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that-one-girl2020 · 1 day ago

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Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 3

A/N: Wow. Okay this got a lot more attention than I expected it to in three days. Sorry this part took me a little longer to write but it has one-on-one interactions with each member, that’s why it’s longer than the other parts.

Also, sorry but I’ve reached the maximum number of mentions I can have in the tag list so the tag list is closed!

By majority vote, I will be giving the Saja Boys Korean names so depending on the situation and point of view, they’ll either be referred to as their stage names or their Korean names.

If you guys have any ideas for outtakes, leave them in the comments below!

TW: I needed some way for the reader’s stress to manifest, like how Rumi struggles to sing as the pattern progresses. This manifested as a form of self mutilation, mostly just scratching when stressed or anxious. Insecurity and self deprecating thoughts ahead as well!

Word Count: 6,388

Baby: Jum (king)

Romance: Chungae (noble and love)

Mystery: Hyeon (virtuous, worthy, able)

Abby: Kwan (one who is strong)

Part 1, Part 2

The four boys knew that they had to talk to Jinu about what they found out about (Y/n) and, by default, her sister the hunter. But, they were summoned by Gwi Ma before they had a chance to. They appeared in the middle of a crowd of cheering demons so the boys fell into their idol personas, smiling and pandering to the crowd.

They couldn’t help how their chests clenched when Gwi Ma forced them back into their demon forms.

And then Jinu joined them, standing at the top of the mountain before Gwi Ma’s fire. “One of the Hunters and her sister bears my mark, but I have no control over them.”

The four boys shared looks with each other out of the corners of their eyes. Gwi Ma was in their heads, of course he already knew.

“That’s good. This means that they have shame. We’ll find out what it is and we can use it to destroy the Hunters for good,” Jinu plotted with a sly smirk.

“I’ve taught you well, Jinu.”

Gwi Ma dismissed the five boys back to the human world and they popped to the place they shared. “Hey, boss, we should talk about what we’re gonna do.”

The five spread across the living area, Kwan laying across the couch as Chungae picked up his legs so he could sit before replacing Kwan legs.

Jum sat on the ground, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t care but his eyes kept glancing up and around at the others.

Hyeon sat on the arm of the couch, picking at his lip even though he shouldn’t. It was hard to get used to not having his tusks anymore… It’s kinda become a tick at this point.

Jinu stood in front of them, “We need to find out what shame the Hunter and her sister have. To do that, we need to get close to them, make them comfortable around us.”

“You’ve had the most interaction with the Hunter, right? So she’ll be more open to you I think,” Chungae mused thoughtfully.

“But, there isn’t just one of us that the sister has spent more time with,” Jum pointed out.

None of the boys wanted to admit that they each knew your name, it would mean admitting that you had caught at least a little bit of their attention, enough to remember you.

“Well, I was the one that carried her tonight,” Chungae flipped his hair, smiling smugly.

“Hey hey, I was the one she was flirting with during the fight. And she was eyeing my abs so I should talk to her,” Kwan crossed his arms, nudging Chungae’s stomach with his foot.

“I was the one who won the spicy challenge, I feel like I should be the one to get close to her,” Jum added his own input.

Hyeon wanted to add his own argument but he didn’t think knowing your scent would really go in his favor… But his jaw itched to sink his teeth into your skin. Gently! He just wanted to bite you… affectionately…

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose. He could see where the four were coming from and he was a bit disappointed that he already had the role of getting close to the Hunter but he couldn’t do anything about it. You were so cute when you were flustered too…

“You can all take a try at it, it’s four chances of her opening up to one of you so it should be fine. Just don’t overwhelm her or it’ll look sketchy,” Jinu told them. He dug through the stationary they had around, writing out a note for Derpy and his bird friend to deliver to the Hunter.

“I’m heading out.”

~~~

‘Was it bad that you were glad the girls hadn’t caught up to the Saja Boys…?’

You had run back to the Huntr/x tower, looking ridiculous with your arms inside your sweatshirt to cover your arms and very thankful that there weren’t any civilians out then. You tapped your foot impatiently as the elevator took you up and then you sprinted to your room to put on a different sweatshirt with a high neck tank top under to cover the marks spreading up your neck.

The girls were a few minutes behind you. You changed just in time to greet them with your first aid kit.

Rumi burst out of the elevator with a cry of your name, “You’re okay, right?!” She grabbed your arms, scanning you over frantically, checking for bruises or scratches.

“Those dirty playing demons,” Zoey fumed, stomping with her arms crossed childishly. “You are okay though, right, (Y/n)?”

Mira huffed, following the other two out of the elevator, “She’s fine guys, she doesn’t have a scratch.” You didn’t miss how her eyes scanned over you though, making sure that you really were alright.

“What were you thinking?!” Rumi stressed, grabbing your face in her hands to pull you closer to her. “Going after them?! You could’ve been hurt! You could’ve been…!” Rumi trailed off, the words stuck in her throat.

You could’ve been found out. Your pattern could’ve been seen. You’d have to tell Rumi later that the boys had ripped your sleeves.

But for now, you smiled with a light laugh, “I’m fine, Rumi, I promise. Let me patch you guys up, you guys look a little… eesh.” You grimaced as you took a good look at all the scratches on their faces. They were not offended, they completely understood.

The girls relaxed and let you tend to their scratches and bruises before going to change into lounge clothes and then coming back to see the Honmoon.

Thankfully, they bought your explanation that you lost the boys due to Gwi Ma summoning them and had headed back to the tower to wait for them, you had explained while you patched them up.

The girls stood at the window, looking at the red corrupting the Honmoon as you put the first aid supplies away and moved to the kitchen. You glanced at them with furrowed brows as you got out the ingredients for kimbap.

Then the elevator came up with Bobby, “Girls?”

The girls whipped out their compacts to aggressively cover the wounds on their faces and turned to greet him, “Hey Bobby!”

You threw the first aid supplies in one of the cupboards as you shook your head. You couldn’t help but find it amusing how well trained they were by now in covering up scrapes and bruises from their hunting.

You heard Bobby swiping through TikTok, and couldn’t help the way your shoulders bounced as the chorus of Soda Pop played on a loop.

“Zoey!”

“Bobby! Control those shoulders!”

You froze awkwardly. At least they hadn’t caught you… You focused on making the kimbap a little more aggressively, your head ducked down to avoid attention. It was such a catchy song…

You hunched down further when Rumi started plotting an aggressive diss track to perform at the International Idol Awards.

“Zoey, we’re gonna need a new song!”

“I got twenty-three notebooks full of demon insults ready to go.”

“Yeah! Let’s make it thirty notebooks!”

“Mira, the choreography?”

“Yup. Making them hotter.”

“Backup dancers, ready to go.”

“(Y/n),” you gave a strained smile at the sudden call of your name, standing at attention and thankfully not cutting your fingers with the knife in your hand. “Visuals?”

“Already making a mental Pinterest board!”

“Team of designers, ready for your call!”

“We’ll write a brand new song. A diss track to expose those Saja Boys.”

“And send those disgusting demons back to the depths where they belong!”

You bit back a grimace as the girls started raging enthusiastically.

“Yeah!”

“YeaHHH!”

“YeahHHH!”

“…”

“YEAHHH!!”

And then they ran off to their rooms to get started or rest or something… You sighed, carrying the plate of finished kimbap rolls over to stand next to Bobby to stare flatly after them.

Welp. More for you. You held out the plate to Bobby, “Kimbap?”

“Oh, thanks (Y/n)!”

You wrapped up the rest of the rolls except for one, taking it with you. You paused at Rumi’s door, raising your hand to knock. But you hesitated.

You should tell Rumi that the Saja Boys saw your pattern. Them knowing was a threat because then they also knew that Rumi had patterns too. But… maybe they would just think you were the only one with a demon pattern…? You’d have to talk to them.

So you lowered your hand and kept walking to your room. You shut the door behind you, almost screaming in surprise when a hand slapped over your mouth and dragged you out your balcony door and jumped up to the roof of the tower.

When they released you, you took a deep breath and scrambled away to put distance between you and your kidnapper. “You gotta stop doing that!”

Romance couldn’t help but chuckle, waving his hands disarmingly, “Sorry sorry, I just wanted to chat with you.”

You bit your lip. They knew about your pattern. “About what?” You asked, on guard.

“Your pattern.” There it is. “You’re part demon.”

“So what?” You snapped defensively, hugging your arms even though you knew your skin was covered.

“I was curious,” He admitted openly, brushing some hair out of his face as he leaned back against the edge of the small roof balcony. “You don’t hear him, do you?”

“No. W-wait, who?” You backpedaled, you had refused on instinct and then you registered what he said.

He looked at you obviously, “Gwi Ma. You didn’t make a deal with him? All demons hear his voice, constantly reminding them of… their shame.”

You loosened from your defensive pose, surprised by the vulnerable look on his face. He didn’t seem to want to hurt you, so you relaxed and leaned against the edge behind you, keeping your distance for now.

“Shame?” You echoed curiously.

He looked at you, analyzing you, “It’s all demons do, feel their shame and all the emotions that come with it. These patterns,” He held up his arm, his patterns glowing as he did. “They show that each demon carries a deep shame with them…”

Then he was in front of you, taking your hand as you gasped softly. Your own pattern started glowing through your clothes, “You do too, sweetheart…”

Your grip tightened on his hand. You looked down as your heart squeezed painfully. Yeah… you do…

“Romance—“

“Call me Chungae,” He interrupted you softly.

“Chungae. You… you guys won’t tell the others, right? Rumi… Rumi and I aren’t ready yet, but… we want to be the ones to tell them…” You hesitantly asked through stumbling words. They knew. They must know that you and Rumi are part demon…

You couldn’t help but think of all the moments you’ve wanted to share your secret with Mira and Zoey. You want to go to the bathhouse with them. You want to go to the beach. You want to be able to wear your skin comfortably instead of the itching, crawling feeling you get at just the idea of wearing shorts or a tank top.

But it wasn’t your choice whether you told them or not. It wasn’t your secret to tell. It was Rumi’s.

Chungae scanned your face, his look softening as he brushed a bit of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t know about the others, but I won’t tell.”

You couldn’t help but relax at the reassurance, your face warmer at his touch. These boys really weren’t evil, they were so… human.

You looked away, “You should go before the other girls come looking for me.”

Chungae couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your shy demeanor. How cute… It’s like the first time you met all over again, how cute and shy you were when the five of them invited you to their debut. “Of course.”

You gasped as he smoothly swept you into his arms and leapt down to your balcony as you bit back a shriek. When you got down from his arms, you couldn’t help but bend over with your hands on your knees, taking deep breaths to settle your heart from the shock of being carried down from one height to another. “Stop doing that!” You whisper shouted at him, disgruntled.

“Sorry sorry, darling, I’ll go now,” Chungae hopped up to the railing of your balcony, stopping to look over his shoulder at you, “Oh. You should know that the others are also interested in seeing you. Just a heads up.”

He smiled slyly before jumping and disappearing in a dramatic poof of demon magic. “Wait, huh!?”

You grabbed a pillow to scream into.

Oh wait. Your kimbap!

~~~

And they did.

The next day, you were out looking at fabrics for the visuals of the diss track the girls were working on. Something like their battle outfits would work good but with sharp color accents to make it pop and fit the stage. Less spikes too, a little less aggressive but fans will probably like the dark look. Maybe in a music video, the girls could use their weapons so then if they pull them out on stage, they just look like props and special effects…?

Oh. There’s a boy walking next to you.

“… Can I help you…?”

Hands stuffed in his pockets, looking around with a disinterested look but a spark of curiosity shone in his eyes underneath the hat hiding his features, “No. I’m good.”

“Okayyy… you do you, Baby” You decided to just keep going about your business as Baby followed at your side.

“Jum,” He corrected you.

“Uhm, okay, Jum…” You kept looking at the maknae out of the corner of your eye as he followed you into fabric shops, looking around curiously or scrolling on his phone as you talked with the owners.

“Hey,” You stopped on the sidewalk when Jum tugged on your sleeve, pointing over to a shop window, “What’s that?”

You looked over, “A cat cafe…?” You looked at him strangely. How old was he again…?

Jum was quiet for a moment. “Let’s go in.” He was already walking in before you could respond. You didn’t have to follow him, he had just decided to follow you after all, but—ughhhh!

You followed him in.

Going in, he looked like a lost kid. He was looking around at the tables and the people. “Welcome! How many people today and for how long?”

“Uhhh…”

You came up behind him, smiling at the host, “Table for two, just for an hour please.”

“Alright, right this way!”

Ah man, why did you follow him again…? Jum trailed after you as you followed the host into the sectioned off area to a booth by a window. “Someone will be by to take your order in a moment. Please feel free to give the cats treats!”

“Thank you!” You called after her as you sat, setting down your work bag as Jum slid into the seat across from you. He was staring. You followed his gaze to see he was in a staring contest with a black cat. You looked between the two of them, back and forth. It was kind of adorable.

“Pick what you want to order and then we can try and tempt some cats over.”

Jum didn’t know what to order. He was one of the few born in the demon realm, he had never been to the human realm before as the prince of a small territory. Not that the title mattered much with Gwi Ma ruling.

“If you wanna start simple, a coffee or hot chocolate would be good hot drinks. Or a vanilla or chocolate milkshake if you want something cold. For food, the sandwiches are good if you want something savory but the strawberry shortcake looks good for something sweet.”

You were almost tempted to recommend a soda pop for him but you’ve seen enough TikToks of fans giving them different sodas.

Jum took in the information you gave him with a hum, scanning over the menu again.

You ordered, Jum ended up getting a coffee and the strawberry shortcake. You almost laughed at the contrasting flavors he would be experiencing. But you pulled over the little container of cat treats, “Alright, let's see if we can get a few kitties over.”

Jum perked up at the same time as some of the cats as the container clinked as you opened it. Three cats hurried over, and you couldn’t help but laugh brightly as they jumped up on the bench to climb in your lap and over your shoulders, nuzzling your face cutely for treats. “Hey, settle down! You’ll get your treats!”

Jum’s face softened at the sight. You laughing so carelessly, smiling brightly as the fluffy creatures swarmed around you while your face flushed with joy. He couldn’t help but sneak a few photos and sent one to the Saja chat smugly. He ignored the chat as it started going off.

The two of you played with the cats for a while. The wondrous look on Jum’s face as he first pet a cat was adorable and you really wanted to take a picture but the girls were always taking selfies on the first phone they could grab. You couldn’t risk them seeing it.

You had the same urge when you saw his face as he first tasted his coffee and then his cake. It was soooo adorable…

Before the two of you went your separate ways, Jum quietly told you that he wouldn’t spill your secret.

~~~

You watched from backstage as the girls politely clapped on screen, the boys awarded as the top artist of the week. They were really starting to make progress on their diss track but you couldn’t help but distance yourself from the project. The lyrics that were unfolding made you uncomfortable in a different way from how Golden did.

Golden had lines about not hiding anymore and being honest but it just felt like a lie whenever Rumi sang it with the girls. But Takedown… was strictly about killing demons because they were evil, unfeeling monsters that didn’t deserve to live. It made your skin crawl and you couldn’t help but itch at your arms and neck from time to time when you heard them discussing it.

You turned to make your way back to the girls’ dressing room to meet them once the awards ended and they left the stage. You could hear clapping again, the awards must have ended. And then you were swept away. Into a closet.

‘What was with these guys?!’ You were pinned against a shelf of cleaning supplies, a thick arm caging you in above you. Another held out a flower to you. “Hey there, babe~”

You crossed your arms, looking up at him unimpressed. Well… there was a little flush on your cheeks. “Hi Abby. What is this, a shoujo manga?”

He tsked, smirking playfully down at you, “Come on, babe, can’t spare a guy a warmer welcome?”

“Not when he and his friends keep sweeping me away for their whims. What did you want?” You plucked the flower from his hand, rolling the stem between your fingers.

Abby chuckled, his arm flexing as he swept his hair out of his face. “Well, our two youngest got to spend some one-on-one time with you and I wanted my turn. Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

You hesitated. And not for the reasons you should’ve. “I… I have to get dinner ready for the girls…”

“What are you, their housewife?” He raised a brow down at you.

You grimaced as the words hit a little close to home. Yeah, he hit the nail right on the head. “I guess… they can order take out tonight…”

“Yes! Come on, before the other boys catch up!” Abby cheered, taking your wrist and jogging out of the closet and to the nearest exit.

“Hey!”

“Abby!”

“No fair!” You heard the cries of the other Saja Boys behind you as he dragged you along. You chuckled. The other demon boys could easily catch up if they wanted to. But dang, you dropped your flower back there…

A few streets over, you stopped as Abby slowed down barely out of breath, in contrast to you who was panting like a dog. Oh man, you felt way too gross to be with this man right now.

“So… I actually don’t know any good spots to eat at…”

You laughed at his sheepish expression. “Come on, there are some good food stalls at the night market.”

Without thought, you took his hand and led the way. When you got there, it turned out that Abby wasn’t picky about his food at all and that he could pack away a lot of food. You guys went from stall to stall, you were amazed as Abby charmed the older sellers, chatting with them as if they had known each other for a long time. Whatever food you couldn’t finish, Abby happily did.

“What are you? Some demon trash disposal? Where does it all go?” You asked him as he finished off the last of the chicken skewers you both had been eating.

“Straight to my muscles of course,” He smirked, flexing cheekily with a wink.

You laughed and shoved him jokingly. Then, a curious thought occurred to you, “Hey Abby? Can I… ask what the demon realm is like?”

He blinked, surprised by the question but you just continued looking forward, not meeting his eyes. He copied you, looking ahead as the two of you walked.

“It’s dark and depressing. The sky is red like it’s on fire and the ground is dry and desolate. Nothing grows there. There are two main types of demons: those that formed from souls fed to Gwi Ma and those that lost their souls making deals with Gwi Ma. There are also demons born from other demons but those are rare.”

You frowned in thought, not responding for a long moment. So, demons really could feel emotions. Did that mean… that your dad really did love your mom…?

Abby noticed your expression, lost in deep thought, “What’cha thinking about there, babe?”

You didn’t answer for a moment, too many thoughts trailing in too many different directions… “Nothing important. So, which are you guys, Abby?”

Abby hummed, “Call me Kwan,” he said, letting you change the subject. He couldn’t help but let you in a little closer. He thought if he just kept using his stage name with you, he could keep a little distance between you, keep the mission in mind. But… he wanted to let you close.

“Well, with the exception of Jum, we’re all humans that made deals with Gwi Ma years ago out of desperation. I…” Kwan trailed off and the two of you stopped by the river to sit on a bench in a quiet area. “I was born during an old war. I wasn’t strong enough to protect my family when it counted, so I asked Gwi Ma for strength to protect those I cared about.” He laughed sarcastically, “How well that turned out for me…”

You frowned, taking his hand slowly, hesitantly offering comfort from the obviously dark memories and regrets swimming through his head. He smiled softly at you, squeezing your hand as the two of you looked out over the river. There was nothing for either of you to say at that moment, but you understood each other.

~~~

After that interaction with Kwan, the girls noticed you were lost in thought more often, but they didn’t bring it up, figuring you were just deep in thought about the visuals and clothes for the new song. You often got lost in a new project when it really inspired you.

Except you didn’t like the new song. It was just so hateful towards demons and after you knew most demons come from human souls in some shape or form, you couldn’t fully support it. Especially with your own pattern steadily spreading across your skin. You had to start using a salve to help with the scratching the stress was causing. If they spread too much more, you would have to start wearing a face mask…

Now that you think about it, the only Saja Boys you haven’t really talked to are Jinu and Mystery. Which one would ambush you next? Was it bad that you were looking forward to it?

You needed a break from the girls. As the Honmoon corruption got worse and more demons came through, they got more tense and enthusiastic with the new diss track. So, you went to the park to sit and just breathe for a few minutes. You sat on a bench under the shade of a tree, head back and eyes closed under the sun as you took a deep breath. Someone was playing Soda Pop nearby and you could hear Golden somewhere too…

Your eyes snapped open when arms wrapped around you from behind a nose buried into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath. You flushed deep red, shrieking as you leapt to the other end of the bench. A hand pressed to your chest to settle your racing heart you turned to see it was a sulky Mystery, pouting at you pulling away so quickly.

“It’s just me,” He said.

“Personal space, dude!” You cried vehemently, your face still a dark red. Mystery circled the bench to sit next to you. Like, right next to you. Your thighs were touching. You deadpan at him, “This is not personal space, man.”

Mystery just tilted his head at you. It was nice to see you with the sun shining down on you like this. And your scent was so comforting when it filled his senses, he couldn’t help but burrow his nose in the crook of your neck. It made his teeth itch to bite again.

“How do you guys keep finding me? Do you have some kind of tracker or something…?”

“Nah, it’s mostly by chance,” Mystery told you, casually taking your hand to play with your fingers and the rings you had on. He didn’t tell you how Jinu’s bird was keeping an eye or three on you… He didn’t remember much about social normalities from when he was human, but he could remember that telling someone they were being watched was weird.

You shook your head and let him do as he pleased, taking a deep breath and tilting your head back to enjoy the sun while closing your eyes.

Then there was a tugging on your hand, “Let’s go.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond or ask where you were going before he was tugging you off the bench and away. “Wait, Mystery, where are we going?” You almost slapped a hand over your mouth, hoping no one heard that it was one of the Saja Boys out in public.

“Hyeon. De-stress,” he said simply. Then he was pulling you into an arcade. You didn’t really know how playing some games at an arcade would help you relax

But at least you didn’t have to pay to play because Hyeon was already pulling out his wallet! Don’t get it wrong, you could pay for stuff yourself, but it was refreshing after eating so much food with Jum and Kwan. You refused to let them pay for your food and you didn’t pay for theirs either but it was still money…

When Hyeon had the prepaid wristbands, he turned to hand one to you with a small smile, “Sometimes, you just need to act like a kid.”

You blinked. And then he was pulling you to the first game he saw with that small content smile and you couldn’t help but laugh.

You were pretty sure he also just wanted to go to an arcade…

Hyeon was right though. Playing those games, you couldn’t help but laugh and as you became more competitive with him, you forgot what was bugging you. You laughed louder and became more comfortable treating him like a close friend, pushing him and bickering as he gave you a little smug smirk when he won and a sulky pout when he lost. You had to pull him back when he started barking at a few people that tried to rush the two of you at some games…

It was late by the time you both left, matching ugly keychains in hand from the prize shop.

“… Thanks Hyeon, I really needed that,” You smiled at him as you stopped at the park where you would both be going your own ways.

He smiled, taking your hand in his. “Of course, princess. Anything to see that smile on your face.”

Oh boy. You didn’t think Hyeon would be the cheesy one but he said it so seriously before placing a kiss on your hand.

You shook yourself, your face flushing red as you steeled yourself, “Hey, I am not a princess!” You crossed your arms.

Hyeon smirked a little, “I don’t think you can handle what I really want to call you so princess will do for now.”

Your jaw couldn’t help but drop as your face flushed darker.

“See you soon, princess,” he said, and then he was walking away and you just stared after him, speechless.

‘What did he mean by that?! Ugh, stupid hot demon boys…’

~~~

Another award show passed and Golden won most played song of the week. But tensions were still high as the Saja Boys took over more and more of the billboards, they were all anyone could see on TikTok too, more fans joining the Pride.

Your nervous scratching was getting worse, you had to go out and get another salve. Thankfully, the girls were too focused on Takedown and demon hunting to keep track of when you were in or out of the tower. It hurt you a little though, that you fell to the wayside so easily.

You were mindlessly scratching over your sleeve with the salve safely wrapped in a small paper bag in your arms as you started the walk back to the tower. You needed to talk to the design team about what you had in mind and to the producers about visuals for a possible music video.

“What’cha got there, pretty girl?”

You turned to see him leaning against the wall in the shadows of an alley. You sighed, “Do you plan these dramatic encounters or do they just come naturally to you?”

Jinu chuckled, standing straight but his eyes lingered on the bag in your arms and the arm where you had been scratching. “Being an idol calls for a flare for the dramatic,” He shrugged.

You chuckled at his antics but then his hand snapped out to grab your wrist. Panicked, you tried to pull away as he pushed your sleeve up. You forgot that he knew about your pattern so it wasn’t those marks he was looking at.

No, it was the red scratch marks littering your arm where the pattern was darkest.

He snapped his eyes up to glare at you, pulling you somewhere, “What’s so bad that you scratch yourself to such a degree?”

You had no answer for him besides shame… So you didn’t say anything.

He sighed. Jinu ended up taking you to a small plaza, not many people around as he sat you on the edge of a fountain. He pulled out the small glass container of salve you had gotten, reading the ingredients with narrow eyes before opening it and smelling it.

Jinu tsked before taking your arm to gently apply the salve to each bleeding scratch and red mark, “The herbs used today are so bad, not as effective as the ones grown years ago… too much pollution…” He murmured to himself.

You couldn’t help but smile at his care. “Thanks Jinu…”

He glanced up and faltered, remembering who he was and who he was with as he quickly but carefully finished up, fumbling a little as his cheeks pinked, “Oh, ah, it’s fine, don’t mention it.” He quickly screwed the cap on of the salve and practically shoved it in your hands before awkwardly sitting down next to you.

Wow. Jinu was the most awkward of the group it seemed. Was Baby really the maknae of the group? You giggled at how the tips of his ears were red and he refused to look at you.

“Is it really�� that bad living with the patterns…?”

You froze at his hesitant question. You gripped your arm over your sleeve to keep from scratching more at the flare of stress you felt. You couldn’t look at him. “I don’t know… I started scratching when I was a kid. It comes and goes depending on what I’m stressed about…”

“Meaning, when you’re stressed about your pattern,” Jinu summarized thoughtfully. You could feel his gaze on the side of your face.

“Yeah…” You avoided his gaze.

Jinu frowned. This wasn’t like the first interaction he had with your sister. That was filled with him trying to gain her trust, trying to convince her that he was the only one that would understand her. It made his stomach curl uncomfortably how she didn’t even argue that you understood her. Were you two not very close?

He saw something different than your sister in you, “You liked your patterns once, didn’t you?”

Your face slackened then hardened, “…I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He frowned but nodded in acceptance anyway. Pushing wouldn’t get him anywhere. “That’s alright, but I can understand what you’re going through,” It was the same thing he told your sister. But with you he couldn’t help but… genuinely mean it. He looked down at his hand. His pattern was a constant reminder of his shame after all. Sometimes he wanted to scratch until they just peeled away too.

“I know, I just… I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it…” You told him. Rumi should be the first one you talked to about this, right? But, wouldn’t she just recycle Aunt Celine’s words at you? Never show your faults (Y/n), never show your pattern (Y/n), you’d betray Rumi and everyone else if you shared your pattern (Y/n), you’re not enough (Y/n).

You shook your head and stood. “I want ice cream.”

He looked up at you with surprise, “Oh. Okay…?”

“Come on.” The shoe was on the other foot now as you started marching to the nearest ice cream shop, not waiting to see if he would follow.

“Wh-what? Wait, what’s happening?” He scrambled after you, confused but going along with your sudden decision.

Jinu followed you into the ice cream shop, sliding on a pair of glasses and a hat to disguise himself. You were already ordering what you wanted, two big scoops of your favorite flavor.

He almost jumped when you suddenly turned to him expectantly. “Oh, uh,” He stuttered, scanning the flavors before him. It felt like he was sweating with the sudden pressure he felt. There were so many names, why were there so many different ice cream names?! “Uh, two scoops of Chuckle Chunk.” He couldn’t even tell you what was in it.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how stiff Jinu was. You hadn’t meant to make him feel pressured but it was pretty adorkable.

The two of you paid and left the shop to eat your ice cream at the fountain. You watched as he hesitantly tried his ice cream. His face lit up.

You chuckled, starting to eat your own ice cream, “How is it?”

Jinu couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah, it’s got these really rich chocolate things and there’s these little white pieces and some salty caramel things too.”

You blinked at how he described it. “How old are you again…?” That was how he described brownie fudge chunks, marshmallow pieces, and sea salt caramel syrup?

He blinked too, “Four hundred…?”

You couldn’t help but balk, “Oh wow, you’re old.”

He deadpanned at you. “And you’re a baby.”

You laughed. Jinu didn’t really know what you were laughing about, maybe just the situation itself but he smiled.

It was easier to be around you than he thought it would be. “Don’t stress too much.”

You looked at him, “It’s kinda hard to avoid stress when Gwi Ma is trying to destroy the Honmoon and feast and the human souls of the whole population. Besides, I’ve got a lot going on: visuals for the girls, keeping our apartment clean, cooking, designing clothes and visuals for them, and then there’s a fan signing event coming up…” You sighed and Jinu grimaced. Wow.

Jinu knew he wasn’t helping with the stress you were going through but he couldn’t help his selfish streak. He wanted his memories gone…

“Just… Cut your nails or wear gloves so you don’t hurt yourself so badly…” Jinu told you.

You smiled. He was… worried for you. It was the first time that someone’s worry didn’t make you feel weak. It wasn’t about your fighting capabilities, it was about your well-being. When was the last time that someone worried about that?

“Thanks Jinu…” You smiled mischievously. “It’s the first time such a pretty boy has shown me such care,” You turned the table on him.

Jinu spontaneously combust. Stuttering as he shoved more ice cream in his mouth to occupy himself but that just made his head hurt.

“Brain freeze!” You laughed.

~~~

The night before the fan signing event, you laid awake in bed. The girls were surely already sleeping so that they could get plenty of rest. But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Looking back on the past two weeks, you felt more conflicted than you ever had before.

The voice in your head that sounded like Aunt Celine said that you shouldn’t be letting the Saja Boys so close, getting so comfortable with them. The girls were going to kill them anyway so you were just looking to get your heart broken at this rate.

But a small part of yourself whispered that they made you feel safe, seen, heard in a way that you never had been before.

Outtake(s):

Jum(Baby): “Do they make these cakes…spicier?”

You: “Uh…no. No they do not.”

Jum(Baby): *Sadly* “Aw man…”

…

Hyeon(Mystery): *Sees someone just a little too close to you* “Grrrrr…”

You: *Being dragged along as you try to hold him back* “You can’t- Stop! Bad Saja Boy!”

Hyeon(Mystery): *Feral gremlin barking*

…

You: *sick of all these pretty boys flustering you* “What do you want, pretty boy?”

Jinu: *ERROR ERROR ERROR* “Uhhhh…”

…

Huntr/x: “You know, (Y/n) has been disappearing a lot lately… And she never wants to listen to our song…”

Huntr/x: “Maybe she’s uncomfortable with the lyrics?”

Huntr/x: …

Huntr/x: “Nah. She’s just way too inspired by our violent need to eradicate all demons.”

You: *frantically scratching*

Tag list:

@brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374

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kannady · 1 day ago

Note

Genuinely love the Ever, Ever After series. Reading every paragraph of it has me clutching to my pearls <3 I LOVE IT SO MUCHH SHIWJEIEJW

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 4k

a/n: okay so! an early update cus ill be super busy and tired tomorrow, then squid game s3 will be coming out AND a lads update is coming out on friday with fans heavily speculating we'll get a sneak peak of the sixth li. so im guessing we'll all be super busy. i really hope ur enjoying this series and TYSM ANON you literally made my day!! i hope you enjoy this chapter as well. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

III

Your heart sank like a stone in water as Dr. Voss’s expression shifted. A slow, chilling transformation from curiosity to something far more dangerous. His cold eyes flicked from you to Sylus, still restrained behind the glass, then back to you, and in that split second, you knew.

Oh, shit. I’m done for.

But survival instincts kicked in, sharp and automatic. You straightened your spine, forcing your voice into something resembling professionalism.

"I was just checking his vitals before lunch," you said, gesturing to the monitors with a steadiness you didn’t feel. "His levels plateaued. The serum isn’t affecting his Evol anymore. I thought-" A breath, calculated. "I should ask if he was experiencing any side effects. Protocol 9-D, right? Patient-reported data?"

The lie slithered out smoother than you expected. Voss’s eyebrow arched, his gaze lingering on you for a heartbeat too long before he stepped closer to the observation window. The silence stretched, suffocating, as he scrutinized the vitals himself. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the suspicion coiling tighter.

Then, miraculously, he nodded. "You’re right." His voice was clipped, but the tension in your shoulders eased a fraction. "We’ll halt administration. Clearly, this batch isn’t potent enough." He turned to you, and for the first time in your two years at EVER, something resembling approval flickered in his expression. "Good catch, Dr. (Y/N)."

The praise should’ve felt like a victory. Instead, it sat heavy in your chest. You nodded stiffly, avoiding Sylus’s gaze, but you could feel it, burning into you like a brand. Even now, even half-drugged and strapped to a chair, he was watching. Waiting.

You mumbled an excuse about lunch and all but bolted from the lab, the doors hissing shut behind you. The hallway was deserted, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. For a moment, you just stood there, pressing your palms to your eyes until stars burst behind your lids.

What the hell am I doing?

Your phone was in your hand before you could second-guess it. Luke’s number rang once, twice, then disconnected. Kieran’s didn’t even go through. You stared at the screen, your reflection warped in the black glass. A new, ugly thought slithered into your mind. What if he didn’t come alone?

Sylus didn’t do anything without a plan. And if he was here, in EVER’s clutches, then where was she? The woman whose laughter had haunted you long after you’d left. The woman he’d loved in some other life, maybe even in this one.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. What if this was all part of some elaborate scheme, and you were just a pawn again? A distraction. What if she was waiting in the shadows, ready to step in the moment EVER’s defenses crumbled?

The idea should’ve infuriated you. Instead, it just made you tired. Two years of running, of building a life where you were finally someone else, and here you were, right back where you started. Caught between Sylus’s games and EVER’s cruelty, with no idea which side would destroy you first.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket and started walking, your heels clicking a sharp, staccato rhythm against the tile. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Because whether this was a trap or some twisted reunion, one thing was certain. You were already in too deep to walk away now.

Your lungs burned with the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The immediate crisis was over, Voss had bought your lie, at least for now. But the relief was temporary, fragile as glass. You knew what came next. A stronger serum. A more aggressive extraction. And Sylus, proud, untouchable Sylus, wouldn’t survive it.

The thought sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through you, your pulse hammering so loudly you were half-convinced the entire lab could hear it. What do I do?

Luke and Kieran weren’t answering. That left only one option.

Her.

Her very presence had been like a blade pressed to your ribs, a constant reminder that no matter how close you stood to him, you would never be the one he truly saw.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides. She worked at the Hunters Association, you remembered that much. But you couldn’t go now. Not in broad daylight, not when you didn’t even know her name. The realization was a bitter pill. Two years of resentment, of stolen glances and silent comparisons, and you’d never even learned what her name was.

No, you’d have to wait. Slip away after hours, linger near the building’s exits like some kind of stalker, and hope to catch her leaving. The idea made your skin crawl, but what other choice did you have?

For now, you forced yourself to move, to slip back into the rhythm of your day like nothing was wrong. Mara had mentioned a new restaurant, some place with dumplings she’d been raving about. You went, more out of obligation than hunger, sliding into a seat just as the lunch rush began to thin.

The food arrived, steam curling off the plates in fragrant spirals. You picked up your chopsticks, took a single bite, and then just stopped. The flavors blurred together, tasteless as ash. Your mind was elsewhere, spinning in frantic circles.

What if she doesn’t help? What if she laughs in your face? What if she’s the reason he’s here in the first place?

You pushed the food around your plate, your appetite long gone. Around you, the restaurant buzzed with conversation, the clatter of dishes, the occasional burst of laughter. None of it reached you. You were trapped in your own head, drowning in scenarios that all ended the same way, with Sylus’s lifeless body on an exam table, and your hands stained with the consequences.

By the time you made it back to the facility, lunch had bled into the afternoon, the sky outside the windows already darkening toward evening. You barely had time to stash your bag at your workstation before the alert chimed on your tablet.

“Emergency meeting. Conference Room A. 5 minutes.”

Your stomach dropped.

You knew, even before you stepped through the doors, what this was about. The room was already half-full, researchers murmuring to each other in hushed, excited tones. Voss stood at the front, his expression unreadable as he tapped something into a holoscreen.

Then he looked up, and his gaze landed squarely on you.

“Now that we’re all here,” he said, his voice cool and precise, “let’s discuss Phase Two.”

The screen behind him flickered to life, revealing a new formula, twice as complex as the last, with a list of side effects that made your blood run cold.

Cardiac arrest. Cerebral hemorrhage. Ischemic stroke.

Voss’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We begin testing tomorrow.”

Across the room, Mara caught your eye, her brows furrowed in concern. You realized, distantly, that your hands were shaking.

You curled them into fists.

The meeting passed in a blur of muffled voices and flickering holoscreens. Words like "enhanced serum" and "immediate testing" caught your attention once in a while, meaningless noises against the roaring in your skull. You sat stiff-backed in your chair, fingers clenched around your tablet hard enough to leave imprints, your mind a thousand miles away, trapped behind that observation glass, watching Sylus’s body convulse under the serum’s assault.

When the meeting ended, you stood mechanically, following the stream of researchers out the door like a robot rehearsing actions. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway, perfectly measured, your body moving on autopilot while your thoughts spiraled.

What were you going to do?

The question looped in your head, but there was no answer. No plan. Just the crushing weight of what was coming, the knowledge that tomorrow, they would strap Sylus back into that chair and pump him full of something even worse. And you would have to watch.

A hand closed around your wrist, yanking you sideways into a dim storage room. The door hissed shut behind you, and you blinked, momentarily disoriented, as Mara’s face swam into focus. Her usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by something sharp and searching.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, voice low. “You’ve been zoning out all day. And in there?” She jerked her chin toward the conference room. “You looked like you were about to vomit.”

Your throat tightened. I can’t tell her. The truth was a grenade in your hands, pull the pin, and everything would blow apart. Mara was your friend, maybe the closest thing you had to one in this place, but this? This was too big. Too dangerous.

“It’s just…” You swallowed, scrambling for something, anything, that wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the whole truth either. “This is serious stuff we’re doing now. I can’t- I don’t know if I can take it.”

Mara’s eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?” She crossed her arms, leaning back against a shelf of sterile supplies. “What about the other experiments you performed? The neural overwrites? The memory wipes?” Her voice dropped, almost mocking. “Those didn’t bother you?”

The words hit like a slap.

She was right. You had done worse. Writen protocols that scraped a person’s mind clean, designed machines that could drain the blood out of the subjects with a few clicks. But those subjects had been monsters, rapists, murderers, traffickers from the N109 Zone’s darkest corners. You’d seen their files. Known what they’d done. It had been easy, then, to tell yourself you were making the world better.

But Sylus? Sylus was different.

What exactly was he to you?

The question lodged in your chest like a bullet.

Mara sighed when you didn’t answer, pushing off the shelf. “Look, I won’t push. But get it together.” Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to you, uncharacteristically serious. “I noticed first because we’re friends. The moment someone else does? You’re in trouble.”

She left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her, and just like that, you were alone.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. You slumped against the wall, your legs suddenly unsteady, the cold metal biting through your lab coat. Your tablet slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but you didn’t bother picking it up.

You couldn’t walk away now. Couldn’t pretend you hadn’t seen him. Couldn’t let them kill him.

But helping him? That meant betraying EVER. Meant throwing away everything you’d built, your career, your safety, the fragile peace you’d carved out for yourself.

And for what?

For the man who’d watched you walk away two years ago and hadn’t followed?

Your hands trembled. You pressed them to your face, your breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, a voice whispered. You already know the answer.

You’d known it the moment you saw him behind that glass.

You were going to burn your life to the ground for him.

And the worst part was you didn’t even know why.

You slipped out of the storage room with measured steps. The hallway was empty, the hum of distant conversations and clicking keyboards the only sounds. Okay, you’ve got this.

The plan formed in your mind like a lifeline. After work, you’d go to the Hunter’s Association. Even if Sylus had some grand scheme in motion, you needed to know. And then? Then you’d step away. Wash your hands of this mess.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before pushing open the lab doors. Inside, the scene was exactly as you’d left it, researchers hunched over glowing screens, fingers flying across tablets, the air thick with the sterile scent of ozone and disinfectant. No one looked up as you entered. No one except Mara.

Her gaze met yours for a brief moment before she deliberately turned back to her work. The unspoken "get it together" was evident on her face. You forced yourself to move, crossing the room to your workstation.

The observation window drew your attention like a magnet. Empty, of course. Sylus wasn’t there, why would he be? The serum testing was done for the day, and EVER had no reason to keep him in the lab when they could stash him in some high-security cell instead.

You sank into your chair, fingers hovering over the holoscreen as your thoughts churned. None of this made sense. If Sylus was here, it had to be part of a plan. That’s how he operated. So where was the cavalry? Where were Luke and Kieran, bursting through the doors with guns blazing? Where was the distraction, the sabotage, the anything that would explain why the most dangerous man you’d ever known was sitting in a cell instead of burning this place to the ground?

Unless he wanted to be here.

The thought sent a chill down your spine. You shook your head, as if you could physically dislodge it. No. That was a rabbit hole you couldn’t afford to go down right now.

You threw yourself into your work, losing hours to data streams and prototype schematics, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind raced. The second your shift ended, you were out the door, your coat barely shrugged on as you all but sprinted for the transit station.

The Hunter’s Association loomed ahead, its sleek facade lit by the dying light of the sunset. You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly unsure. Were you too late? Too early? Would she even still be here?

You planted yourself across the street, leaning against a lamppost like you had every right to be there, your pulse thundering in your ears. Minutes ticked by. Ten. Twenty. Just as you were about to give up, to turn and walk away, you saw her.

There she was.

She stepped out of the building beside a coworker, a tall man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes, his posture relaxed, his laugh carrying across the street. And her. Even now, after all this time, the sight of her hit like a punch to the gut.

She was beautiful. Effortlessly so, her hair catching the golden light, her smile easy as she listened to something the man said. You’d spent years trying to forget the exact curve of her lips, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed.

Your feet moved before you could stop yourself, carrying you across the street. The man noticed you first, his gaze sharpening as he subtly shifted his stance, one hand drifting toward his hip. A weapon. Of course. Hunters were never unarmed.

She followed his line of sight, and her eyes locked onto yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Her smile froze, her breath catching audibly. You saw the exact moment recognition dawned, the way her eyes widened, her lips parting in something like shock. Then she turned to the man, murmuring something too low for you to hear.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two of you before nodding and walking away, though not without a final, lingering glance in your direction.

And then she was walking toward you, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. Up close, she was even more striking. The scent of her perfume hit you like a memory. The last time you’d been this close to her, you’d been standing in Sylus’s study, your hands clenched at your sides as they stood side by side.

Now, she studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

"You," she said finally, her voice softer than you remembered. "I wondered if I’d ever see you again."

The words settled between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

What the hell were you even supposed to say?

Your mouth went dry. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, awkward, stilted, painfully inadequate. "Um… hi?"

Her expression softened, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, to your absolute shock, she stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.

You froze.

Her arms were warm, her perfume dizzyingly familiar, something floral and expensive, the same scent that had lingered in Sylus’s study long after she’d left. Your hands hovered uselessly at your sides, your brain short-circuiting. What the hell was happening?

She pulled back first, her smile small but genuine. "Where have you been?"

The question threw you. You blinked, scrambling for words. "I just… left. For work."

"Work?" Her brow furrowed. "You worked for Sylus."

"Well, yeah. And then I left."

She studied you for a long moment, her gaze sharp in a way that made your skin prickle. Then she gestured across the street to a dimly lit coffee shop. "Let’s talk there."

You followed her numbly. This wasn’t how you’d imagined this going. You’d braced for hostility, for cold indifference, not this. Not soft smiles and casual hugs and a conversation you had no idea how to navigate.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, the air thick with the scent of roasted beans and burnt sugar. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl seat creaking under your weight. Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t stop staring at her, the way her fingers tapped absently against the table, the way the dim light caught on her hair.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. "Have you been in contact with Sylus?"

She raised an eyebrow and then laughed.

The sound was bright, effortless, just like you remembered. It sent a sharp pang through your chest. You frowned. "What’s funny?"

She wiped at her eyes, still grinning. "I haven’t talked to him in, let’s see, over a year now. And the last time we did talk?" She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "He called me in the middle of the night asking if I knew where you were."

Your heart stuttered.

The world narrowed to the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. He’d asked about you. Not just in passing, not just as an afterthought. He’d called her. In the middle of the night.

Your voice came out strangled. "What did he say?"

She shrugged, stirring her coffee idly. "Like I said, he wanted to know if I’d seen you. And honestly? We never talked, so I was no help. But I have contacts, so I tried looking for you anyway." A pause. Her expression shifted, something almost wistful creeping in.

"It was like you’d vanished. The last I heard, Sylus ransacked the entire N109 Zone trying to find you."

Your stomach twisted. You’d known, on some level, that he’d searched. But hearing it out loud, hearing her say it, made it real in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"I’m sorry," you said automatically. "I had to go away."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Not my business. But what does catch my attention…" She tilted her head, studying you with renewed interest. "is why you’re asking if we’re in touch."

You stiffened. She laughed again, softer this time. "Why would we be? We’re hardly friends. He just helped me out when I needed assistance, and that was it."

Something fragile and hopeful fluttered in your chest. You crushed it immediately. "Aren’t you two…" You trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "A couple or something?"

This time, her laughter was outright delighted. "Oh, come on." She leaned back, shaking her head. "He’s a criminal. The most wanted man in Linkon City. Not exactly my type." A smirk.

"Besides, why would we be a thing when he always had eyes for someone else?"

The words hit like a runaway train. Your breath caught.

Someone else.

The implication hung in the air between you, thick and undeniable. You opened your mouth to say something, but words were lost to you.

She took pity on you then, her expression softening. "You really didn’t know?"

You couldn’t answer.

After all this time?

You sat there, stunned, the words "he always had eyes for someone else" ringing in your skull like a gunshot. The coffee in front of you had gone cold, untouched. She watched you with something between amusement and pity, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup.

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I have to go."

She didn’t stop you. Just arched a brow as you fumbled for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Sure," she said lightly. "But he did find you, didn’t he?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat had closed up, your pulse hammering so violently you were half-convinced she could hear it.

The walk home was a blur. The city lights smeared into streaks of gold and neon, the sounds of traffic and chatter fading into white noise. Your mind was a storm, thoughts crashing into each other with brutal, unrelenting force.

Sylus had eyes for you.

The idea was laughable. Absurd. And yet not so impossible to imagine.

Memories surfaced. The way he’d linger just a little too close when reviewing your work, his breath warm against your temple. The way he’d leave notes in his precise, elegant handwriting, notes you’d saved, tucked away like some pathetic secret. The way he’d asked you to live with him, for fuck’s sake, as if that was a normal thing a boss would do.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

There was a time, a time when you would’ve begged for this. When the mere possibility that he might feel the same would’ve sent you spiraling into dizzy, reckless hope. But now?

Now you didn’t know what to feel.

Because it didn’t matter. Not really.

You’d help him. Of course you would. You’d get him out of EVER’s clutches, and then you’d move on. Both of you. That was the plan. That was the only plan.

So why did that thought make your chest ache?

A gust of wind cut through you, sharp and biting. You barely felt it.

Why the hell is he even here?

The question gnawed at you. If Sylus had orchestrated this, if this was some elaborate scheme, why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he fighting? Why weren’t Luke and Kieran kicking down doors? Why was he just sitting there, letting them pump him full of serums that would kill him?

You scoffed, raking a hand through your hair. Hypothetically speaking, if you didn’t help him, if you walked away and let EVER do what they did best, he’d die. Just like that. No grand escape. No last-minute rescue. Just a cold, clinical death on an exam table, his body discarded like faulty machinery.

The idea was so wrong it made your teeth hurt.

Sylus shouldn’t die quietly. Sylus shouldn't have to die at all. He was a force of nature, a storm given human form. He didn’t just let things happen to him.

Unless he was here for you.

But no. That was insane. That was pathetic.

You shook your head, but the idea stuck, stubborn and insidious.

Because if he had come for you, if he’d let himself get captured, knowing you worked here, knowing you’d see him, then he’d gambled everything on the hope that you’d help him. And that meant he’d gambled on you caring. Did he not think of the possibility that you might not? That you might walk away? That after two years of silence, you might look him in the eye and let them take everything from him?

A bitter laugh escaped you.

Of course he had. Sylus thought of everything. That was the problem. Which meant maybe this wasn’t a gamble at all. Maybe it was a test.

The realization settled over you like a cloud.

Tomorrow, they’d give him the stronger serum. Tomorrow, he’d die, unless you did something. And he’d known that. He’d known. But why was he putting you on the spot like that?

You stopped walking, your apartment building looming ahead, its windows dark and empty.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She wasn’t involved. You couldn’t and wouldn’t drag her into this. But that left you with exactly zero allies, zero resources, and zero time.

You exhaled sharply, your breath fogging in the cold air.

Things weren’t any better than they’d been this morning. If anything, they were worse. Because now you knew and that changed everything.

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

tags: @nm4565natty, @dysphxriaii, @animegamerfox, @floofycookie, @food4me-always, @dummiebunny, @starllight613, @natashahbarry, @hao-ming-8, @eve-rockin-blog, @sylusgirlie7, @babygirl-panda19, @chaoticfivesworld, @wakeupr41, @poptrim, @brailsthesmolgurl, @seung185, @mimiu3usoft, @theplaid-wearingmoose, @moonchildjae00, @pinksaiyans, @vintag3u, @peachystea, @69-gojos-wife-69, @harusansthings, @dyeinsomniadontwake, @perqbeth, @dramaticalsachan, @dana-nite, @blusterry-bomb, @miffysoo, @his-ocean-emissary, @totallytaurus4, @sleepykittyenergy, @terriblesoup, @mcdepressed290, @ikesimpleton, @meyline, @decaf-nosebleed, @ili6a, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @adeptustemptations, @sylussweetkitten, @roschea-arts, @blipblopblopblip, @eolivy, @coeurdeveea, @sylussplushie, @thestarsaboveme, @cordidy, @bxtchopolis, @sabage101

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chaes-tea · 2 days ago

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── // living the nightmare .

// kpop demon hunters fic. // jinu x reader. // a/n: i looped the ost an unhealthy amount of times. i also haven't written anything in a few years LOL. so things might make little sense. or not make sense at all. enjoy! (pls don't flame me too hard i had a vision idk if it visioned) ⚠️!! WARNING: kpop demon hunters spoilers !! + angst

"Jinu!"

He clutches his head and winces, the familiar voice never leaving his head.

The memories– these damn memories that haunt him every second that passes, every step he takes, every breath he breathes. He painfully recalls his sister's sobs, along with his mother's trembling voice as she attempted to comfort her. But he remembers your cries the most.

You. The love of his life. His heart's desire. His soulmate.

He looks at the glowing patterns on his hands. He did it not just for his mother and sister, but for his future, for you. He wanted to give you the world, even if it ended up sounding like a sappy rags to riches story. You deserved so much more than what he could offer.

When he heard Gwi-Ma's voice in his head that day, he thought that this was his chance. A chance for his family to finally be relieved of suffering. The four of you would enter the palace and spend the rest of your lives there. But things took a turn when only he was allowed entry into the palace. He remembers the pain he felt in his heart when the palace doors shut behind him. Even so, he still pressed forward. He would do well in his time in the palace, make money, and send it home.

But Gwi-Ma kept him from doing so. His voice spat excuses after excuses that made him make selfish decisions. Decisions that prevented him from supporting his family. Decisions that kept a sturdy roof over his head, gave him delicious meals every day, and silk sheets every night, all while his family struggled in poverty. The thought of that ate away at him during his time in the palace. The patterns on his skin slowly grew like vines, until it consumed him whole, completely turning him into a demon under the demon king's rule.

The voice in his mind, and the patterns on his body, were constant reminders of his regret, shame, and guilt. They were evidence of his selfish choices– choices that led him to lose his family. This fact has never left him for the past 400 years.

Every few decades, when he would wander the streets of the human realm in search of souls, he would stumble upon a familiar face. The face reminded him of when he first walked through the palace gates alone. He solemnly smiles to himself each time as he observes you. It was nice to see that your iterations always held your kind smile and strong personality, no matter the era or hardships.

He wonders if fate would have allowed him to meet you in every reincarnation, had he stayed human.

He hates how he always thinks about that. He hates his memories of his time as a human, how they always remind him of his betrayal to his loved ones. If hate could defeat Gwi-Ma, the demon king would have been gone long ago.

Now, he sees his service to him as a means to an end. He would get in his good graces, and in exchange for his great deeds to him, he would request for the memories of his past to be erased. A request that would end this 400-year-long nightmare for good.

The Honmoon will be complete soon. Surely, his plan to destroy it will work. That's all Gwi-Ma wants, after all.

He and the other Saja Boys assume human forms and head through the alleyways to the stage they will be performing on. He aimlessly follows the four, rerunning the plan in his head before the performance. A familiar voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

"What's exactly is in this 'voice juice' anyways?"

He looks up and sees four people: the first in a black baseball cap, a shorter one with a yellow bucket hat, one holding a box, and–

Oh.

It's you again.

What a cruel thing fate is.

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters spoilers #kpop demon hunters x reader #jinu kpdh #jinu kpop demon hunters #kpdh spoilers #kpdh x reader #jinu x reader #jinu x you #jinu saja x reader #jinu saja boys #jinu kdh

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enhani-ki · 3 days ago

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my biggest opp - reader x ni-ki part ii

warnings: smut, power play, cursing, etc.

read part one

you assumed that after having sex with ni-ki, your biggest opp, it would be awkward and uncomfortable…

but never this empty.

you arrive at your office monday morning to find your inbox startlingly free of his scathing one-liners. there's no "nice dress. shame about the brain." no "can you actually type without making typos?"

his favorite mockery is gone, somehow leaving you strangely bereft.

you tapped your pen against the wooden surface of your desk, scanning for any hint of his sabotages. the folder you thought you'd need for the managerial position, his file on your "possible fraudulent activities" are also nowhere to be found.

because according to him, you fucked him so good that he destroyed every single thing he had that could ruin you.

relief flares that he stopped, of course. but unlike him, you still do your best to make his life miserable, leaving yourself doused in guilt — feeling like an asshole.

an entire weekend passed. you swore you weren't dying for his banter, and yet whenever your phone buzzes, you leap out of your skin.

nishimura riki: stop messing with my report. are you fucking insane?

minutes passed.

nishimura riki: you must be missing me.

your lips twitched into a smirk. hell if you know how to respond.

i didn't do it, dumbass.

really? that's the reply? he'd know you were lying (or worse, honest). the cursor kept blinking in your reply box, taunting you. you typed, erase, typed again, erase — you racked your brain, thinking of a good comeback.

you: you're so stupid. also, my life has been so peaceful without you. please stay right where you are.

nishimura riki: i can come by your house and make your life hell again. if you want.

of course you want it. you'd kill him… or you'd kill for him to come over right now but shit, even the line between those urges were already starting to blur.

you spent your lunchtime writing a status report. your fingers snapping across the keys but your mind drifts to that shameless first night with him.

the night where you wrestled with him for that fraud file of yours. the heat of his breath when you kissed him, when it finally landed on your skin…

you remember all of it. every time you lean over to pull a document from the printer, you imagine the wide arc of ni-ki's arms behind you, the precise angle of his jaw, his thick lips devouring you while telling you how much he hated you for existing…

it's all fucking there.

and as if reading your thoughts, your phone lit up again.

nishimura riki: i want to see what i'm missing.

you: fuck you. you literally work five feet from me.

nishimura riki: and new skirt? goddamn

your stomach clenched. so he… noticed? he noticed your above the knee with the slit at the side that shows just enough thigh to be questionable but still professional according to the office dress code new skirt?

you: your point?

nishimura riki: you look good and i want to see it up close.

a shiver runs down your spine. ni-ki's words became so direct, so suggestive, you can't help but to swallow hard and bite your lip. you sighed, immediately closing the report window before anyone could see you blush.

you check your company messenger during break. you noticed nishimura riki's presence: his avatar pops into view with the status "ready to crush it."

how fucking pretentious.

you just hoped ni-ki would do something back so you could stop feeling guilty whenever you sabotage him, then it would all go back to hell. the hell you not-so-secretly love. the hell he seemed to have loved before — and now forgotten.

@you @ni-ki i expect great results from the two of you. focus on the work, not drama.

you sat on your couch, sipping a cup of lukewarm green tea when your phone buzzes.

nishimura riki: we're stuck together for the next couple days.

you smirked when you realized how he can't stop texting you. you plop your head back against the cushion, totally interested.

you: yeah. happy?

nishimura riki: ecstatic.

ni-ki signs off with a kiss emoji, making you scowl in disgust and throw your phone onto the cushion. he'll see how you haven't responded and he'll definitely laugh about it tomorrow.

you came into the office projecting confidence the next morning. ni-ki is already there, beating you in punctuality. he's leaning back in his chair, scrolling through his phone but smiled immediately when your eyes met.

"you're late," he drawls.

"shut up," you fired back, tossing your bag under the table. you saw another folder you've been dreading. ni-ki's opened it already— hands off, though.

"fuck... i couldn't sleep," he said, casually looking at your eyes.

who asked? is what you would've said but instead, it's: "why's that?" you leaned in, "last i heard, sleeping without protection was your specialty."

he nodded slowly. his urge of choking you to death using his necktie suddenly crossed his mind, like it always does whenever you talk back.

he never followed through, of course. because every time he pictures it, the ending is him fucking you instead. he saw you submitting not because of trust, but because you can't help it.

ni-ki sighed and quickly pulls your chair close to him, making your pulse quicken. "hmm, what do you mean 'heard'? we both know you know that for a fact," he teased, his hand trailing up to squeeze your thigh. "also, did i ever told you how bad you needed practice?"

heat blooms across your cheeks. didn't he say you fucked him good? this fucking guy keeps challenging you — mentally and sexually.

you scoffed and opened your mouth to retort but your boss already knocked on the door, barging in to start the meeting.

the day isn't even done, yet you and ni-ki have exchanged more messages than you have with anyone else all week:

nishimura riki: did you catch the way that idiot glanced at your legs during the meeting? that mf is gonna keel over later once you unplug your laptop.

that 'idiot' is notoriously stiff when it comes to 'office decorum.' the thought of him being flustered at your skirt is thrilling, but:

you: you know i'd rather see how you react when i ask you to take off my skirt.

nishimura riki: come to my office then, i'll show you.

you stood up as soon as everyone's too busy to notice your absence. you opened ni-ki's door without so much as a knock. the tall guy is leaning against the edge of his desk, shirt already untucked, tie loose — completely losing his patience.

you walk towards him. he traces a finger along your jaw, tilting your face up, brushing his thumb over your sexy lips.

"show me," you whispered, sliding both hands flat against his chest.

ni-ki leaned in. "hmm, watch me," he replied, turning you gently by the hips, pulling your ass against his crotch — where you can feel the rigid outline of his cock through his trousers. you pressed yourself back, grinding on him as his hand tightens on your hip.

"we have a meeting at six, right?" he murmurs in your ear. "let's get you naked under this skirt."

"i already am…"

unbelievable.

"you really are a fucking tease, huh?"

your breath hitched when you feel his tip nudging against your folds. ni-ki slowly slid inside your welcoming heat — his cock was so big and hard, making your knees buckle as you can practically feel him rearranging your guts without even moving.

ni-ki moaned, "oh, y/n—" biting his lower lip before pressing one more searing kiss to your neck. "i could stay like this all day," he said.

you let out a shaky gasp, head dropping forward with a whimper. your fingers reached back, grabbing his hands — his big, warm hands that are locked around your hips. "ni-ki…"

"let's not sin so much today," he groaned softly, hips giving one teasing rock that makes your whole body jolt before he pulls his cock out. he stepped back and adjusted your skirt like a gentleman — making you feel full and hollow in the same instant.

that same afternoon, you decided to head to the break room for water. you stop short when you saw ni-ki with the boss' niece, who came to visit the office.

she's laughing, batting her eyelashes at him while grinning so hard. you didn't mean to eavesdrop, but she mentioned something about wanting him to show her around — and that guy just casually folds his arm around her shoulders.

"look at you, you social climber," you interrupted, clapping your hands slowly, it echoed like a gunshot.

ni-ki glances at you lazily over the girl's shoulder. the niece looks startled, she gave you both a sheepish laugh before excusing herself.

"how long have you two been planning world domination?"

"are you jealous?" he asked, chuckling as he drags out a chair for himself. "'cause i'm telling you that's pathetic."

"wha—?"

"don't worry, y/n. it's just been few days, i'll make sure to find some time for my favorite brat."

you scoffed, grabbing your water a little too aggressive. "wow... you sound so proud of being passed around like a party favor."

"passed around?" he repeated, raising a brow. "jealousy already doesn't suit you and now you're possessive too?"

you shot him a sharp glare but he just leans back in his chair, spreading his legs like he's offering you a seat.

ni-ki sighed, "fine, i'll come over tonight," he declared so casually, it made your jaw drop.

"excuse me?"

"you heard me." he stretched and yawned. "you don't have to agree. i've already made up my mind."

"you're crazy."

he stands up, brushing past you as he grabs a protein bar "leave the door unlocked for me, okay?" he whispered, leaning in to give your cheek a quick kiss.

the sound of your skins slapping were obscene. ni-ki's breaths were heavy, his muscles tensed doing his best holding back from losing control. his necklace kept bouncing against his chest every time he slid in and out of your wet cunt. he hit it deep and slow, making your toes curl.

you looked down and watched at where your bodies met.

"oh, my–" he groaned when he felt your walls flutter around his cock. "this feels so fucking insane right now."

your arms tightened around his shoulders. "you haven't fucked me in days," you breathed out, looking up at him, admitting, "i was so stressed out."

"yeah, i know," he replied, "and look how mean you've gotten."

"kiss me..." you asked shyly — too quiet for ni-ki who was busy thrusting, far gone in the rhythm he was chasing to even hear it.

frustrated, you reached up and grabbed his hair — hard. your fingers got tangled so deep in the roots of his bleached strands, yanking him down without warning so you could force his mouth closer.

"ah—f-fuck—!" ni-ki hissed, jolting from the sharp tug. his hips slowed down for a second.

his palm slapped your arm away, the sound echoed a little loud in the room. it wasn't as harsh as what you did, but it was firm because he was hurt. a very clear response to pain.

your eyes slightly widened when he snatched your wrist, flipping you like you're a dead weight. one second you were just looking up at him — now, your face was pressed into the pillow, ass up. ni-ki's hand stayed flat on your lower back, keeping you in place.

his fingers dove straight into your hair, fisting it tight, pulling your head up until your back arched and your spine hit his chest. it forced a cry out of your throat, you quickly hold on to the headboard for your own control.

"it hurts, right?" he muttered, brows furrowed. his voice sounded pissed. "you dumbass."

your mouth parted to argue but you were too breathless and stunned at how fast he turned the tables on you.

ni-ki let go of your hair roughly. your cheek sank back into the pillow. his hands slid down to your hips, spreading you wider. it was careless and he moved confident as he positioned you just how he wanted.

your moans started crumbling into soft sobs — not from pain but from realizing how you weren't too used to getting caught off guard, let alone losing control.

your thighs started shaking, your breath had gone shallow, and ni-ki noticed it right away.

"shit—" he cursed under his breath, the movement of his hips started faltering before slowly pulling out from your pussy. he leaned down to kiss the back of your neck gently. "can you sit up?"

you nodded weakly. he helped you, pulling you gently onto his lap, seating you over one of his thighs while holding you carefully. "did i scare you?" he asked, worried and cautious.

"no...not at all." you replied, shaking your head in assurance.

ni-ki sighed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. he place a long kiss your temple, "i'm sorry, y/n." he continued, "do you want to stop?"

you sniffled and pulled back to look him in the eye like you're a little offended, "hell no."

a small grin broke across his face. he's amused, relieved, but mostly turned on all over again. ni-ki buried his face into your neck, laughing softly. "good," he murmured, lips dragging across your skin.

"ride me."

each movement felt better than the last. his cock dragged against the deepest part of you, his blunt tip kept hitting your cervix, making you gasp in pleasure.

ni-ki sat back against your headboard, his thighs spread wide, letting you straddle him fully. his hands never stopped moving – gripping your waist or holding your nape, the other catching the bounce of your breast. his thumb grazes over your nipple, and sometimes, he'd lean in to suck it, groaning at the way your pussy clenched in response.

his hair was messy. he was so loud – groaning through his gritted teeth – that goddamn chrome necklace catching the low light as he tip back his head to moan.

you can't stop staring. you can't stop running your fingers through his hair, brushing the strands back, or cupping his jaw just to see his face better.

"ni-ki..." you whispered.

his eyes blinked open, resting his forehead against yours.

you were moving fast and steady, sinking down on his dick over and over again while your bodies stayed too close — noses brushing, stealing each other's air.

"you– you're so handsome," you breathed out, barely even realizing you said it.

"me?"

"yes," you whispered. "you."

he grinned and leaned forward after hearing that double down. ni-ki gave you a messy, open-mouthed kiss, your fingers threading through his hair again as your hips rocked in desperate circles.

you pulled back to suck on his jaw next, under his ear, then down to his neck — biting softly, marking him. you wanted to leave something there. something that would remind him how much you wanted to do this over and over again.

now, you're sitting in the center of your mattress, blinking stupidly slow as you try to process just how many times he made you cum. "g– god," you mumbled, "i think my spine broke."

ni-ki huffs a soft laugh, still catching his breath too, resting his head on his arm while his other hand would caress your stomach or squeeze your boobs. "you're fine... it's hurting because you are still talking too much."

"o– ow..."

ni-ki sat up and hugged you. placing soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, and then to your temple. "fine, let's have it checked later. just lay down with me for now."

you nodded, laying down, pressing your back against his chest. you felt his smile against your skin, smug and fond. ni-ki palmed your breasts again... he can't stop touching you even if he wanted to.

"mm, you're such a baby," he murmurs against your hair, "what happened to the terrifying monster who's always mean and yells at me in meetings?"

"dead," you replied quietly, leaning against him. "she died."

ni-ki chuckled again after seeing you blush. he grinned before peppering kisses on your cheek again and he doesn't say it but he adores this messy, clingy, soft version of you.

the one only he ironically gets to see.

you sniffled, pressing your face to his neck. "ni-ki..."

"what?"

"i wanna see bisco."

"oh..."

"i– i wanna see your dog," you sniffled again, voice sleepy and soft. "even if he hates me…"

ni-ki smiled and whispered, "okay, baby." brushing your hair off your sweaty forehead, "i'll take you to see bisco as soon as he gets home."

later after a doctor's consultation, the dog-sitter also dropped off bisco. you're already in his apartment, in his shirt he basically forced you into wearing.

"wait–!" ni-ki reached out to get bisco but it ran towards to where you were. "bisco!" you gasped, eyes lighting up as you rushed toward the tiny white ball of fur that sprinted right away from you.

"bisco, come on! we brought you snacks!" you tried coaxing, crawling on your knees to look under the couch, but the little thing lunged out and bit your wrist – not hard but more of a warning chomp – "fuck– ow!"

ni-ki leaned against the wall, arms crossed and smiling like a proud dad watching the chaos unfold. "i told you he's dramatic."

you didn't care. you kept following bisco around the room, letting him bite, bark while you giggled and chased him with unearned affection... which ni-ki found strange because before, you probably would've fought with that small dog, until it fears you for rejecting you.

finally, bisco ran out of energy and jogged towards his bed, completely ignoring you like a diva.

you pouted and walked back to ni-ki, dragging your feet like you'd just been dumped. "why is it sweet to everyone but me, huh?" you mumbled, melting into his waiting arms.

ni-ki laughed and tugged you in, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. "i don't think he hates you, y/n," he murmured, voice soft as his hand roamed slowly down your ass. "give it some time."

"or he knows you've been giving someone else all your attention." you added, rolling your eyes. "right? i knew it, he's jealous."

his lips found yours. "no," kiss. "he's not," kiss. "jealous," kiss. the kisses are so different from before. no clashing of teeth, no busting a lip open, or bruising... it feels like forgiving each other.

and usually, this groping and kissing would spiral into sex, but today, you both weren't even thinking about it. there's just the need to be close, not just to get off.

ni-ki was so distracted by you that he doesn't even know when did he stopped trying to win in everything.

he had plans too, you know? he thought about getting his lick back but whenever you come around, the noises in his head disappears, the urge to get even fades, and suddenly, there's nothing even left to fight for.

he pulls back just enough to see your face. you blinked up at him, tired and sleepy, your lips were still swollen from all the nonstop kissing.

but still, you're so goddamn kissable.

you gave ni-ki a kiss again when you saw him staring – once, twice – "i gotta go," you whispered eventually.

"this early?"

"yeah, i'm getting hungry."

"we can cook–"

"stop–"

"–y/n..." he interrupted, cutting you off. ni-ki opened his mouth then closed it before clearing his throat. "no. nothing. just…" he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. his eyes kept darting down to the floor like he couldn't believe he was about to say it. "just take care, okay?"

you tilted your head, "t–thanks…"

what the hell?

you're still mean and you still drive him insane, ni-ki took a deep breath – he swore he hates being this kind of guy but fuck it.

now or never.

"do you wanna have dinner with me?" he asked. he said it a little too fast, it's obvious that he was shy. "outside."

"huh?" you blinked. "you mean like–"

"yeah," he said, pressing his lips together, swallowing thickly. "like a–"

"...like a date."

ni-ki braces himself for the teasing and for your usual sharp reply. he knows you'll probably laugh in a few seconds but right now, you're just staring at him, eyes wide in surprise and that alone slightly gave him a little hope.

and he thinks, if this is how he loses, then fine.

let's let it be you.

a/n: my biggest opp 3k notes special! thank you so much for all the love and good comments. the first part came out on march 1 so it's been three months... there's so much (an understatement lmao) drafts for this and lots of scenes did not make it. as you can see, it's not so much focused on the smut and i honestly don't know if anyone will see this or if this part two this is good enough.

i teared up writing this T_T burning blue - mariah the scientist

tagging: @asaheyow @n4mh0pe @sunghoonsarmpit

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dollyswishingwell · 24 hours ago

Note

hi dollyyyy, after reading ur last post abt insatiable mc i declare myself as one of the people that want a post with the roles reversed omg..... .. .i wanna se the lads going crazy for mc

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Insatiable P.2

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, mostly suggestive but some smut, that’s it

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They can’t keep their hands off you

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You were ruined.

Absolutely demolished, really, legs shaking, breathless, and curled up in the center of the bed like a worn-out porcelain doll. Your silken slip was hiked up around your hips, one strap barely clinging to your shoulder. Gloss smudged. Hair a mess. The sheets clutched desperately to your chest like they were the only thing protecting your fragile soul from yet another round.

You peeked out from under the covers, just in time to see him coming back.

“R-Raffy…”

Rafayel was already shirtless again, collarbone glistening, belt hanging loose. His purple waves were a mess and his pupils were blown wide with the kind of hunger that should’ve been illegal.

“You’re too pretty,” he breathed, crawling onto the bed like a predator who had not gotten his fill. “I swear to God. It’s your fault. You walk around the house in those tiny little dresses like some cursed siren and then act surprised when I lose my mind five times a day.”

“B-But I’m sore—!”

“I’ll be gentle,” he lied immediately, already grabbing the bedsheet you were clutching and yanking it off like it personally offended him. “And then I won’t.”

You yelped and tried to crawl back giggling, but he was already wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest, burying his face in your neck with a groan that made your thighs clench all over again.

“‘M obsessed with you,” he mumbled into your skin, his voice rough with love-drunk need. “You don’t get it, pearlie, I look at you and I black out. I wanna kiss every inch of you until you’re crying.”

You were already teary-eyed and trembling.

“You’ve already done that like four times today,” you whimpered, face burning as he licked a fresh kiss across your collarbone.

“And yet,” he said with a grin, “I still feel like I’m starving.”

Your whine was muffled by the pillow as Raf slotted his hips between yours and nuzzled into your cheek like some deranged, horny little prince.

He placed one gentle kiss to your forehead. Then two not-so-gentle ones on your chest.

Then whispered softly—

“Let’s make it at least six.”

And just like that, the bedsheet was gone, your pleas were ignored, and your sweet, artsy husband was devouring you all over again like you were his favorite masterpiece, smeared in lipstick, gloss, and love.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You were barely breathing.

Absolutely spent, trembling under the silk sheets, your thighs still pressed together, your chest rising and falling like you’d just run a marathon. Your lip gloss was smudged. There were hickeys blooming all over your collarbone and neck like some exclusive collection. And your once-perfect hair?

Destroyed. Gloriously ruined.

You lay there blinking up at the ceiling, the sheets clutched to your chest like a makeshift shield.

Then, the bathroom door creaked open.

“Z-Zayne—wait, baby, please—”

He was already walking back toward the bed, towel slung around his neck, toned body still damp from the shower he had taken exactly five minutes ago… post-round-five.

“I was going to let you rest,” he said calmly, slowly undoing the towel from around his neck as he climbed back onto the bed. “And then I walked past the mirror and remembered how you looked begging underneath me, and, well…”

His hazel-green eyes darkened.

“I’m not a strong man, sweetheart.”

“Zayne!” you squeaked, pulling the covers tighter around your body. “You’re a doctor, shouldn’t you be worried about, like, overworking my body?!”

He raised a brow and placed one large hand against your thigh, slowly dragging the sheets away from your chest like he was unwrapping a precious gift.

“You should’ve thought about that,” he murmured, “before you came out this morning in that tiny little lace set and kissed my neck while I was on the phone.”

You whimpered.

“That was eight hours ago!”

“And I’ve had to touch you five times since to keep myself from losing my license due to lust-induced delirium,” he said flatly.

With a soft grunt, he pulled the sheets completely off your body, exposing the state he left you in, marked up, trembling, and absolutely perfect in his eyes. He groaned under his breath, pinning your hips with both hands.

“You’re too pretty, darling,” he whispered against your shoulder. “You break my self-control. I’m a respected surgeon and you turn me into a beast.”

You hid your face in your hands with a choked laugh. “You’re insane.”

“You married insane,” he corrected, already sliding between your thighs again. “Now be a good girl and let me love you properly, for the sixth time.”

He made very good on his word, leaving you breathless, boneless, and ruined all over again, whispering in your ear like a man in love with every inch of your soul and body:

“Let them say I’m obsessed. You’re my wife. You’re mine.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You couldn’t move.

Your body felt like jelly, your limbs tangled in silk sheets, hair a wild, tousled mess across the pillows. Your lips were kiss-swollen and glossy, your pretty robe long discarded somewhere across the room. You were a wreck, soft thighs trembling, eyes dazed, the scent of your husband still all over you.

You clutched the sheets to your chest like your life depended on it.

“Xavi… I can’t. I literally can’t feel my legs.”

And yet.

You watched in horror as your beautiful, unhinged, silver-haired husband slowly turned from the mirror, where he’d been fixing his tousled hair, red marks all over his pale neck like you had ruined him.

But his eyes were dark. Soft. Starved.

He walked back to the bed, bare-chested and flushed, licking his lips like you were the last meal of the universe.

“You’re too pretty, starlight,” he murmured. “It’s your fault. You kept making those sounds, and you looked at me like you wanted me to ruin your life. So I did.”

“Five times,” you gasped, clinging to the covers as he crawled over you. “You did it five times. I need water. And a medic.”

He chuckled softly, brushing your hair away from your flushed face and kissing your cheek with maddening gentleness. His fingers curled under the sheet you were hugging so tightly.

“Mm. You don’t need water,” he whispered. “You need me again.”

“Xavi—”

“Just once more. For science.”

He ripped the sheet away.

You screamed. He grinned like a man entirely out of his mind.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured, pinning your wrists above your head as he kissed down your shoulder again. “I don’t get tired of you. I don’t reach a limit. I see you, and I want to touch you again. Over and over. Until you’re crying my name so sweet I forget what galaxy we’re in.”

“You already did,” you whined, squirming under him. “You kept calling me starlight in three different languages.”

He blinked. “…Did I?”

Then smirked.

“I’m doing it again.”

And he was wrecking you all over again, slow, obsessed, utterly devoted, his voice a breathy chant in your ear as you melted into him:

“So pretty… so good for me… mine, mine, mine.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You were sprawled on the bed like the world’s most exhausted princess, lipstick smeared, thighs trembling, hair in complete chaos, and the silken sheets yanked up to your chest in a desperate attempt to protect what little pride you had left. You looked used, loved, devoured, and Sylus?

He looked like he’d barely broken a sweat.

His silver hair was ruffled but charmingly so, his toned torso covered in blooming bite marks, but he was already standing by the foot of the bed again, rolling up the sleeves of his half-unbuttoned shirt, red eyes gleaming like a predator who enjoyed watching his prey try to crawl away.

“Sylus—no, baby, I can’t,” you gasped, clutching the sheet tighter. “You’ve ruined me three times already and I can’t even feel my spine anymore—”

“That was four,” he corrected smoothly, already tugging the sheet right out of your grip like it was tissue paper. “Don’t shortchange me, kitty.”

“Sylus!” you squealed as the sheet was ripped from your hands, exposing your completely wrecked, bite-marked body to the cool air and his shameless eyes.

“Ohhh, look at you,” he drawled, low and pleased, eyes raking over your bare skin. “You look like something I paid for and destroyed. You love it, don’t you?”

“I look like I’ve been hit by a luxury car,” you whimpered, burying your face in the pillow.

He chuckled darkly, crawling over you with slow, deliberate movements, voice dripping with affection and heat.

“That’s because you have. You married a man who’s obsessed with you and has the stamina of a war machine. What did you expect, sweetie?”

You moaned softly as his lips grazed your shoulder again, gentle, teasing, as if he hadn’t just wrecked you five minutes ago. His hand slid under your waist with practiced ease, pulling you closer.

“You’re the prettiest thing in the world, kitty,” he murmured into your ear. “You’re lucky I let you breathe.”

“Sylus,” you warned, “I will cry.”

“Cry on my chest then.”

And just like that, he was pulling you under him again like you were nothing more than his favorite toy, whispering in your ear as you sob-laughed into the pillows—

“I could drag you in here five times a day for the rest of your life and still never get tired of you…”

“…So go ahead, sweetie. Scream for number five.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You couldn’t even speak.

Your voice was hoarse, your body shaking, your pretty little nightdress long gone, discarded somewhere on the floor like your last shred of dignity. Your cheeks were flushed, lipgloss smudged, neck and chest covered in bite marks so deep and dark they looked like they might be permanent.

You were lying on your stomach now, gripping the sheets like a woman barely surviving battle. Your legs refused to close. Your whole body was humming from the aftermath of multiple rounds.

And you could feel him behind you. Still there. Still hard. Still watching.

“C-Caleb,” you whimpered, voice cracking. “Please. Please, I need a break, I—I need water, I need—”

“You need me.” His voice was low, rough, and absolutely merciless. “You always need me.”

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling again, slow and casual like he had all the time in the world.

“B-But I can’t feel my legs!”

“That’s fine.” His palm slid over your lower back. “You don’t need them.”

You shrieked into the pillow as he yanked the bedsheet right off your body with one brutal tug, leaving you bare and trembling under his shadow.

“You started this, pipsqueak,” he whispered against your ear, his big body already sliding over yours again. “Walking around in my shirt this morning with your cute little thighs peeking out. Sucking on your lollipop and sitting on my lap like you weren’t begging to be fucked stupid.”

You sob-laughed helplessly. “That was at breakfast—”

“And now it’s almost dinner,” he bit out, nipping your shoulder. “And you’ve already screamed my name four times today, baby. Don’t act like I’m the crazy one.”

“You are!” you cried, kicking your feet weakly. “You’re a menace! I look like I just got dragged through a war zone—”

“You look like my wife.”

He pulled you up by the waist, kissed the corner of your eye where tears welled.

“You are my wife. My pretty, soft, ruined little housewife who gets dragged into bed five times a day because I can’t stop thinking about her.”

You hiccuped through a shaky moan as he pressed deeper against your back, voice thick with adoration:

“Mine. My pips. My wife. My problem.”

And as he pinned you down again for round five, he whispered it over and over like a prayer he’d never stop chanting:

“Love you. Love you. Love you.”

399 notes · View notes

velvetvisionsaurora · 3 days ago

Text

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior, mentions of suicidal thoughts.

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.

18+ only- Minors do not enter

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter 3: The Dinner Declaration

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, jaw set with determination. If they expected you to play the part of the grateful, compliant bride-to-be, they were about to be sorely disappointed. Your fingers work methodically, pulling your hair into a messy bun and scrubbing away the last traces of makeup from earlier.

The silk pajama set you slip into is designer—black with delicate lace trim—but unmistakably sleepwear. Let them see exactly how little effort you're willing to put into their charade.

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand. Marco's name lights up the screen, and for the first time today, you smile genuinely.

"Little sister," his warm voice fills your ear as you answer. "How's life in the wolves' den?"

"About as welcoming as you'd expect," you reply, sinking onto the edge of the bed. "They're all here, Marco. All eight of them."

A pause. "And how are you handling that?"

"Like a Ricci," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. "Though I'll admit, seeing them all together again... it's harder than I thought it would be."

Marco's voice turns serious. "Y/n, listen to me. These men broke you once. They shattered you so completely that I almost lost you." His words carry the weight of that terrible night seven years ago, when he'd found you on the balcony, ready to step over the edge. "Whatever game they're playing now, whatever excuses they have—don't let them do it again."

"I won't," you whisper, but even as you say it, you remember Wooyoung's enthusiastic embrace, the way Mingi looked at you with such longing.

"Steel your heart, sorellina," Marco continues, using the Italian endearment that always makes you feel protected. "Make them pay for every tear you shed, every night you cried yourself to sleep wondering what you did wrong. You owe them nothing but contempt."

His words straighten your spine, reminding you why you're here—not by choice, but as a pawn in a larger game. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm your big brother." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Now go show them exactly what kind of woman you've become. The kind who doesn't break twice."

After ending the call, you sit in the silence of your temporary prison, Marco's words echoing in your mind. Steel your heart. Make them pay.

By the time you descend the stairs at exactly seven o'clock, your armor is in place—not silk and steel this time, but defiance and deliberate disrespect.

* * *

The dining room falls silent as you enter. Eight pairs of eyes track your movement, taking in your appearance with varying degrees of shock and something that might be appreciation. The massive table is set with formal china and crystal, multiple courses already laid out with military precision.

Hongjoong's jaw twitches as his gaze sweeps over your pajamas, his knuckles whitening where they grip his wine glass. Good, you think with savage satisfaction. Let him see exactly how little this arrangement means to you.

"Y/n!" Wooyoung's voice cuts through the tension, bright and welcoming as if no time has passed at all. "You look comfortable! I love that you're making yourself at home already. Oh, and your hair looks so cute up like that—remember when we used to braid it? You'd sit between Seonghwa and me while we watched movies, and—"

"Wooyoung," Seonghwa's voice carries a warning, but Wooyoung barrels on, his energy filling the room like an unstoppable force.

"—and you'd always fall asleep halfway through, so we'd have to carry you upstairs. Your mom would laugh and say we spoiled you rotten, but honestly, we loved taking care of you. Remember that time you got sick with pneumonia and I learned to make your mom's minestrone from scratch because it was the only thing you'd eat? I must have made it twenty times that summer—"

Your heart clenches traitorously at the memory. You do remember—the fever, the way Wooyoung had sat beside your bed for hours, spooning soup into your mouth and reading to you when your throat was too raw to speak. The gentleness in his hands as he smoothed your hair back from your fevered brow.

But then the storm clouds gather, dark and vengeful, reminding you of other words he'd spoken. God, Y/n, you're exhausting. Do you know that? You're exhausting and needy and you never know when to stop.

The memories collide—past tenderness and past cruelty warring in your chest until you can't breathe properly. You look around the table, seeing all of them watching you with expressions ranging from hope to wariness to barely contained longing.

That's when it hits you. The sheer audacity of it all.

"Are you all fucking delusional?" The words explode from you like shrapnel, sharp enough to draw blood. "Do you think you could each break my heart over and over with your words, and I would come here and play house with all of you?"

The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Wooyoung's smile falters, his hand halfway to his wine glass freezing in mid-air.

Hongjoong sighs, setting down his utensils with deliberate care. "We were trying to—"

"Protect me? Right?" you sneer, cutting him off. The word tastes like poison in your mouth. "Poor little Y/n. Needs everyone to protect her with secrets and lies. I don't give a fuck why you did it."

You stand so quickly your chair topples backward, the crash echoing through the silence like a gunshot. Every eye in the room is fixed on you now, but you don't care. Seven years of buried rage is clawing its way to the surface, demanding to be heard.

"You were all my first friends," you say, your voice deadly quiet, look at Hongjoong. "You took away my first kiss." Your gaze shifts deliberately to Yunho, whose face goes pale as understanding dawns. Around the table, surprise ripples through the others—apparently, he'd never shared that particular secret.

Yunho's mouth opens as if to speak, but no words come. His eyes are wide, almost panicked, as if he's afraid of what else you might reveal.

"Now you want to take away my marriage?" You laugh, but there's no humor in it—only broken glass and bitter irony. "What's next? Am I going to be expected to have a child with you too?"

Hongjoong's eyes flash with something dangerous, possessive. His grip on his wine glass tightens until you're surprised it doesn't shatter.

But you're not done. Not even close.

You smile then—sharp and vicious and completely without warmth. "Don't worry, dearest fiancé. You won't have to take my virginity. That honor went to someone else."

The silence that follows is deafening. You can feel the jealousy rolling off them in waves, thick enough to choke on. Hongjoong looks like he could murder every man in the city with his bare hands, his carefully controlled facade cracking to reveal something primitive and possessive underneath.

San's knuckles are white where they grip the edge of the table. Mingi has gone completely still, like a predator preparing to strike. Even gentle Yunho looks stricken, as if you've physically wounded him.

Good, you think viciously. Let them feel a fraction of what they put me through.

"Enjoy your dinner, gentlemen," you say with false sweetness, gathering what remains of your dignity around you like armor. "I'm sure you have much to discuss."

With that, you turn on your heel and head for the door, your bare feet silent on the marble floor. Behind you, you hear the scrape of chairs, raised voices, the sound of something shattering—whether it's glass or composure, you neither know nor care.

You've delivered your message loud and clear: the naive girl they once knew is dead and buried. In her place stands someone who won't be broken twice, someone who learned that the only way to survive wolves is to become something more dangerous than they are.

As you climb the stairs to your room, you don't look back. But you carry with you the image of eight faces, each reflecting a different shade of devastation, and for the first time since arriving, you feel like you've won a battle.

Even if the war is far from over.

***

The silence after your departure stretched like a taut wire, ready to snap. Eight men sat frozen around the dinner table, the wreckage of your words settling over them like fallout.

Hongjoong's wine glass lay shattered on the floor where he'd thrown it, red liquid seeping into the pristine white marble. His chest rose and fell with barely controlled fury, his carefully maintained composure crumbling piece by piece.

"When did you two kiss?" His voice was deadly quiet, but his eyes burned as they fixed on Yunho.

San's hand slammed against the table with enough force to make the crystal jump. "That's what you're focusing on? Did you hear what she said?" His usually charming features were twisted with anguish.

"We broke her," Seonghwa said steadily, though his face had gone ashen, the careful mask he wore stripped away to reveal raw devastation beneath. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for his wine, the only outward sign of the turmoil raging inside him.

Yunho shifted uncomfortably under Hongjoong's intense stare, running a hand through his hair. "It was nothing," he said, but his voice cracked slightly. "We were fifteen, at that beach bonfire. Everyone was drinking, and she was upset about something—I don't even remember what—and I just... I comforted her. It didn't mean anything."

But his eyes told a different story. His eyes remembered everything—the taste of salt on your lips from tears and ocean spray, the way you'd looked up at him with such trust, such innocent affection. The way his heart had stopped when you'd pressed your mouth to his, soft and tentative and perfect.

"Bullshit," Hongjoong snarled, starting to rise from his chair. "You never—"

"Enough." Jongho's voice cut through the air like a blade, stopping Hongjoong mid-motion. The youngest of them rarely spoke with such authority, but when he did, they all listened. "You weren't the only one in love with her, Hongjoong. Just because you're going to be her husband on paper doesn't change that. It doesn't give you the right to interrogate the rest of us about our feelings."

Hongjoong's jaw worked furiously, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I'm her—"

"Her what?" Jongho challenged, rising to his full, intimidating height. "Her fiancé? A title forced on both of you by circumstances and family politics? You heard her tonight—she doesn't want this any more than we do. So don't stand there acting like you have some special claim when we all lost her seven years ago."

The words hit like physical blows, each one landing with devastating accuracy. Hongjoong's face cycled through emotions—rage, pain, frustration, and underneath it all, a grief so profound it was almost unbearable to witness.

Across the table, Wooyoung had begun to cry—silent tears streaming down his face as he stared at his untouched plate. His shoulders shook with the effort of containing sobs that wanted to tear free from his chest.

"She hates us," he whispered, his usual bright energy completely extinguished. "Did you see her face when I was talking? She looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was nothing." His voice broke completely. "I used to make her laugh every day. Every single day, and now she can't even stand to hear my voice."

Mingi hadn’t moved since you’d left, his eyes fixed on the doorway as if he could still see you standing there. His face was a mask of quiet devastation, all the light drained from his features. Of all of them, he seemed the most deeply affected, as if your words had physically wounded him.

“Someone else,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She gave herself to someone else.”

The words sent another ripple of tension around the table. The implication that you had been intimate with someone else—someone not in this room—was like salt in an open wound for all of them.

“Who?” Hongjoong demanded, turning his fierce gaze to Seonghwa. “You’ve had people watching her. Who was it?”

Seonghwa’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Our surveillance was for her safety, not to monitor her personal life. If she was involved with someone, we weren’t aware of it.”

“Find out,” Hongjoong ordered.

“Why?” Yeosang spoke, his quiet voice cutting through the tension. “So you can what—track him down? Threaten him? Kill him?” He shook his head. “Her life is her own. It always has been.”

“She’s going to be my wife,” Hongjoong said through gritted teeth.

“On paper,” Yeosang countered. “This is a business arrangement, remember? Your words, not mine.”

The two men stared at each other across the table, years of friendship straining under the weight of the moment.

"She's gone," Mingi said quietly, his deep voice barely audible. "Even when she's here, she's gone. The girl we knew... we killed her that day."

San laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and broken. "And for what? To protect her? Look how well that worked out. She's alive, sure, but she's nothing like the person we fell in love with."

"She's stronger," Yeosang said quietly, speaking for the first time since you'd stormed out. His observant eyes had been taking in every detail of the confrontation, analyzing and processing. "Harder. She's built walls that would make ours look like paper."

"Strong enough to hate us," Yunho added miserably. "Strong enough to look us in the eye and tell us exactly what we took from her."

Seonghwa set down his wine with shaking hands. "The way she looked at me when I walked in yesterday... like I was a stranger. No, worse than a stranger. Like I was an enemy." He closed his eyes, pain etched in every line of his face. "She used to run to me when she was scared. Used to trust me with everything."

"We all lost that," Jongho said grimly. "The way she used to light up when she saw us, the way she'd curl up between us during movies, how she'd share every thought and feeling without hesitation." His massive frame seemed to shrink in on itself. "She was so open then. So trusting."

"And now she threatens to shoot anyone who touches her," San said flatly. "We did that. We created this version of her."

Hongjoong finally sank back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. When he looked up, his eyes were wild with frustration and something that looked dangerously close to desperation.

"We had no choice," he said, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. "The threats were real. They would have killed her."

"Would they?" Yeosang asked quietly. "Or did we just make the easy choice? Take the money, break her heart, and tell ourselves it was noble?"

The question hung in the air like an accusation. Around the table, seven men faced the weight of a decision made in desperation and fear, a choice that had saved your life but destroyed your soul.

Wooyoung's sobs finally broke free, raw and devastating in the silence. "I can't do this," he choked out. "I can't sit here and pretend this is fine. She's upstairs right now, alone and hurting, and I can't even comfort her because I'm one of the reasons she's in pain."

Mingi's chair scraped against the floor as he finally moved, standing abruptly. "I need air," he muttered, heading for the terrace doors. "I can't... I can't breathe in here."

"Running away again?" San called after him, his own pain making his voice cruel. "That's what we do best, isn't it? Run when things get difficult?"

Mingi stopped at the threshold, his broad shoulders rigid. "What would you have me do, San? Go upstairs and beg for forgiveness? Explain that we broke her heart to save her life? You think that'll make her hate us less?"

"At least it would be honest," San shot back. "At least it would be something other than sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves."

"Enough," Seonghwa said wearily. "Fighting each other won't fix this."

"Nothing will fix this," Yunho said hollowly. "Don't you see? We can't go back. We can't undo what we did. And she's made it clear she doesn't want our explanations or our apologies."

Hongjoong's hands clenched into fists on the table. "So what? We just accept this? We marry and spend our lives as strangers? She lives in our house, bears our name, and hates us every second of every day?"

"Maybe that's what we deserve," Jongho said quietly. "Maybe that's the price we pay for the choice we made."

The words settled over them like a death knell. Seven years of guilt and regret crystallized into a single, awful truth—they had saved your life, but in doing so, they had lost any chance of sharing it.

Yeosang stood quietly, pushing in his chair with deliberate care. “You all keep talking about her like she’s a problem to be managed,” he observed. “She’s not. She’s Y/n. Our Y/n. And right now, she’s alone and hurting.”

“Where are you going?” Seonghwa asked as Yeosang moved toward the door.

“To do what none of you seem capable of,” Yeosang replied. “Listen to her.”

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong warned. “The agreement—”

“I won’t tell her anything she doesn’t need to know,” Yeosang assured him. “But someone needs to make sure she understands that whatever happens next, she’s not alone in this house.”

Without waiting for permission, he left the dining room, his steps purposeful as he headed toward the staircase.Before anyone could stop him, he was gone, his footsteps echoing up the stairs toward your room—toward a conversation that was seven years overdue and might already be too late.

Next>>

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374 notes · View notes

kxsagi · 3 days ago

Note

Hi can I request Bllk boys with a karaoke enthusiast reader? They can go karaoke for 4 or 5 hours straight and know a variety of songs, and they can sing a whole song even if there’s a rap part in it :))

“𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫”

a/n: mic snatcher gf is so me

header pic is actually mine from when i went to japan! i love karaoke there sm it's unhealthy 😭😭😭

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

he thought karaoke would be a fun, relaxing break. he thought you’d sing a cute love song and shyly nudge him to sing one, too. what he didn’t expect was to be seated for five straight hours, watching you go from adele to eminem to high school musical duets with yourself.

he tries to keep up and sings sugar by maroon 5, thinking it’ll impress you. it does, but mostly because you harmonize with him out of nowhere and hit the falsetto better than adam levine himself. he literally stops mid-line just to look at you like, “how are you real.”

at some point he’s like, “do you wanna drink some water?” and you go, “no. i wanna do nicki minaj’s verse in monster.”

and you do. flawlessly.

isagi’s face is in full admiration mode, but also minor existential crisis because you just spat bars while staring him down and now he doesn’t know if you wanna kiss him or fight him.

still claps like a proud husband after every song. always.

itoshi rin

you dragged him here. literally. he said, “karaoke is loud and pointless.” and you said, “shut up emo boy, it’s bonding time.”

rin didn’t even get to sit before you were already putting on ultraviolence by lana del rey. and not just singing it. performing it. like you were the ghost of a 1960s hollywood starlet with a tragic past.

rin sits in the corner, arms crossed, absolutely stone-faced. except his ears are red.

eventually you hand him the mic and go, “c’mon, sing with me. be the toxic man in this duet.”

it’s promiscuous by nelly furtado and timbaland. he says no. you keep singing anyway and he caves halfway through, quietly mumbling the lines until he’s suddenly belting it with a vein in his forehead.

after three hours, he finally mutters, “... you’re really good.” you wink. “i know. now let’s do a kpop dance.” rin dies a little inside.

nagi seishiro

he thought it was a nap date. like, nap room or something. you said karaoke and he just blinked. “do i have to move?”

you promised him he could sit the whole time. what you didn’t say was that he’d be emotionally wrecked from watching you sing usher’s confessions part II with so much passion, he started questioning who wronged you.

nagi only sings when you let him do the lazy, talk-singing verses. like pitbull’s hotel room service. you both call him “mr. worldwide” for the next hour and he doesn’t even fight it.

at one point he lies down across the seats and watches you do three rap songs in a row. he lazily throws a pillow at you and goes, “you’re scary good. like, villain origin story good.”

you grin and ask for a duet. you pick kiss me thru the phone. nagi’s too lazy to hold the mic so you hold it for him.

he falls asleep by hour four and you put sunglasses on him so he looks like he’s still vibing.

mikage reo

you said “karaoke” and he showed up in a designer outfit like it was a concert. your concert. he brought you a bouquet and called you his pop star gf before you even sang a note.

first song you perform? flawless by beyoncé. reo is on his feet. reo is clapping. reo is crying a little.

“that’s my girlfriend!” he shouts in a karaoke room with no one else in it.

when you let him pick a song, he chooses beauty and a beat and tries to be justin bieber. you destroy him by doing both jb and nicki’s parts. with choreography.

he’s flailing like, “HELLO??? DID YOU JUST SUMMON NICKI MINAJ???”

reo insists on matching outfits for karaoke now. like glittery couple shirts and sunglasses. you’re down for it. you look like a power duo from a drama.

he records you singing and posts it with the caption, “my multitalented queen > your faves.”

bachira meguru

soulmates. chaos. pure, unfiltered energy. you two turned the karaoke booth into a full-on music festival.

he picks songs at random, doesn’t even care if he knows the lyrics. you freestyle the rap parts and scream the choruses together while doing jump squats on the seats.

once you both did a duet of low by flo rida and you hit the apple bottom jeans line so hard he actually slipped on the floor.

you call yourselves the “karaoke goblins.”

every song is a competition but also a performance. when you sing lady gaga, he does backup choreo. when he sings the marias, you become his hypewoman.

there’s a moment where you sing something super emotional and bachira just sits there quietly, then whispers, “yo, that was angelic. i think you healed my inner child.” you bow dramatically and say, “now i’m doing doja cat.”

“OHMYGOHS BOSS MODE UNLOCKED.”

kaiser michael

he was smug. too smug. “karaoke? you sure you can keep up with me, babe?”

fast forward an hour later: kaiser is breathless after attempting usher’s yeah! while you’re on your sixth song with no break, flawlessly switching from kendrick lamar’s verse to a whistle note bridge.

he starts fake coughing. “i need– i need vocal rest.”

you go, “no, get up, you’re featuring on dangerous woman with me now.”

he can’t believe you actually hit the ariana grande high notes. or how you memorized pitbull’s chaotic speech in timber. like you didn’t just sing it, you channeled him.

kaiser is convinced you were a popstar in a past life. every time you do a rap verse, he turns into your manager, hyping you up from the sidelines.

“THAT’S MY GIRL. WORLD DOMINATION. GLOBAL CHARTS.”

by the end of the session, he’s lost his voice and you’re still bouncing, asking, “one more?”

he wheezes, “who are you, and how do i propose?”

shidou ryusei

chaos recognized chaos. when you walked into karaoke holding a playlist labeled “bangers only”, he fell in love.

you did a full nicki minaj medley back-to-back: anaconda, starships, and super bass.

shidou was standing on the table. shirt half off. screaming.

he says things like “spit that fire, mama” and gets booed by staff.

you two turn every song into a war. “who can be louder, crazier, and more dramatic?” the answer is always you, but shidou refuses to accept that.

he once sang taylor swift’s you belong with me in a death metal voice just to compete as if nirvana didn’t exist.

you countered with a slowed-down, haunting cover of hotline bling. he’s in awe. he’s in love.

“marry me.” “this is the fifth time you’ve asked tonight.” “and it won’t be the last.”

itoshi sae

he hates karaoke. he’s never said it, but the way he looks at the mic like it personally offended him gives it away. you invite him and he just sighs and goes, “do i look like someone who sings katy perry at 10 PM?”

you reply, “no, but you look like the guy who’ll sit there judging me while i flawlessly execute seven different eras of taylor swift.”

that’s exactly what happens. you sing dress and he’s sitting in the corner sipping a canned coffee like a bitter ex who just got exposed on live TV.

except he’s secretly impressed. very impressed. especially when you rap. like, you're going bar for bar on kendrick’s DNA and he’s just blinking like, “since when can she breathe fire?”

when you try to drag him into a duet, he only agrees if he can be the background guy in something chill. so you do best part by daniel caesar and he deadass sounds angelic.

he leans over after and murmurs, “that was tolerable. but only because you carried.”

later, he catches himself humming a song you sang. and then he shoves his hands in his pockets and mutters, “karaoke’s not that bad, i guess.”

karasu tabito

bro thought it was a joke at first. like you were gonna sing a little, go off-key, giggle about it.

NO. YOU WALKED IN. WARMED UP YOUR VOCALS. PICKED AGORA HILLS. AND DEMOLISHED IT LIKE YOU WERE BORN IN A STUDIO.

karasu was frozen. slack-jawed. his soul briefly left his body during the “like fortnite i’mma need your skin” part.

he’s the type to talk during your performances but only to hype you up. “YO SHE’S COOKING–” “BRO SHE’S GOT BREATH CONTROL.” “I’M SCARED, BUT I’M TURNED ON.”

he asks you to do a duet with him and you’re like sure :) and he picks dilemma by nelly and kelly rowland. halfway through, he fake cries into the mic.

“EVEN WHEN I’M WITH MY BOO, all i think about is you 😩”

you do the dramatic eye-roll and keep singing with a straight face like a pro.

he can’t keep up and it enrages him. “you’re not even sweating? how are you not sweating???”

he forces you to take a break just so he can perform something. it ends up being sexyback by justin timberlake with far too much confidence and pelvic movement.

you tell him to stop and he says, “you started this war, babe. you wanted the full karasu experience.”

ness alexis

karaoke? oh he lives for it. you barely even get the sentence out before he’s like, “yes. when. what’s our setlist. do we match?”

the karaoke room is decked out because he booked the fancy one. disco lights. tambourines. a mini fog machine.

you do the entirety of telephone by lady gaga and beyoncé, and ness is filming it with the reverence of someone witnessing a religious experience.

“YOU’RE A STAR. I’M TWEETING THIS.”

he picks songs based on aesthetic. you’re doing mariah carey with soft lighting and moody poses. you’re doing britney spears with hair flips and sunglasses.

he sings justin bieber and makes it a full fan service show. baby has never been performed with so much falsetto and finger hearts.

when you do a rap song, he turns into your hype crew. he’s throwing fake money in the air. he’s pretending to pass out.

“SHE’S RAPPING EMINEM! SHE’S DOING THE FAST PART!!OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH.”

ness is also the one who plans “karaoke themes.” like, 2000s hits night. or boy band night.

once said, “if we don’t duet mr. brightside with full choreography, are we even in love?”

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himejoshidoll · 2 days ago

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#destroy it all and love me in hell #zenbu kowashite jigoku de aishite #zenkowa

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moonlight-lillies · 2 days ago

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you asked for kpdh requests yes? I-- anything with Abby. please i need more of this man, anything with this man.

there's more?! a lot of people fail to realize that there are other monsters in this realm. thank you for your submission! (idk why this took so long, i couldn't think of anything :[, but i got a random wave of creativity!) abs saja (ahn beomseok) x reader! CW: gave abs saja a real name, pure fluff, drabble!, ghost!reader

when you have lived a good life, you die. it's as simple as that. some fall into despair and look for ways to get revenge on those that have wronged them. others, like yourself, are content with how you lived your life.

ghosts are often overshadowed by the demons and the hunters, both having something to fight for; but ghosts, they just live the rest of their life as someone who gets to watch everything unfold.

you wouldn't have met beomseok if you hadn't died. it's a dramatic thing to say, but it is true. you died in 1912, beom sold his soul in 1809, and he was the first demon you met. it was love at first sight.

there are many different dynamics of couples in the monster realm. there's the typical werewolf and vampire, and the ghoul and soul-eater, but ghost and demon was a bit rarer. ghosts rarely invaded the human world, but with watching your boyfriend work to destroy the honmoon, you made sure you were at every concert and promotion.

possession wasn't common but for beom, you would do anything. and he would do anything for you.

sitting at a shrine, looking out at the desolate paths, you both didn't say anything. presence was enough. you had taken your 'idyllic' form, a term basically used for when you're not able to walk through walls.

beom just looked at you, lips parted, but no words formed.

"take a picture, it'll last longer." you deadpanned. tucking your hair behind your ear.

"have you ever thought about what a ghost idol group would look like?" he always did have the weirdest way of saying whatever was on his mind.

"have you ever thought of a jpop ghost idol group?" you responded, nudging his shoulder with yours.

"dope..." he said, nodding his head.

you laid your head on his chest, taking in the night air. beom's hand fiddled with your fingers, some of them popping. he looked down at you, to everyone else he was an untouchable idol, to you he was your other half.

he pressed a kiss to your temple.

"i know i'm not, like, romantical all the time, but i really love you." he breathed out. his eyes meeting yours.

"i know you do." you sat up, grabbing his hand and pulling him up from the bench.

you faced each other, hands interlocked, eyes never leaving each others. you stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. his lips found your forehead, then your cheek, your nose, and then your lips.

you loved when he did that.

a big whirlwind of air sprouted beneath the two of you. leaves and sticks where pushed away as a crack of thunder was heard. but beom didn't move, he pushed himself into you more.

the light headedness wasn't only from the kiss, it was from what was happening around you. the life was sucked from flowers and small sparks of pink danced around hedges. you held onto his shoulders to ground yourself, the patterns that ran up his arms and neck pulsating under his shirt.

it was so dramatic, so romantic, but it was how you knew you two loved each other.

he didn't want to let you go, you didn't want to be let be go.

when you reluctantly pulled apart, there he was in his hanbok. all black, his patterns shining. you looked down, noting the white cloak you now wore, your eyes a pure white, skin glistening.

he offered his arm, the two of you in the forms that you fell in love with. you happily took it.

walking off into a realm far from here.

fin.

#writtenbymoonlight #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #abs sajax reader #abs x reader #ahn beomseok x reader #saja boys x reader #saja boys

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julescarstairs · 13 days ago

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I JUST realised, this morning, that the falcon mask Janus is wearing in the ‘Ash to Janus’ sobh instalment is a callback to the story Jace tells Clary in City of Bones.

#‘to love is to destroy and to be loved is to be destroyed’#the shadowhunter chronicles #the mortal instruments #city of bones #jace herondale #janus herondale #thule #secrets of blackthorn hall #ash morgenstern #clary fairchild #the wicked powers #the last king of faerie

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arcanefanpage · 8 months ago

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And just for a moment they both recognized their sister

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deepspacenova · 3 months ago

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I ALWAYS KNEW CALEB'S KISS WOULD BE OUT OF THIS WORLD

#IN LIFE AND IN DEATH HE SAYS #AS IF HE'S NOT THE VERY CAUSE OF MY OWN DEATH AT THIS VERY MOMENT #the fact that he makes it his destiny to hold you through space AND time has destroyed my soul from the inside #once again had to memorialize this for my own self indulgence #caleb x mc #lads caleb #lnds caleb #l&ds caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #lnds #lads #love and deepspace

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quinn-huggybear-hughes · 18 hours ago

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Okay but Utah destroyed my mental health today and there still the love of my life 😭

someone who destroyed your mental health

can not be the love of your life

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velvetvisionsaurora · 1 day ago

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Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior,

18+ only- No Minors

<<Previous Next>> Masterlist

Chapter 4: Memory and Unexpected Comfort

You sit curled on the window seat of your temporary prison, knees drawn to your chest as you stare out at the garden below. The evening light casts long shadows across the perfectly manicured grounds, but your attention is fixed on a particular tree—a massive oak with sprawling branches that looks achingly familiar.

Too familiar.

The memory hits you like a physical blow, transporting you back fifteen years to another garden, another oak tree, and the moment everything began.

Fifteen years ago...

"Yes, Mama," you had called back, though your attention was already wandering to a butterfly fluttering near the roses.

Your mother and Mrs. Kim were good friends—weekly lunch companions who shared gossip and genuine affection in equal measure. After months of begging, she had finally brought you along to one of their gatherings.

The Kim estate garden had been your wonderland that day, sprawling and mysterious with its winding paths and hidden alcoves. You had been content to explore alone, admiring the flowers and chasing butterflies, when a shadow fell across the bench where you'd settled.

Looking up, you found a boy standing before you—slightly taller than your eight-year-old frame, with serious dark eyes and hair that fell across his forehead. He regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, as if you were some exotic creature he wasn't quite sure how to approach.

"You're Y/n Ricci," he said, not a question but a statement delivered with the confidence of someone accustomed to being right.

You nodded, sitting up straighter under his scrutiny. "And you're Hongjoong Kim."

He seemed pleased that you knew his name, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "My mother says we're supposed to be friends."

The bluntness of his statement made you consider the proposition seriously. "Do you want to be friends?"

Your directness seemed to catch him off guard. He tilted his head, studying you with those intense eyes. "I don't know. I don't have many friends who are girls."

"I don't have many friends at all," you admitted with the brutal honesty only children possessed. Your half-brother Marco, fifteen and perpetually busy with teenage concerns, was your only consistent companion, and even he often had better things to do than entertain his little sister.

Something in your admission softened Hongjoong's expression, melting the careful reserve he wore like armor. "Do you want to see something cool?" he asked, extending his hand toward you with newfound determination.

You glanced back at your mother, who was deep in animated conversation with Mrs. Kim, before slipping your small hand into Hongjoong's. His fingers closed around yours with gentle possession. "Okay."

He led you away from the main garden, following stone paths that wound deeper into the estate grounds. "We have to be quiet," he whispered conspiratorially, his voice thrilling with shared secrecy. "It's a secret place."

The path curved around a tall hedge, revealing a hidden alcove dominated by the same massive oak tree you now stared at through your bedroom window. Beneath its sprawling canopy sat a wooden platform—not quite a treehouse, but a deliberate structure built for childhood adventures.

"My father had it built for me," Hongjoong had explained, helping you up onto the platform with careful hands. "I come here when I want to be alone."

You had looked around with wide, wonder-filled eyes, taking in the cushions scattered across the wooden surface, the small trunk tucked in one corner, the string of lights wound through the branches above like captured stars.

"It's like a castle," you breathed, genuine awe coloring your voice.

Hongjoong's answering smile transformed his serious face into something bright and open, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "It can be whatever we want it to be," he said, settling cross-legged on a cushion. "Today it's a pirate ship."

"A pirate ship?" you repeated, delighted by the possibility.

He nodded with solemn authority. "I'm the captain, of course."

"What am I?" you asked, dropping onto a cushion across from him, already caught up in the magic of pretend.

Hongjoong considered this with the gravity of someone making a crucial decision. "You can be... first mate."

You frowned slightly, your eight-year-old sense of equality bristling. "Why can't I be captain too?"

"A ship can't have two captains," he explained patiently, as if this were an immutable law of nature. "But the first mate is important. They're the captain's most trusted person."

The prospect of being Hongjoong Kim's "most trusted person" had filled you with warmth, a glow that started in your chest and spread outward like ripples in a pond. You nodded, accepting your role with newfound pride. "Okay. What are we doing, Captain?"

His grin was pure boyish delight as he reached for the trunk. "We're hunting for treasure, of course."

That afternoon had stretched like golden honey, filled with elaborate games of pretend that transformed the platform from pirate ship to desert island to underwater kingdom at Hongjoong's creative direction. You discovered that the serious boy you'd first met possessed a vivid imagination and an infectious enthusiasm for make-believe, delighting in your willingness to follow his lead into whatever adventure he devised.

By the third Wednesday, you and Hongjoong had settled into a comfortable routine. Your mothers would lunch on the veranda while you disappeared into the garden with him, only returning when called for dessert or farewells. Those moments became the highlight of your week, a pocket of pure joy in a life often overshadowed by the weight of your family name.

It was on one such Wednesday that Hongjoong seemed distracted, glancing repeatedly toward the front of the house as you played.

"What's wrong?" you finally asked, setting down the toy boat he'd brought for your latest ocean exploration.

"Nothing," he said quickly. Too quickly.

You crossed your arms, giving him your best stern look—a miniature version of the expression you'd seen your father use when he suspected deception.

Hongjoong sighed, defeated by your persistence. "Fine. Some of my friends are coming over. My mother invited them."

"Oh," you said, disappointment pricking at your chest. You'd grown accustomed to having Hongjoong all to yourself during these precious Wednesday visits. "Should I go back to my mother?"

"No!" The vehemence of his response surprised you both. He looked embarrassed by his own intensity. "I mean, you don't have to. They're just coming to play too."

"Are they nice?" you asked, sudden nervousness fluttering in your stomach. Group dynamics were foreign territory for a sheltered eight-year-old.

Hongjoong considered this with his characteristic seriousness. "Mostly. Wooyoung talks a lot, and Jongho can be grumpy because he's the youngest. But they're my friends."

Before you could voice more questions, the sound of approaching voices reached you—several boys by the sound of it, their chatter growing louder as they navigated the garden paths.

"They're here," Hongjoong announced, a mixture of excitement and something like reluctance coloring his tone. He stood, motioning for you to follow. "Come on, I'll introduce you."

Your first glimpse of the group that would reshape your entire life came as you rounded the hedge—six boys of varying heights and expressions, all regarding you with undisguised curiosity. They stood in a loose semicircle, a collection of young faces that would become as familiar to you as your own reflection.

"Guys, this is Y/n Ricci," Hongjoong said, unmistakable pride threading through his voice as he made the introduction. "Y/n, these are my friends."

The memories flood back in vivid detail—Seonghwa's elegant bow, Yunho's bright declaration that you were prettier than Hongjoong had let on, Yeosang's quiet nod, San's mischievous smile, Mingi's gentle wave, Jongho's serious questions about your family, and finally Wooyoung's dramatic entrance that left you dizzy and giggling despite yourself.

Seven boys who had accepted you into their circle with the easy generosity of childhood. Seven boys who had become your entire world.

Seven boys who had ripped that world apart without explanation.

* * *

A sharp knock at your door jolts you from the painful reverie, anger flaring immediately at the interruption.

"Hongjoong, I swear to God, if this is you I'll stab—" You jerk the door open, words dying in your throat as you find Yeosang standing in the hallway instead of your so-called fiancé.

Of all of them, he's the last one you expected. Yeosang, the quiet observer, the one who spoke least but somehow always saw the most. He stands in your doorway with that same thoughtful expression you remember from childhood, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

"May I come in?" he asks quietly, his voice carrying none of the desperate energy that had characterized Wooyoung's earlier attempt at connection, none of the possessive intensity that radiated from Hongjoong.

You step aside wordlessly, too surprised to maintain your defensive stance. He enters your room with careful steps, taking in the space without judgment—the hastily unpacked suitcase, the formal clothing draped over chairs, the way you've deliberately left everything looking temporary and unwelcoming.

His gaze settles on the window seat where you'd been sitting, noting the indentation in the cushions, the way the curtains are pulled back to frame the view of the garden.

"You were looking at the oak tree," he observes, not a question but a gentle statement.

Your throat constricts unexpectedly. Of course Yeosang would notice. Of course he would understand the significance without needing explanation.

"It looks the same," you say finally, your voice rougher than intended. "Exactly the same."

"Some things don't change," he agrees, moving to stand beside the window but not intruding on your obvious sanctuary. "Even when everything else does."

The comment hangs between you, weighted with meaning. You wait for him to elaborate, to launch into explanations or justifications like you expect the others might. Instead, he simply stands there, a quiet presence that somehow doesn't feel threatening.

Minutes pass in silence. Yeosang has always been comfortable with quiet spaces, never feeling the need to fill them with unnecessary words. It's one of the things you'd loved about him as a child—the way he could sit beside you in companionable silence while you read or drew, offering his presence without demanding anything in return.

"I'm not going to tell you why," he says eventually, his voice barely above a whisper. "You wouldn't believe me if I did. And honestly, our reasons don't matter anymore. What matters is that we hurt you. Deeply. And we knew we were doing it."

The admission hits you like a physical blow. No justifications, no excuses—just acknowledgment of the pain they'd deliberately inflicted. It's both what you've needed to hear and the last thing you expected from any of them.

"You all made your choice," you say flatly, though your voice wavers slightly. "Whatever your reasons were, you chose to make me believe I meant nothing to you."

"Yes," he agrees simply. "We did."

The honest acceptance of culpability is so unexpected that you find yourself sinking onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted by your own anger. You'd been prepared for denials, for attempts to minimize what they'd done, for the kind of gaslighting that would let them feel better about their actions.

You hadn't been prepared for acknowledgment.

"I used to wonder," you whisper, the words torn from somewhere deep inside, "what I'd done wrong. I replayed every conversation, every moment, trying to figure out where I'd failed you all."

Yeosang's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "You did nothing wrong."

"Then why—"

"Because we were cowards," he interrupts, the harsh assessment delivered in his characteristically matter-of-fact tone. "Because we made a choice that we thought was right, and we were too proud and too scared to find another way."

You look up at him, searching his face for signs of deception, for the careful manipulation you've learned to expect from men in your world. Instead, you find only quiet regret and a weariness that seems to age him beyond his years.

"Seven years," you say, the number falling between you like a stone into still water. "Seven years of silence."

"Seven years of regret," he counters. "Seven years of knowing we'd broken something precious and being too afraid to try to fix it."

"And now you think you can?" The question comes out sharper than intended, edged with the bitter laughter that's become your default defense. "You think marriage will magically erase what you did?"

"No," Yeosang says with devastating honesty. "I think we're all going to live with the consequences of our choices for the rest of our lives. You, us, our families—everyone."

The brutal assessment should hurt, but instead it's almost a relief. No false promises, no romantic declarations about second chances. Just the harsh reality that some damage can't be undone.

"Then why are you here?" you ask, genuine curiosity coloring your tone. "What's the point of this conversation if nothing can be fixed?"

Yeosang is quiet for a long moment, his gaze returning to the window and the oak tree beyond. "Because you're in pain," he says finally. "And pretending you're not won't help any of us survive the next three months."

Something cracks in your chest at the simple acknowledgment. When was the last time someone had seen your pain without trying to minimize it, excuse it, or make it about themselves?

"I don't know how to forgive you," you admit, the words pulled from the deepest part of your heart. "Any of you. I don't even know if I want to."

"You don't have to," Yeosang replies. "Forgiveness isn't something you owe us. It's something you do for yourself, if and when you're ready."

He moves toward the door, his visit apparently concluded, but pauses with his hand on the handle.

"There's something else you should know," he says without turning around. "Mingi and Wooyoung—they don't show it the way the others do, but they were affected the worst by leaving you."

You frown, confusion replacing the fragile peace his presence had created. "What do you mean?"

"Mingi barely spoke for months afterward. He used to sit in that oak tree for hours, just staring at nothing. And Wooyoung..." Yeosang's voice softens with something that might be pain. "Wooyoung stopped laughing. He just... stopped being himself for a long time."

The information sits heavily in your chest, creating an unwelcome ache. You don't want to care about their pain—don't want to feel anything but anger toward all of them.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask.

Yeosang finally turns to face you, his expression holding a gravity that reminds you of the serious boy he'd been. "Because I know you want vengeance. I can see it in your eyes, the way you're planning to make us all pay for what we did." His gaze meets yours directly. "Take it out on the rest of us if you need to. Just... not those two. They've suffered enough."

Before you can respond, he's gone, leaving you alone with the weight of his words and the uncomfortable realization that your carefully constructed hatred might be more complicated than you'd allowed yourself to believe.

You return to the window seat, but the view of the oak tree no longer brings only painful memories. Now it carries the image of a heartbroken Mingi sitting among its branches, and the knowledge that Wooyoung's infectious laughter had died the same day your friendship did.

For the first time since arriving at the compound, you feel something other than anger.

You feel the dangerous, unwelcome stirring of empathy.

And that, perhaps, is the most frightening thing of all.

* * *

You dress with meticulous care the next morning, selecting a crisp white blouse and tailored black slacks that speak of wealth and breeding. Every hair is in place, your makeup flawless, your jewelry understated but expensive. If they want to play games, you'll show them exactly what kind of opponent they're dealing with.

The kitchen is bathed in morning sunlight when you enter, and you're surprised to find only Yeosang sitting at the marble island, fully dressed despite the early hour. He looks up as you approach, and without a word, slides a steaming mug across the counter toward you.

You freeze, staring at the offering. The aroma that rises from the cup is unmistakably your preferred blend—dark roast with a hint of vanilla, two sugars, a splash of cream. Exactly how you take your coffee.

But that's impossible.

"I didn't start drinking coffee until..." you begin, then trail off, the implication hitting you like a physical blow.

"I missed your voice," Yeosang says quietly, his eyes never leaving your face.

The simple statement carries the weight of seven years of silence, of carefully gathered intelligence, of someone who cared enough to learn your habits from a distance. Your hand trembles slightly as you reach for the mug, the warmth seeping through the ceramic a stark contrast to the chill running down your spine.

Before you can process the full implications of his knowledge, the kitchen door swings open and Wooyoung stumbles in, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled and wrong. His hair sticks up at odd angles, his shirt is wrinkled, and there are dark circles under his eyes that speak of a sleepless night.

"Morning, sunshine!" he tries for his usual bright tone, but it falls flat, hollow. His smile is too wide, too forced, and doesn't reach his eyes. "Beautiful day, isn't it? I was thinking maybe we could—"

"Wooyoung," you interrupt softly.

He stops mid-ramble, blinking at you with something like surprise. You've never been able to stand watching him lie, especially when he's so obviously terrible at it. Even as children, his face was an open book, every emotion written clearly across his features.

"You look like hell," you say bluntly.

His forced smile crumbles. For a moment, he looks so young, so lost, that your chest tightens with unwelcome sympathy. But then he's rebuilding his facade, piece by careful piece.

"I'm fine," he insists, moving to the coffee machine with jerky, too-bright movements. "Just stayed up late working on some... organizational stuff. You know how it is."

You don't respond, but you don't look away either. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken truths.

The kitchen door opens again, admitting Yunho and Mingi. The contrast between them is stark—Yunho's eyes hold a desperate hope that makes your stomach clench, while Mingi looks like a man walking to his execution, resignation written in every line of his body.

"Good morning," Yunho says carefully, his voice carrying none of its usual easy warmth. He's watching you like you might bolt at any moment, or perhaps like he's afraid you might disappear if he blinks.

Mingi says nothing, but his gaze is so intense it feels like a physical touch. He looks at you the way a starving man might look at a feast—with longing so profound it's almost painful to witness.

The dynamic in the room shifts, tension ratcheting higher with each passing second. You sip your coffee, tasting the perfection of it, and try not to think about what it means that Yeosang knows exactly how you take it.

Then Hongjoong walks in.

If the others carry their emotions like open wounds, Hongjoong has locked his away behind a wall of icy composure. He's immaculately dressed in a charcoal suit, his hair perfectly styled, his expression giving away nothing. He moves through the kitchen like he owns it—which, you suppose, he does—completely ignoring the charged atmosphere.

It's as if last night never happened. As if you hadn't shattered his carefully constructed dinner party with your fury. As if he hadn't agreed to marry a woman who clearly despises him.

The casual dismissal of your pain, the arrogant assumption that he can simply pretend away your confrontation, sends fire racing through your veins.

Without so much as glancing in your direction, he pours himself a cup of coffee, his movements deliberate and controlled. "Are you done with your temper tantrum, little one?" he asks conversationally, stirring cream into his mug. "Or will we continue this childish behavior until the wedding?"

The words hit like a slap. Temper tantrum. Childish behavior. Little one. As if your seven years of pain, your justified anger, your very reasonable objection to being treated like property is nothing more than a petulant outburst.

Your anger flared white hot, vision narrowing until all you could see was his smug face. Without conscious thought, your hand found the knife lying on the cutting board beside you. In one fluid motion honed from years of your brother’s insistence that a Ricci should always know how to defend themselves—you sent it flying across the kitchen.

The blade embedded itself in the cabinet beside Hongjoong’s head with a solid *thunk*, quivering from the impact.

Hongjoong didn’t even flinch. Doesn't even blink. He simply turns his head to look at the knife, then back at you, his expression shifting into something that might almost be... pride?

He glanced at the knife, then back at you, one eyebrow raised in what appeared to be mild interest. “I suppose that’s a no,” he said dryly, the corner of his mouth lifting in that half-smile that had once made your heart race and now made you want to throw something else at him.

A slow smirk spreads across his face, transforming his cold features into something dangerously attractive. "Better," he says approvingly, as if you've finally done something worthy of his attention. "But your aim needs work."

The casual dismissal of what should have been a terrifying moment, the way he's almost pleased that you tried to kill him, pushes you beyond rage into something colder and more dangerous.

"Y/n—" Yunho starts, his voice tight with alarm.

Wooyoung let out a nervous laugh. Yeosang sighed deeply, turning a page in his book with deliberate care. Mingi just looked pained, his eyes darting between you and Hongjoong as if watching a car crash in slow motion.

"It's not even eight AM," comes Seonghwa's weary voice from the doorway. He takes in the scene—the knife in the cabinet, your white-knuckled grip on the coffee mug, Hongjoong's satisfied smirk—and sighs like a man carrying the weight of the world. "Could we perhaps save the attempted murder for after breakfast?"

“They’ve been like this since we were twelve,” Yunho pointed out. “Remember when she put hair dye in his shampoo because he said her dress made her look like a cupcake?”

“Or when he hid all her shoes because she called his music taste ‘aggressively mediocre’?” Jongho added, the youngest being the last to join the gathering.

“Or the time they didn’t speak for three weeks because—” Wooyoung began, enthusiasm returning to his voice.

“Enough,” you snapped, slamming your mug down hard enough to slosh coffee onto the counter. “We are not taking a nostalgic stroll down memory lane. We are not friends reminiscing about good times. We are strangers who happen to be trapped in the same house due to circumstances beyond my control.”

The room fell silent, the brief moment of normalcy shattered by your words. You could see them all exchanging glances, some sort of silent communication passing between them that excluded you, another reminder that you’re an outsider now.

Every eye in the room is on you as you straighten, smoothing down your blouse with deliberate calm.

"Enjoy your coffee, gentlemen," you say with poisonous sweetness. "I seem to have lost my appetite."

You walk out with your head high, your steps measured and controlled. But inside, you're screaming.

* * *

You barely leave your room for the next four days.

The isolation isn't complete—you emerge for meals when you're certain the main areas are empty, moving through the house like a ghost. You raid the library for books, creating a small fortress of literature around your bed. Classic novels, poetry, even some of the more academic texts on political theory that line the shelves.

Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Your phone becomes your lifeline to the outside world. Marco calls twice daily, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos of your emotions. You don't tell him about the knife incident, but somehow he seems to sense your escalating desperation.

"How are you holding up, sorellina?" he asks during your afternoon call on day three.

"I threw a knife at Hongjoong's head," you admit, staring at the ceiling from your bed.

A pause. Then: "Did you hit him?"

"Unfortunately, no."

Marco's laughter is warm and understanding. "Next time, aim lower. Harder to duck."

"Noted," you say dryly.

"But seriously, Y/n. Don't let them drive you to actual violence. Prison orange is not your color."

Your other constant contact is Chris—Christopher Bang, heir to another allied family and one of the few people in your world who understands the particular hell of family obligations. His messages are a mixture of sympathy and dark humor that keeps you grounded.

Chris: Heard you moved into the ATEEZ fortress. How’s life treating you?

You: Could be better. Tried to impale hongjoong with a kitchen knife this morning

Chris: Success rate?

You: Disappointingly zero.

Chris: practice makes perfect. It’s gonna be weird not seeing you around after the wedding. those monthly dinners at Santeros wont be the same

You: What do you mean? We’re not moving to Siberia. It’s just a business arrangement, we can still meet up

The response takes longer than usual to come through.

Chris: Y/n… word came down from the Kim family yesterday. You're officially off limits to all unmarried men in the alliance. No contact, no meetings, nothing.

Your phone slips from your suddenly numb fingers, clattering to the floor as rage unlike anything you’ve ever felt crashes over you in waves. The book falls forgotten as you surge to your feet, your vision going red around the edges.

“KIM HONGJOONG!”

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