure to his usually chaotic mind.
The night quiets. You’re all herded into the living room, sat down on a large, worn brown sofa, piled side-to-side while some romcom blasts in the background. You’re pressed to Simon, his hand a comforting warmth against your thigh. Your own hands are gently wrapped over his hand, feeling the way his fingertips twitch and tense as he subconsciously reacts to the show.
He’s relaxed, two fingers pressed up against the soft skin of your wrist where he can feel your heartbeat. It’s a grounding motion, something that he finds himself doing more often, as of late.
Outside, the sun slinks slowly over the horizon like a cat preparing for rest. It ends the night in a graceful pink flush, before descending into quiet blackness. The lamp beside the television is the only thing illuminating the room, casting it in a dim yellow glow. The scent of your shampoo wafts into Simon’s nose, his chapped lips pressing absent-minded kisses to the soft strands.
Your breathing slows. He knows because he counts the seconds in between each exhale and inhale, something he’s learned to do when he lies awake at night, sandwiched between the bed and your body. It’s meditative, a sort of calm sinking into his bones. He sits up slightly, pressing you closer.
You sigh in your sleep at that, head falling into the crook of his neck, squeezed between the line of his jaw and the muscles of his shoulder. Your hand flexes against his pec, and it brings a soft curl to the corner of his lips, stretching the white scar that runs across the side of his mouth.
“She’s asleep,” he murmurs to your father, who had long sent your mother off to bed, now only here on the basis of making sure you didn’t fuck on the couch, or something. That, and he seemed to really enjoy what was on the screen, even as he pretended to be disinterested.
Your father waves him off with a nod, something about getting you to bed. Simon hoists you up in his arms, your legs hooked around his hips. He murmurs sweet nothings against your forehead, his head craned down to watch his steps as he makes his way to the staircase. He moves with precision, making a conscious effort to not jostle your sleeping form.
Your bedroom is easy to find, with the help of your dad.
Simon offers a whispered ‘good night’ over the top of your head to your father, who retreats into the master bedroom with a wave and a half-smile. He flicks on the nightstand lamp, illuminating the room. Your room remains as he’d seen it in childhood photos of you. Pictures hang on the walls, some more dignified than others–a few are drawings made by a younger version of yourself, awkward looking animals and stick-figures of you and family.
Your bed sits in the corner of the room, a double bed–enough to fit the two of you, though he supposed you’d make it fit if it were any smaller. It was often that your clingy self would wake up on top of him in the mornings regardless.
He sits on the bed, sinking into the soft sheets. A soft ache blooms in his heart, the sweet innocence of the room blocking his arteries–his chest hurts with warmth. He sits, absorbing the nostalgia of a childhood he never had. It hurts more than he’d like to admit, knowing that he’d missed out on being normal.
He pulls back the covers and places you into the sheets, crawling in behind you. He wraps an arm across your chest, his leg hooking over yours. He sighs, sheets rumpled around where his arm displaces the edge of the Hello-Kitty themed duvet.
Time ticks by slowly. He counts in intervals of sixty, counting every minute that slips past. It’s a tactic he uses when he’s bored, or when he’s trying to keep still on a mission. He counts until he gets restless. He’s unable to find sleep as usual, the sheep he’s trying to catch slipping from his grip.
His limbs are starting to go numb, especially where your head has shifted to rest against his bicep. He was sure that his arm was going to fall off, if he left you to it for a few more hours.
He pulls himself from you. In the quiet of the night, it feels like every rustle of the sheets and twitch of his muscles is exaggerated, like it might wake you from your rest. He slips out from the bed, socks meeting the hardwood floor.
His arms raise over his head, muscles tensing and stretching as he arches his back in a catlike stretch. His shoulder pops at that, to which his head immediately darts to examine if you’d woken up yet. Of course you hadn’t–you’re not nearly as light of a sleeper as the Lieutenant.
He takes a moment to watch you whilst you sleep, studies the hair that’s fallen over your face that moves with every exhale you take. He moves from your side then, deciding to busy himself with looking around your childhood room. He’s not snooping, he’s just… admiring.
He moves silent, every bit the ghosts he’s named after. It doesn’t stop you from rousing at the lack of a pillow, or rather bicep. You stir, rolling so that your arm hangs off the bed, your face pressed firmly into the soft of your actual pillow. You stay there for a moment before you need to breathe, dropping off the bed and leaning against the bedframe.
Simon watches you with an amused quirk of his lips, sighing at your awkward attempt at slipping out of bed. “Ain’t much of a way to get out of bed, love. Y’know, y’ve got legs for a reason.”
“Mph. You’re the one still awake,” you murmur into the dark, your arm reaching behind you to steady yourself on the bedframe. You push upwards, fingers reaching blindly for the cord on the lamp, eyes squinting through the dark. You catch a glimpse of the moonlight reflecting on the metal cord, tugging on it triumphantly.
It brightens the room immediately, and you wince back at the light that floods your vision. The lamp isn’t strong enough to cast the whole room in glow, but it’s enough to emphasize shadows, furniture, and Simon’s shape, leant over your desk.
“What time s’it?” you mumble, plucking at hair that had decided to crawl into your mouth when you’d smothered yourself into the pillow.
Simon’s head tilts downwards to squint at his watch in the low light. “It’s four in the morning, baby. Go back to sleep, ey? We’ve gotta drive back in the morning, and I don’t want you grumpy when you’re in my car.”
You huff, glaring at his back, “You’re the one who’s up.”
He can’t really refute that. He is the one awake now, but you’re the one who’s drawing attention to it. You should know by now the soldier can run on two hours of sleep for a night and still behave the same in the morning. He watches as you stand, dusting off your pants for no reason other than habit.
You come up behind him, his eyes watching you with genuine adoration, following you as you sleepily stumble until your warm cheek meets the cool fabric of his t-shirt. A huff of air escapes his lungs as you drape yourself over his lower back, arms wrapping around his midsection like a sleepy koala to a tree.
“Fuckin’ crushing me,” he mutters, his hands moving from the desk to cover yours around his waist.
“Mmph, shouldn’t have… gotten up then,” your words are muffled by his shirt as you press yourself into him, head nuzzling into where his spine dips between the planes of his back.
He sighs at that, tugs your arms off him enough for him to be able to turn so that he’s facing you. He cups your cheeks, and peers into your tired eyes, the pretty way you blink up at him slowly like a sleep-drunken cat.
“You’re…” he sighs, breath fanning over your face, “Stubborn.”
“Romantic,” you reply, your voice carrying a teasing lilt.
“Go back t’bed, love. M’just not tired, but you are,” his back hunches, his neck craning forward to come close enough to you to press his forehead against yours.
You lick his nose. He blinks in mild surprise, the skin on the bridge of his nose scrunching in mild distaste. He pulls back, his palm smoothing over his nosebridge to wipe off the saliva you’d left on him. “Bratty fucker.”
You rest your cheek on his left pectoral with a cheeky grin on your lips. He sighs, almost as if he was disappointed by your actions, but the way his heart picks up its pace under his skin tells you all that you need to know.
“Go to bed,” he insists again, his fingers lacing through your hair. His other hand slips down your back, finds purchase where your back dips slightly.
“I’m not tired,” you mutter, biting into your lip. You tug at his shirt with a hand, blinking up at him with sweet, pleading eyes.
He sighs, his head falling back slightly. “You’re trying to provoke me,” he accuses, his fingers tensing against your skin.
“Provoke you?” you huff softly, nose pressing into the cotton.
His hand in your hair tugs a little harder, tilting your head back so that you look up at him. You inhale a deep breath, both out of knowing you’re probably getting yourself in trouble, and also from the lack of oxygen from suffocating yourself in the scent of his body wash. “Reckon you’re tryin’ ta rile me up.”
“Pfft, I’d never–”
He tugs on your hair again, and you stop. While you’re keen on getting in trouble, you’re not exactly keen on the kinds of punishments he’s given you in the past–while they were hot, they most definitely weren’t meant for your parents to overhear. “Well…” you swallow, saliva settling thickly in your throat, “I’m not going to bed.”
Strike three. He stiffens at that, blinks at you, interest in his eyes. “We’ll fuckin’ see about that.”
He lifts you up gently, carrying you to the bed with a strong arm under your thighs, his other arm bracing your back in case you decide to make any sharp movements. He’d never dropped you before, and he was most definitely never going to have a first. He places you on the bed gently, tugging away the rumpled sheets and piling them up towards the foot of the bed. It’s just enough space for him to crawl on top of you, an arm bracing himself over your head.
He looks down at you with a clever smile. “You’re not sleeping, huh love? Guess I could tire y’out, if you asked nicely.”
“You’re a fucking tease,” you grumble, a flush spreading up the back of your neck and flooding your ears a pretty pink.
“Did I say I was teasin’? Ain’t teasing you, love. I’m offering,” he straddles you, both knees pressed into the bed beside your waist, careful not to lean any of his weight against you. His hand trails down your cheek, smearing against your lower lip.
Your tongue darts out to taste him, the salt of his skin settling heavily in your taste buds. He bites his tongue at that, his jaw shifting with his teeth as they grind together. You’re such a damn tease.
He’s pretty like this, illuminated by the lamp post and nothing more. You want to suck his thumb into your mouth, blink up at him prettily and coax him into pulling his cock from his pants, tease him into stuffing it down your throat. To your dismay, he pulls his thumb back, patting your cheek condescendingly.
A rush of cold ran over you as he drew back completely. Maybe it was a mixture of his words and his condescension, but you could vaguely feel the soaked fabric between your legs as a chill ran down your spine.
He ran his fingers down your neck, to your chest–were you breathing heavily? He was ruinous, in all of the good ways. Goosebumps erupted from where his fingertips drew gentle touches down the curve of your breasts, pinching at your nipples through your cotton sleepshirt. “You be fuckin’ glad we ain’t home,” he murmured breathily, “Would fuck your brains out, but y’ve gotta be quiet, don’t you?”
“Quiet,” you repeated. You could be quiet if he behaved himself, and knowing Simon… he rarely did.
“That’s right,” his eyes shifted from where your nipples peeked from under your shirt to your eyes, “You can be quiet, can’t you?” it doubles as a check-in, with the concerned pinch between his eyebrows, and how he studies your facial expressions as if they might give any negative indication.
You nod. You really weren’t sure if you could, but you were too desperate, too needy for the slightly visible bulge under his sweats.
With your consent, he cooed at you, “That so, baby? Wish I could gag you… mh, but you need your panties, don’t you? Y’didn’t bring a spare for your overnight stay? Silly girl. So absent-minded.”
You whine at that. Your hips twitch under them, rutting up against the apex of his thighs. He raises an eyebrow, as if to ask you if you were sure of what you were doing–you were already in trouble. You wouldn’t want to push him further.
You still. He clicks his tongue approvingly, shifting off of you. His hands are gentle as he shifts you out of your clothes, folding your t-shirt and pants into a neat pile for the morning. He places it on the nightstand beside the lamp, before watching you for a moment. You’ve wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering.
You’re not shivering from the cold, you’re shivering under his scrutinising gaze, cheeks flushing pinker when he doesn’t move to take his own clothes off. Humiliation burns at your ears, creating a soft buzz in the back of your mind.
He sits back against the headboard, patting his thigh. You’ll sit on his lap all nice and pretty, like he wants. It’s one of his favourite ways to take you, when you’re straddling his lap, your chest pressed to his. It gives him a pretty view of the way your tits bounce, and how your cunt swallows his cock greedily.
Not to mention that when he demands you ride him, offering no help, it’s a gorgeous sight to have you crying into the crook of his neck about how he’s so big and you ‘just need his help.’
He smiles, hands gripping your hips to shift you over the bulge in his sweatpants, now slowly growing as his blood rushes southward. He tips your head back, kissing down the column of your throat. He leaves a bite just under the neckline of where most of your shirts will be, knowing it’ll be covered enough for your parents to never see it.
“So fucking pretty f’me,” he mutters into your skin, his blunt nails slipping lower and digging into the plush of your ass.
You mewl against him, your fingers twitching at your sides. As much as you’d like to tug at his scruffy hair, bury your fingers in the blond strands and force him lower, you knew it’d be futile. You’d be good for him if he gave you what you wanted.
His arms guide you against him, rutting you against his sweatpants. It takes a moment for your brain to register what’s happening, as he pairs it with a firm suck to your perky nipples, teeth scraping against the soft skin.
A choked whimper crawls from your vocal cords and remains suspended on your tongue.
“Keep quiet,” he reminds, “Or I’ll stop, and y’can go to bed like this, aye?”
You shake your head adamantly at that. You don’t want him to stop. He can’t stop. You don’t want to imagine the feeling of how you’d probably stay worked up until you eventually got home. It wasn’t a risk you were willing to take.
“Gonna make you feel good, pretty,” he grits out between clenched teeth, jaw welded with the effort of not chasing his own wants. He wants to drag it out as long as possible, encourage your pleasure until he has you malleable as soft clay.
The effort your nod takes should be studied. Your body is strung tight, muscles taut with anticipation. Your nod is jerky and uncoordinated, stumbling like your fingertips over the base of his abs through his shirt.
Simon is no better. He leans forwards, kissing you to stop the way his brain seems to follow his blood, straight to his cock. He sucks the air from your lungs, and it leaves you pliant, desperate for more as he steals your breath from your chest.
His hands guide you against him as he does, his mouth swallowing your keen mewls. Your hands rest on his chest, right above where his heart thuds painfully against his ribcage. He pulls away, letting you sink into him as you catch your breath.
Your head thuds against his shoulder, your hips stuttering through his guided motions. Despite your ragged tempo, you seem to be holding yourself up well enough to grind yourself against him–he can feel your wetness through the fabric of his pants. He’s no better, panting into your hair as he grips at you. His fingers are greedy, one of his hands slipping from the curve of your ass, over your thigh and between your legs, seeking out where you’re most desperate.
Your clit calls out to his selfish desire, fingertips pressing into you in voracious circles, encouraging the stifled mewls from your throat. You muffle yourself by biting into his shoulder–he would’ve winced if it weren’t for the adrenaline biting through his veins.
When your legs tremble with the effort of holding you up, he knows he’s found your limit. He pulls his fingers back, shushing your whine–you were so close, and he was cutting you off. You choke on a pained cry when he leaves you still, waiting, wanting. He doesn’t even let you try to rut against him, his palm firm against your hip.
It seems rapture falls victim to desperation rather quickly.
Your pleas for him to continue fall on a stagnant tongue as he lifts you, pressing you down into the pillows beneath you. He presses you face down, buries your face in the soft fleece that feels suffocating. But you’d rather suffocate than let him slip by, so you twist your head slightly, enough to suck in air through your nose.
“Quiet,” he reminds, and you bite down on the pillow. “Good girl.”
You don’t know what he’s doing until you feel it. There’s the firm press of his hips against yours, of skin where fabric had once separated you. His cock throbs against the curve of your ass, and he smears the tip across your flesh, leaving the mark of his pre-cum on your skin.
The underside of his cock drags against the dip between your asscheeks when you push your hips up towards him, earning you a stifled, breathy groan from the soldier. You almost tell him to keep quiet too, a snarky murmur that would’ve gotten you punished further, but he pinches at your thigh in reprimand anyways.
He is gentle, dragging himself through your folds and running his length through his fist until he feels like he’s wet enough for you. He intends to be gentle, but when the head of his cock breaches past your entrance, and the heady moan that slips from you reaches his ears, his hand twists into your hair. He presses you down, face first into the pillow with just enough give for you to suck air through your lips.
“Quiet,” he repeats. His hips start slow, much to the dismay of his cock, which throbs desperately, craving to be seated deep into you.
Your walls are soft and warm, hugging at his cock like a vice–his vision nearly goes white, and he steels himself with a tense grip against your hip. He curses under his breath. It doesn’t take much for him to slip inside you–since you’d gotten together, your sex life had been anything but dry.
He runs into you like an animal in heat, his teeth worrying at his lip where he too struggles to remain quiet. He can feel his head nudging against your cervix, can feel how you pulse around him like you intend to milk him dry.
He registers that you’re crying when he looks down, the fabric of the pillow darkened where your tears have steeped into the polyester, your saliva no better as you bite into the pillow to keep your sounds quiet. It’s the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, having you cry around his cock.
It only encourages him further, when your muffled moans reach his ears. He pulls out of you and slams back in, his own ears wincing at the loud slap of skin that follows. Sure, it was loud, but your choked cry made it worth it.
“Hush,” he soothes placatingly, a hand rubbing over your skin.
He flattens himself over your back, fucking into you with more leverage. It’s nasty and quick, but he murmurs against the back of your head sweet words that suck at your heart regardless–he’s loving in speech and rough in manner. “You’re so… fuckin’ perfect for me, aren’t you? Best fucking girl I could’ve asked for. No one better than you, sweet.”
Hot, blinding waves of pleasure spread through his body through his veins. It ignites his nerves, setting him on the brink of a catastrophic waterfall. His cock twitches inside of you, nudging against your walls. His hand moves under you, pressing between your legs just before where his cock splits you open. He rubs against your clit again, feeling you throb against him–it inflates his ego.
You rut back against him before stilling, your limbs tensing up. Another circle of his slick fingertips against your clit and you’re spasming around his cock, clenching at him so desperately he thinks you might be trying to overstimulate him. You come apart so deliciously under him, tears squeezing out of the corners of your eyes as your eyes roll backwards.
He’s not so far behind, muttering half-assed phrases against your skin, “Fuckin’... squeeze ‘round me like that again, ah…” His accent seems to thicken around his words, disintegrating into soft balms that coat your brain–you’re cockdrunk, and he knows it.
The aftershocks of your orgasm leave you clinging around his cock, and it’s enough for him to force himself against your cervix harshly, his cock pulsing with waves of his spend that seems not to end. It spills out around him when he pulls back slightly, his chest heaving. He waits a moment before he can collect himself, pulling himself out. You barely move, aside from collapsing further into the sheets without his hands to hold you up.
He collects you into his arms like a wounded animal, his eyes tracing over your form, the tear tracks down your cheeks and the come that dribbles from between your thighs. You shake in his arms, glassy eyes staring up at him with reverence. “You did good,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
He leans against the headboard with you, before following up his short praise with a modicum of concern, “Did I hurt you?”
The shake of your head sends relief through his bones. He nods at that, holding you tighter, “Sleepy now, aren’t you?”
Summary; Bangchan was engaged to you, yet he couldn’t fulfil his promise to marry you.. Why? Because you died in the hands of a crazy stay after you guys revealed your relationship to his fans.
Type of oneshot; angst
WARNINGS; small gore, death of reader.
Why…? I was happy…
Bangchan couldn’t believe the words coming out of JYP’s mouth…
“I want you to completely ignore her, this isn’t acceptable.” JYP says, looking at Bangchan with a stern, firm look. — why…?
Bangchan shakes his head. “I’m not going to leave someone I love for… Jealous fans.” he speaks, his voice a bit shaky from the shock.
JYP sighed, “You need to do that,” he looked at Bangchan, “For your safety… and hers.” JYP added, trying to manipulate his mindset.
Bangchan looks at JYP, “I’ll protect her, she’s my fiancee, not anyone’s.” Bangchan was slowly getting angry — yet he held himself back.
“Why?” was the only thing out of JYP’s mouth, “You think you can protect her? Who knows… maybe a fan found her location and is doing something.” Bangchan’s eyes widened at the suggestion, and he quickly bolted out of the office, not even taking his car, he ran on his two legs, running and running until he found your apartment.
He quickly climbed the stairs, panting heavily as he desperately climbed.
He arrived on your floor, knocking, no not knocking… banging on the door. Calling out your name. “Open the door!” he bangs the door, “Open the door, I know you are there!” he began to panic.
He starts to break the door, by slamming his shoulder into the door. When it doesn’t budge the first time, he slams his shoulder again, and again, and again, until the door finally opens…
He searched the apartment, from your room, to the guest room, to the kitchen — one place remained, your bathroom…
He quickly knocks on the door, calling your name desperately, he couldn’t hear anything which made this worse than it is.
He had no choice but to break the door — which he, of course, did. And saw a horrifying sight…
He called your name first, seeing no response from the corpse laying down on the bathroom floor, drowning in your blood.
He calls your name again, kneeling down besides your body, your stomach was stabbed with a knife, your eyes glazed and open, your mouth left open as well, blood pooling out of your stomach and mouth, your hands were tied with a rope.
His eyes tear up, slowly reaching a shaky hand towards you, stroking your pale cheek as his brain slowly processed that you were dead… Right in front of him.
He cradled your bloody body close to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, he was full-on crying now, rocking both of you front and back, “Please come back… don’t leave me… We were going to get married!” He breaks down, his voice getting louder with each broken sob he lets out.
His phone was blowing up with notifications, the members were worried about him. “Hyung, where are you?” “Hyung, are you okay?” were most of the messages sent to the man.
He ignored his messages, instantly calling the hospital, telling them your address, and what happened exactly — he didn’t know if you suicided or someone murdered you…
But, if someone did murder you, he had a hunch who did — obviously, he was sure that the stay who recorded you both and published it on the internet, got a saesang to follow them…
As the ambulance arrived at your apartment, he went with them, he didn’t want to know that you were dead… He refused to accept reality.
He looked at the hand he was holding, seeing the engagement ring, dirtied by your blood. His eyes tear up, taking the ring off and cleaning it, then placing it on your hand once again.
tbh i think s toxic for you to be calling out another creater to the point where they deactivate like yes maybe they were doing something that soesn’t align with your moral code but people were clearly enjoying it qnd it was obvious that it wasn’t really hurting anybody and by calling them out you basically just ended what they worked for.
also what if u sent ur anons to give them hate by doing that because u dont know what they said to them that maybe made them deactivate. yes they were using ai if ur right but the ai they use is not gpt since it said erotica, so theyre just giving people access to something they dont have which is helpful sometimes
hey, darling xo
"tbh i think s toxic for you to be calling out another creater to the point where they deactivate" - you really suggest the idea that i was bullying or harrassing them here. my post was entirely informative, and if it came off as harrassment, it was most definitely not intended to be so.
"doesn’t align with your moral code" - it doesn't align with anything, actually. AI is soulless and steals from people who dedicate hours and hours of their time to actually creating instead of mooching off of some corporation who made a stupid chatbot that has no skill, creativity, identity, or concept of tone other than 'how can i help you today?'. AI lets you know what you want to hear.
"it wasn’t really hurting anybody" - it was. generative AI has been KNOWN to harm authors, artists, and people in creative fields. again, it literally STEALS from us. please research.
"ended what they worked for." not to be rude, honey, um... but... like... worked for what? the chat prompt? i'm sorry but... i just can't find weight in this argument.
"u sent ur anons to give them hate by doing that because u dont know what they said to them that maybe made them deactivate." - i specified to any and all people that came across my post that they should NOT interact with the person at all. i don't think i am responsible if someone does come at them, since... well... i said not to. please go back to my original post and read what i wrote :)
"giving people access to something they dont have which is helpful sometimes" - /i/ am giving you access to something you can't do either. i write. i write with my hands and a keyboard and sometimes paper. i write without AI and i write knowing that it is a part of me that i am leaving on the paper, not the mark of some half-assed chat prompt. you want to write erotica with AI? one google search and i'm sure you'll find something that will help you. it's very easily accessible. what isn't is experience and skill, which takes TIME to obtain. it's not immediate. not like AI.
i apologise if i was passive aggressive here. i don't mean to be. i'm just tired lmao ... anyways, please go read my original post. none of what i've said was harrassing or attacking bean. i only mean to inform and to make friends, here on tumblr. horny on main, not drama on main :)
@avgdestitute (cause i think you could probably say words better than me here)
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