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yogirl-willow · 13 hours ago

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The Crimson Pact | Part 16

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, intense emotional fixation, yearning, emotional manipulation, hurt/comfort, angst, moral dilemmas, emotional turmoil, controlling behavior, past life death.

A/N: Here's another angsty chapter that builds up to the big explosion of events that is the climax. I apologize in advance if this makes you sad, but trust meeee it's so necessary for what I'm cooking up, y'all. Very complex emotions we're having here. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! There are only a few chapters left for the main story (maybe 4 at most?) but we're getting close!

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The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

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Names (For those who get confused): Haneul (Abby), Seoha (Romance), Hwimori/Hwi (Mystery), Seungho (Baby)

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Part 16:

Even If It Damns Us

The night was quiet in the way only alleyways could be. A hush built of neon hums, distant cars, and the muffled clatter of lives being lived behind thin walls. Jinu walked slowly, his steps echoing soft and deliberate against the concrete. He hadn’t spoken a word since Rumi left. He didn’t know how to.

The letter echoed in his head: “You were always the best part of us.” The kind of love Daehyun had written about didn’t feel like the kind demons were allowed to have. It was tender. Raw. Built not on power or pacts but something deeper. Something harder.

Belief.

Jinu had read those words and felt the weight of them like a blade pressed to the chest. He didn’t know Daehyun — but in those lines, he did. That ache, that desperation to rewrite fate for the sake of the one you loved… it was too familiar. Too close to his own marrow.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as he reached the end of the alley.

The journal was worse. Or better. He wasn’t sure. The words had danced in and out of translation, the ink warping and glowing beneath his fingers like something alive. Rumi had deciphered the obvious, but the deeper magic… the structure of the ritual, the concept of a tether… that took someone like him to unravel. Someone old enough to remember the shadows those symbols were born from.

A tether. Not just a seal. A gate. A guardian. A chance for love to rewrite the laws.

The soulbond had to be strong. Stronger than anything forged by blood or command.

Three voices. One heart. That was the part that snagged in his thoughts.

Then he thought of the others. Jinu’s brows furrowed as he stopped beneath a streetlamp, the pale light catching in his golden eyes. Haneul… he’d say yes. He always would, if it meant saving you. And Hwimori — he’d weep through it, but he'd do it, even if he didn’t fully understand.

But Seungho? Seoha? Jinu could already hear their voices, echoing in his skull.

“You want us to try an ancient ritual that already failed once?”

“What if it doesn’t work again? What if it kills her?”

“What if it kills us?”

He clenched his jaw. They weren’t wrong. If they failed… If they failed, you wouldn’t just die. You’d shatter. Again. Maybe forever this time. And still — wasn’t that already the risk they were taking? Sacrificing strangers to Gwi Ma in hopes of bartering your soul? As if you’d ever forgive them for that.

If you found out there was another way… and that they didn’t take it? Jinu’s breath hitched. That would destroy what little was left of your trust. Of your heart. That would destroy your faith in them. It would be another secret. Another wound you didn’t deserve. And gods, wasn’t he already drowning in those?

His steps slowed. His heart tightened. He saw you again. The you he loved… standing in the center of their living room. Your voice breaking, your hands trembling, pleading with him through the ache. “There has to be another way.”

You had looked at him like he was already lost. And maybe he was.

Because back then, centuries ago, when your body turned cold in his arms, he had begged Gwi Ma to bring you back. Had clawed at the gates of the demon realm until his hands bled with magic and memory. He had sold everything just for a chance to see you smile again. And now… now there was a chance.

He thought back on the journal. If they could do it right this time — with enough preparation, with the bond strong enough, with all three of them in unison… Could it work? Would it be enough?

He wanted to believe it.

He had become a monster for you once. He’d do it again. But if there was a way to save you without becoming that monster… if there was even a sliver of a path that led to you smiling, to you believing in them again— Wouldn’t it be worth it?

Wouldn’t it be worth everything?

Hope curled in his chest like a fledgling flame. He would try. He had to. For you.

And then… the world cracked.

A pulse of heat spiraled down his spine. His demon patterns flared bright and angry against his skin, burning with recognition. The light of the streetlamp bent sideways. The shadows shrank in — whispering, curling, clawing.

He staggered a step back. “Fuck—”

The air thickened like oil. His breath turned to smoke. And then, A voice. Low. Velvet. Inevitable.

“Still playing hero, Jinu?”

His eyes widened — glowing molten gold just before the ground gave way beneath him, yanked from the mortal plane by invisible chains of darkness.

And with a soundless crack, Jinu was gone. The alley vanished. No light. No gravity. Just falling… or maybe being pulled through something colder than time and darker than death.

Jinu landed hard. The stone beneath him pulsed faintly, alive with ancient heat. Shadows pressed in from every side, thick with rot and silence. The air itself tasted like burnt offerings, sweet with decay, sharp with ash.

Jinu groaned, pushing himself up with a hand to his ribs. The moment he stood, he felt it: the eyes. A crowd of demons ringed the space, silent and still, their monstrous forms barely visible beneath the veil of mist and flame. Some bore wings tattered by time. Others dragged tails slick with blood. Some wore no form at all. Just shapes of smoke and bone, curling in on themselves like forgotten nightmares.

But every eye was fixed on him. Not in awe. In fear. They looked at him like he was already damned.

Jinu scoffed and rolled his shoulders. “What’s with the long faces? Everything’s going to plan.” he muttered, his voice echoing too cleanly in the void. He tilted his chin toward the black sky above them, “Look at all these souls, huh?”

And there they were. Dozens, hundreds of souls streaming through the void like shooting stars. Each one shrieking, burning, twisting as they were devoured by the dark. Once, he would have looked at them with indifference. Now… Now they looked too much like the souls you begged him not to take.

He looked away. A small demon near the edge, eyes wide and glassy, spoke, voice shaking. “Turn around.”

Jinu did.

And the void behind him… ignited. An inferno of impossible size. Pink, violet, magenta, coiling and writhing like a serpent made of starlight and screams. It had no form, no face, just consuming will. The core of the Demon Realm. The origin of all pacts and punishments.

Gwi Ma.

Jinu exhaled through his nose, every muscle in his body going still. Then came the voice. Silk and thunder.

“It’s funny.” The words sliced through the silence. “I thought for a moment… you actually believed you could deceive me.”

A slow, crackling laugh rose from the fire, deep and endless and hollow as a grave. Jinu tried to laugh with him. His voice came out a little too tight. “Yeah… that’s… that’s funny.”

But the laugh faded, and the flames grew. “Because if you truly believed her… if you really thought you could escape me, defy me… then you would watch your precious human soul be torn…”

The flames surged— “…to pieces.”

Jinu had just enough time to gasp before the world around him collapsed. He screamed as something invaded his mind. A hand not physical but impossibly present, ripping open thought, memory, truth.

His eyes flashed. And the vision began.

The wind howled. Branches reached toward the sky like veins made of light. Beneath them stood a woman. Long black braid down her spine, hands raised toward the Hunter’s Tree. The roots of it glowed with ancient, sacred magic. The kind that belonged only to hunters. A tree so old, it breathed the rules of the world.

The woman was trembling. Around her, voices sang. Not in unison, but in haunting, overlapping echoes. The melody was wrong, bending at the edges, barely clinging to harmony.

She whispered a name. And the moment she did, she was consumed by pain. A blinding light burst from her chest as the soulbond activated. It wasn’t controlled. It was wild.

The Tree responded violently, sensing something that didn’t belong — a soul that was sworn to the hunt calling on ancient magic.

She screamed as light split her body apart. Not blood. Light. Her soul fractured like glass beneath a too-heavy weight. Splinters of her flew into the tree, disappearing into bark and root and air. Her scream grew higher, more animal, more human… until it cut off.

Gone. Just like that.

And behind her, kneeling in the dirt… was a demon. Hair violet as a bruised sky. Face contorted in helpless agony. His hands shook as he reached for her, too late.

Daehyun.

He let out a sound no living creature should ever make. The scream of someone whose heart had been ripped from his chest. Jinu felt it all. All of it. As if he had been there. As if it were you under that tree. He collapsed to his knees, breath ragged, tears already spilling down his face.

“If you think that myth was real,” Gwi Ma whispered, “this is the fate that awaits her.”

The flames circled again. And more visions struck.

You.

Collapsing in his arms, blood pooling beneath you. Eyes blank. Lips parted with your last breath.

“Again.”

You. Throat slit in Seoha’s embrace, his trembling hands soaked in your blood.

“Again.”

You. Stabbed through the abdomen by the emperor’s blade, Seungho’s voice hoarse from screaming your name.

“…And again.”

You, burning, drowning, falling, breaking. Dying in every life he ever tried to love you in. Jinu screamed. Tears ripped from his eyes unbidden. He dropped fully, forehead to the ground, shaking like a man shattered.

Not again.

He couldn’t see this again. He couldn’t lose you again. More deaths. More endings. More you. Just gone. His heart thundered against his ribs, too big for his chest.

“Don’t forget our deal, Jinu,” Gwi Ma said softly, “because I can remove her from the cycle.”

Jinu gasped, his lungs refusing to fill.

“Or…”

And suddenly, the pain paused. Memories surfaced like a balm to burning skin. You, curled up beside him on the couch, eyes closed in trust. You, laughing at one of Hwimori’s jokes, sunlight on your cheek. You, in his arms, half-asleep, murmuring his name in the dark.

Your smile. Your voice. Your love. So fragile. So beautiful. So yours.

“…I can give her to you. For all eternity.”

Jinu trembled, still on the floor. His fingers dug into the stone, as if anchoring himself to anything real. He wanted that. He needed that. But then— You screaming beneath the Hunter’s Tree. You breaking. Shattering. Because of him.

“Don’t think you can escape what you are. What you created” Gwi Ma’s voice faded into the fire.

But the image remained. You, screaming in pain. You, smiling in his arms. The two versions of your future playing like twin stars at war in his mind. And somewhere deep inside him, under the grief and guilt and fear… a choice waited.

And a whisper rose: “I can’t let that happen.”

His hands tightened into fists. He wouldn't lose you again.

Not like that.

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The sun spilled weakly through the gauzy curtains, casting a soft gold wash over the Huntrix apartment. Pajamas rustled and the sound of quiet footsteps echoed in the living room as the three girls settled into their usual spots. Zoey curled up on one of the loveseats, Mira sitting on the edge of the coffee table, and Rumi perched at the edge of the couch with her long braid trailing over one shoulder. The empty dishes from breakfast had been cleared. The silence that hung in the room wasn’t heavy, just thoughtful. Expectant.

Rumi smoothed her hands over her knees. “Look, the last few weeks have been... hard,” she began, her voice steady but not defensive. “And I admit I haven’t been at my best. But I know we can win today. We just have to sing the right song.”

She paused, heart thudding against her ribs. They were going to attempt the ritual. The song had to be Golden. Not just because the lyrics resonated or because the melody carried hope—but because the ritual demanded unity, belief, and harmony between their hearts and true voices. Takedown was a war cry. Golden was a promise.

And if they had even a sliver of a chance at completing the tether, of saving Y/N, thousands of people, and ending this without a massacre—it started there.

She opened her mouth again. “And Takedown... it isn’t—”

“It’s okay, Rumi,” Mira cut in gently.

“We agree,” Zoey added, eyes downturned.

“It’s not the song that’s gonna connect all our fans,” Mira said, her eyes locking onto Rumi’s.

“It can’t even connect... us.” Zoey added dejectedly.

The three of them fell into a tender conversation. Not awkward, just vulnerable. They didn’t need to hash it all out again. Not the fights, not the fractures, not the days they’d spent in different corners of their shared space, afraid to say the wrong thing. Somewhere between whispered apologies and long talks on their truths and true feelings, they'd come to understand: Together, they could be their truest selves.

“I’m afraid of losing you guys,” Rumi admitted, her throat tightening slightly after Zoey and Mira had shared their sentiments. “And that’s why we have to finish this. All these fears, it’s the demons talking. But later... we can win this war. We can be free of these fears forever.”

Mira and Zoey exchanged a look. That same shared look they always had when they made a silent decision together. She’s sincere. She’s Rumi. Their sister, their anchor. They could trust her.

“We agree, Rumi,” Zoey said again, this time more softly. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was still something lingering in her gaze. A question. Rumi tensed before she could help it.

“On another note, for things to go smoothly…” Rumi began, trying to steer the conversation forward, “Has Y/N replied to any of your messages?”

Mira and Zoey froze for a second. Their eyes darted to each other again, but this time, not in reassurance. It was hesitation. The weight of what they’d seen last night. The notes, the symbols, the pieces of something much larger than they understood, pressed down like a held breath.

“What?” Rumi asked, narrowing her eyes. “What’s with that look?”

“…Now that we’re being honest,” Mira said slowly, “is there any other reason why you want Y/N to be there?”

Rumi’s breath caught in her throat. “What? What do you mean? If she’s there, it just means the Saja boys won’t—”

“We know, Rumi,” Zoey interrupted gently. “And we agree with that. We trust you.”

There was a beat of silence.

“It’s just…” Zoey looked sheepish. “We were looking for your hairdryer last night. You know, the one with the lightning-speed cold setting? Your hair takes like… years to dry.”

Mira snorted, but didn’t smile.

“And we found something else,” Zoey said, more carefully now.

“We didn’t mean to snoop—” Mira jumped in.

Rumi’s stomach twisted. Her heart began to race.

“But we found your notebook. It must’ve fallen out of the bed. We saw some of the pages. Runes, symbols, ritual diagrams… Y/N’s name. And something about the Honmoon—”

“You guys went through my stuff?” Rumi’s voice came out sharper than she intended.

“It— we didn’t mean to find it!” Zoey said quickly, holding up her hands. “But... you wrote about the Honmoon. A ritual. Rumi, what was that? You can tell us.”

“We know you’ve been keeping some things from us,” Mira added, gentler now. “And we don’t doubt there must be a good reason.”

“You don’t have to tell us everything now…” Zoey hesitated, glancing at the uncertainty in Rumi’s expression. “Look, we trust you. But we just need you to explain that so we understand. Just a little.”

“Whatever you’re doing, or planning, we know it must be for a good cause.” Mira looked to Zoey, both of them silently deciding to stand by their friend.

Rumi closed her eyes for a second. Her mind spun. No. She couldn’t tell them everything. Not about her parents. Not about Jinu. Not about the ritual itself. Not yet.

But she could give them a truth that wouldn’t collapse everything.

“I’ve just been… curious,” she said finally. “About the soulbond. About how it might affect Y/N. And the Honmoon. I’ve never seen a bond like hers before.”

She looked at her hands. “I grew up with Celine. My training started a lot earlier than yours. There were things I read, secrets, old texts… and I guess those notes were me trying to piece things together. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure what any of it meant. It’s all half-deciphered.”

She exhaled slowly. “The reason I want Y/N to be there is because yes, for extra measures. But also… because I was trying to understand something I read once. That someone with a soulbond could become… something like the Honmoon.”

Zoey blinked. “What? Like… a human Honmoon?”

“Something like that. It’s difficult to explain. But… remember when the Honmoon glowed on the train yesterday? When she took my hand?”

They both nodded slowly, eyes widening. “So you think… Y/N could become the Honmoon?” Mira asked.

“Not exactly,” Rumi replied. “I don’t know. But it reacted to her. That’s never happened before. I think she might be able to… change something. And it could be something permanent. As in— no more weakening of the barrier. Something that could seal the demon realm away forever.”

The living room fell quiet again. Zoey looked at Mira, then back at Rumi. Her gaze softened.

“How do you know this? Forever? Like, we wouldn’t need to strengthen the Honmoon every year?” Zoey questioned.

“Something like that,” Rumi nodded, eyes troubled. The weight of it all felt heavy on her shoulders. “Look, I still have to confirm it. And if anything happens, then we seal the Honmoon anyway with our voices. It was just something I wanted to look into…”

Zoey and Mira softened. They hadn’t realized how much their friend must’ve been carrying. The secrets, the weight of responsibility, the fear of being wrong… or worse, right. For all Rumi’s walls, she had never stopped trying to protect them.

“You don’t have to explain it all now,” Zoey said gently. “We’ve got to go soon anyway. But just tell us what we need to do.”

Rumi looked up, startled. She hadn’t expected them to say yes, or that they’d believe her just like that. That was it? They didn’t demand any more questions? She almost felt guilty that she wasn’t telling them everything.

Almost wondered if she had told them the whole truth, maybe they would understand…

“Y/N needs to be there, right?” Mira asked. “Would this... whatever it is, really be stronger than the Honmoon?”

Rumi hesitated and thought of her father’s journal. The symbols. The words ‘Three voices. One heart.’

“I think it might,” she said softly. “There’s no harm in trying.”

Lie. Everything depended on this. Your life. The life of thousands. Jinu’s and the rest of the boys.

“I just need you guys to sing with me,” Rumi added.

Both Zoey and Mira blinked. “That’s all?” Zoey asked.

Rumi nodded once. “That’s all.”

But in her head, she was already reciting the other pieces. The soul. The sacrifice. The choice. She would take care of the rest. She just needed their voices.

The girls were quiet for a moment. Then, as if making a silent decision again, they nodded. They still got the feeling she wasn’t saying everything. But maybe that was okay. Maybe it wasn’t the time. Maybe trust was more important than the truth right now.

She was their best friend, after all.

“Okay,” Zoey smiled. “Let’s go crush that stage.”

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You woke to the sound of breathing.

Not your own, but deeper, heavier, more beast than human. A warm exhale tickled the strands of hair at the crown of your head. You shifted and felt the drag of fur against your skin, the soft weight of an enormous paw still draped across your waist. Derpy.

He hadn’t moved from his post beside you. Not once.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, lashes stuck together from the dried salt of sleep. The ceiling above was awash in morning light, blurry and pale. You didn’t move. You couldn’t. The ache in your limbs was less physical than it was emotional. Your body weighed down by sorrow, as if grief itself had climbed into bed with you and held you down by the ribs.

From the curtain rod above, a chirp echoed. A melodic little sound that normally would’ve made you smile. The Magpie. It was perched like a guardian at your window, its glossy feathers twitching with the breeze, head tilted as though waiting for you to rise.

“Morning,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice a broken thing. Not even Derpy stirred. You curled into him instead, pressing your face into the soft fur of his chest and let your fingers tangle into the warm fluff there. He gave a low, sleepy grumble, pulling you closer with a sound that felt like safety. His scent, charcoal and cedar, firewood and something ancient, wrapped around you like a memory.

This was the first night in a while where you had actually slept alone without one of the boys beside you. Holding you. You almost hated how wrong it felt to be without them wrapping you in their embrace through the night. You’d almost become dependent on it. Used to it.

You let yourself stay like that for a few seconds longer. Just a few seconds where you could pretend this was normal. That you weren’t in a guest room because you couldn’t bear to sleep beside your lovers. That today wasn’t the day. That your tears hadn’t soaked this pillowcase the entire night.

But peace, like all beautiful things, was fleeting.

Because today was the Idol Awards.

And with that thought came the sickening dread. Like something clawed up from the pit of your stomach and wrapped itself around your spine. Today… they were going to do it.

Today, your boys, the ones who had memorized the shape of your hands, who cradled you when the night got too heavy, who whispered promises against your skin like prayers… were going to kill for you.

Hundreds. Maybe thousands. A sacrifice. A slaughter.

You flinched at the word. It felt too sharp, too real. How could the same hands that held you like you were glass... break the world in your name? You stared at the ceiling again, trying to breathe around the guilt in your throat. But it didn’t move. It never did.

You’d begged them not to go through with it. You thought they might listen. You thought love might be enough.

Had they found another way?

You wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe that somewhere between all the pain, the planning, and the desperation, they had chosen something better. That they had chosen you, not as an idol or a reason to become monsters, but as a person. A girl who cried when she was overwhelmed. Who burnt pancakes. Who loved them deeply but wasn’t ready to carry this kind of darkness.

But you knew better than to cling to hope like that. Hope was delicate, and you’d learned it always broke when you held it too tightly.

Outside your door, muffled voices floated through the walls. Footsteps. The clink of dishes. A quiet hum of life. And then—

“…Just eat something. You’ll collapse like this. Did you even sleep?”

Seoha. The world stilled. Was he…?

Your throat tightened. He was talking to Hwimori. You sat up slowly, hands trembling, suddenly too aware of the way the silence behind your door felt heavy. Familiar.

Did he stay out there all night again?

The thought gutted you. You imagined him, slumped against the doorframe, knees tucked to his chest, lavender hoodie wrinkled from hours of stillness. Head drooped. Maybe he’d curled up like a cat, just to feel close. Just to wait for you.

Your heart cracked.

Hwimori didn’t need words. He never had. His love came in gestures. In the way he poured you water before bed. In the way he whined when you were sad. In the way he tucked his body close to yours like he was trying to hide you inside his ribs.

How could you explain this to him? How could you look him in the eye and say: You can't protect me this time. You can't follow me.

You couldn’t. You didn’t know how.

But you had to try. Because if they went through with this today… there would be no turning back.

You reached blindly for your phone, needing something to anchor you. Anything. One new message blinked on the screen. It was from Rumi.

‘Hey, how are you? Just checking in to ask if we'll be seeing you in the Idol Awards today. Please come. We'd love to see you there.’

Your breath hitched. The words weren’t heavy. They weren’t even long. But they carried so much warmth it made your chest ache. After everything, they still wanted you to come. They still thought of you.

You turned your gaze toward the corner of the room, where your bag sat in a forgotten heap. And tucked inside it, like a talisman from a world that used to feel simple, was the invitation.

Technically… you could still go. No one had taken it from you. Your fingers clenched the bedsheets. Should you?

The question stabbed through your brain like a needle.

If you went… you could stop them. Maybe. If you threw yourself in their path. If you stood on that stage and looked them in the eye and said no loud enough, would they finally listen?

But what would it cost? Would they see you as the enemy? Would they snap, break, and tear the world apart with you in it?

And what if you succeeded? What if you did stop them? Would it cost you your life? Would Gwi Ma take you anyway? Would the bond shatter? Would they survive without you?

You closed your eyes, and the memories came like a wave. Jinu brushing the hair from your face with a ghost of a smile. Haneul, pressing your hand to his chest, as if it would calm the storm inside him. Seoha’s whisper-soft voice telling you your name like it was something sacred. Seungho, brushing your lips with his, like a vow he wasn’t allowed to speak. Hwimori… curled up beside you like he never wanted to be apart.

You had never loved anything more in your life. And now you might have to break it.

You pressed your palms into your eyes. Hard. Trying to force the thoughts away. Would you be cruel to take yourself from them forever?

Yes.

But would you be crueler to let them live with blood on their hands? To let them become the monsters the world always feared they would be?

You looked at the invitation again.

You had to go.

If they didn’t listen today, if they locked you away again, you’d sneak out. You’d walk onto that stage. You’d make them hear you. You would not let them burn for you.

Not like this.

Your chest tightened as you picked up your phone again, thumbs trembling over the screen. For a long moment, you just stared at Rumi’s message. Then, slowly, you typed back.

‘Hey, Rumi. Thanks for checking up on me. I haven’t been in the best state of mind since yesterday. But I’ll be there today.’

You hit send. There. It was done.

The decision made your whole body feel heavy, like it had sunk deeper into gravity. But at the same time, something in your chest settled quietly. Like a match being struck in the dark.

You rose to your feet, legs trembling under the weight of it all. Derpy shifted beside you, giving a low growl as if sensing the tension in your chest. The magpie chirped again, more insistently this time. You knelt and buried your face into Derpy’s fur.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Please stay here. Please watch over them.”

Then you scratched the magpie under its chin, your hand shaking as you turned toward the door. Your fingers brushed the lock.

This was your last chance.

Please, you begged in your mind. Please listen to me.

You unlocked the door and stepped out with trembling hands, half-expecting to see him there, Hwimori curled up on the hallway floor like some loyal creature refusing to leave your side. But he was gone. Only silence greeted you.

He must’ve gotten up. Maybe to eat. Maybe because the others had coaxed him to rest. The thought brought a flicker of relief to your chest, even as dread slowly poisoned your veins. The air was heavy, almost still. You padded softly down the hallway, careful not to make a sound. But it was too late.

They felt you.

You didn’t hear them move. You sensed it, the quiet shuffle of a knife being lowered, a breath being caught. Their bond tethered to you still, even if your hearts felt galaxies apart.

You turned the corner into the kitchen. They were all dressed. Already prepared for the Idol Awards, outfits tailored to perfection, hair meticulously styled, skin aglow beneath soft lights. They looked breathtaking. Unreachable. Heavenly and damned all at once.

But to you, they looked like men dressed for a massacre.

Jinu stood with arms crossed, wearing a black loose flanel dusted with midnight glitter, like stars swallowed in shadow. His jaw tightened the moment his eyes met yours. He didn’t speak.

Haneul held a tray in his hands, still plating what looked like congee and sliced pears. His soft magenta hair was slicked back, lips parted like he was just about to call for you.

Mystery had been sitting at the kitchen counter, legs drawn up to the stool. He froze, his entire body turning toward you like a hound sensing heartbreak. He whimpered, soft and low.

Seoha stood by the window, back straight, brows knit. He looked like he hadn’t slept, yet he was flawless. Pale silver shirt hanging loosely over his frame, one hand tightening around the glass of water he never drank.

Seungho was leaning against the wall near the door, half-hidden in the shadow. He had one earbud in, scrolling something on his phone before you entered. Now the phone was forgotten. His dark eyes burned into you.

They looked at you like you were a ghost. Their silence screamed louder than any greeting. The air crackled with emotion, too sharp, too raw.

You saw it in the way Jinu’s fingers dug into his biceps. The way Haneul’s shoulders slumped slightly. The way Mystery blinked too fast, trying to stop tears from forming. Seoha’s knuckles were white on the glass. Seungho’s jaw ticked, like he was clenching something deeper than anger.

You wanted to speak, but for a moment, you couldn’t. They looked so painfully beautiful. The kind of beautiful that ripped you apart. You remembered thinking they looked like angels the first time you saw them. Now, they looked like angels dressed for war.

Haneul swallowed first, voice hushed and soft. “You’re up.” The tray in his hands trembled.

You nodded slightly, the gesture barely perceptible. Your chest throbbed. You wanted to scream. Instead, you looked at the tray.

“I was just about to bring you breakfast,” he added softly.

You looked into his eyes, those eyes that had only ever gazed at you with kindness, and felt your heart break all over again. Even now. Even now they make time to care for me. How could they be so gentle… and still choose to destroy?

“Thanks,” you whispered.

They all flinched. Even your voice hurt them. You felt the bond tighten, a tether pulled taut over fire. Emotions rushed across it like static: their pain, their panic, their overwhelming desire to soothe you, to shield you, even from themselves.

Your eyes drifted to the bags by the door. Audio equipment and suit bags. “You’re really leaving, huh?” Your voice cracked.

No one answered right away. Then, Jinu’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

His voice was hard. Cold. But he wasn’t looking at you. He couldn’t. He couldn’t watch your face crumble in sadness and heartache again.

Your lip trembled. "You don’t have to do this,” you whispered, voice shaking. “You still don’t. There has to be another way.”

Silence.

"I’m begging you,” your voice cracked. “Please. I know you think this is the only path, but you haven’t even tried to think this through with me. Not really. And if you have and you didn’t tell me, then, then how am I supposed to live with that?"

Seoha’s throat bobbed. He couldn’t meet your eyes. Haneul’s fingers tightened around the tray. His knuckles turned white. Hwimori looked like he was about to cry again.

“We’re doing this to protect you,” Seungho said. The first to speak. His tone clipped. Defensive. But even he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

"Protect me?" you echoed. “By killing hundreds? Thousands? You think I want to be protected like that?”

They flinched again.

“You think I can live with that? That I’ll look at you and still see the men I love?”

“You’ll be alive,” Jinu snapped. “That’s all that matters.”

You stepped forward, tears beginning to fall. “No. It’s not. I’d rather die than become the reason you do this.”

That stopped them cold. Haneul stepped forward. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” you barked. “It’s the truth! If I live and all those people die, then I might as well already be dead. Because I’ll never be able to forgive myself. And you’ll never forgive yourselves either.”

“You think we haven’t already accepted that?” Seoha said, voice low and trembling. “We know we’re monsters.”

“You’re not,” you cried. “You don’t have to be.”

“But we will be,” Hwi whispered. “If it means keeping you, I don’t care.”

Those words broke you hearing them from Hwi. They broke something in you. “You love me that much?” your voice cracked. “Enough to destroy everything else? What about you, Haneul? What about your promise to be good?”

Haneul’s eyes shimmered with tears. “I’d rather be damned with you alive than be good and lose you again.”

You stood there, heart in pieces, body barely holding together. But you didn’t walk away. Not yet. You couldn’t. This… this was your last chance. Maybe not with logic. Not with morality. But with love.

You took a trembling breath, and then you stepped forward. Slowly. Cautiously. Like you were approaching the edge of a cliff, and they were the drop. Please. Please, just see me.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

They did.

“I know you think this is the only way,” your voice shook. “I know you’ve made peace with it. That you’ve convinced yourselves this is for me. But I’m begging you…” Your knees nearly buckled. “I’m begging you,” you repeated, stronger this time. “Don’t go through with this.”

You moved first to Hwimori. He was closest, always closest. You reached out and gently took his hand, holding it with both of yours like he was something fragile, sacred. Your thumbs brushed over them like a prayer.

“Hwi…” your voice wavered. “I know your heart. I feel it every day. You’re loyal, you’re kind… you don’t have to do this to prove that you love me. You already do. I already know.”

He whimpered softly, trying to stay strong, but the moment your hands touched his, his shoulders collapsed inward. His fingers trembled around yours, but he couldn’t let himself crumble. Not yet.

You turned to Haneul. He was standing there, tray still in his hands, unmoving. As if this entire scene had frozen him in place. You reached up and gently set your palm on his chest, over his heart. It pounded beneath your hand like a frightened thing.

“I know you’re the one who keeps the rest of them together,” you whispered. “You’re the voice of reason. You’ve always tried to be good, Haneul. Please, don’t silence that part of you now. Don’t throw it away just to keep me breathing.”

His eyes welled. “Y/N…”

“I need you to be good,” you begged. “Because if you’re not… then who is?”

He looked down, jaw tight, blinking hard.

You turned next to Seoha. His entire body was tensed, arms crossed as if holding himself together was the only way he wouldn’t fall apart.

“Seoha…” your voice turned softer. You uncrossed his arms, gently, one at a time. He let you. Your fingers traced the inside of his wrist, up his forearm. “You think you’re protecting me, but this will ruin you. This will rot something inside you that you’ll never get back. And I love you. I want to love you forever. But I won’t know how to if you come back from this... empty.”

He inhaled sharply. Still… no one said no. Still, they chose silence.

You turned to Seungho next. He hadn’t moved a muscle. As always, unreadable. Cold. But his throat had bobbed, once. And that was enough for you to try.

“You’re pretending this doesn’t hurt,” you said. “But I see it. I feel it. You’re terrified, aren’t you? Not of the blood. But of what I’ll become if you go through with this. If I hate you. If I leave.”

His fingers flexed. But he said nothing.

Finally, you stepped toward Jinu. He hadn’t looked at you this whole time. His jaw was tight. His fists clenched. Like if he dared meet your eyes, the dam would break. You stood directly in front of him. You placed your hands on either side of his face. And when he finally looked at you… gods, it nearly undid you.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you whispered. “I don’t need you to be strong. I need you to choose me. Not like this. Not in blood. Not in screams. Just choose me by staying. By trying.”

His breathing was ragged now.

“I love you,” you whispered. “But I don’t know if I’ll survive watching you become the kind of monster that thinks this is love.”

You leaned your forehead against his. And then, quietly: “Please. Don’t go.”

For a single heartbeat, the bond held still. Then his hands rose. Not to pull you in, but to gently remove yours from his face.

“If I have to carry the weight of every soul in this world to keep you alive,” Jinu said, his voice hoarse but resolute, “then I’ll do it with a smile.”

You blinked. Your hands dropped like stones. Your body stepped back without you even realizing. Like those words pushed you off the edge you were so desperately trying to balance on. You stared at him. And something inside you cracked… slow and agonizing. That shattered you.

“Fine,” you rasped, stepping back. “Then go. Just go. Burn the world down if it makes you feel better. I hope you win your stupid awards.” You turned on your heel, back toward the guest room, your shoulders trembling.

Seoha called after you. “Wait—wait, Y/N—please, that’s not what we—”

You spun. “What?! That’s not what you meant? Then what do you mean, Seoha? That you love me so much you’d rather be feared than be without me? That your love only knows how to consume?”

“I’d rather be hated and have you alive than worshipped and lose you,” he choked.

Your heart thudded. You stormed back into the guest room, wiping your tears with the heel of your palm. Haneul and Hwimori followed.

“Please—” Hwi started.

“Don’t,” you snapped. “I get it. You’ve made your choice. Now I’ll make mine. Go.”

And that’s when Seoha noticed it. Your bag. Partially packed. The glint of a glossy gold edge sticking out from the zipper. His breath caught. You noticed and you moved to cover it from his view, subtly. But it was too late.

Seoha’s eyes darkened. He leaned in and whispered something to Haneul. Haneul’s eyes widened, then he left, hurried and quiet, to tell the others.

Seoha remained behind, kneeling before you. “You can hate me all you want,” he said. “But we’re doing this for you. Even from yourself.”

You opened your mouth, confused, but then Jinu entered the room. Followed by Seungho. Then Haneul. Then Hwi. They all stood in front of you like shadows. Like a wall.

Jinu’s voice was cold. “You’re staying here.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not leaving this apartment,” Seungho said, eyes flat.

You narrowed your eyes. “You can’t stop me.”

“We can,” Jinu said. Quiet. And that was worse.

You stepped back, heart hammering. “I said I won’t leave, okay? Isn’t that enough?”

They all looked at you like they didn’t believe a word of it.

“Go,” you whispered. “Just go already. You’ve made up your minds.”

The tension in the room knotted like a stormcloud, pressing into your lungs, your spine, your soul. They didn’t want to do this, but they would. Because they believed it would save you.

You sat down on the edge of the bed. Head bowed. Shoulders shaking. You couldn’t bear to look at them. Jinu walked forward. You saw only the hem of his shirt, the faint glint of his belt buckle, the rise and fall of his chest. He knelt. You didn’t look up. You just felt the kiss he pressed to the crown of your head.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice low and breaking. “Even if you hate us for this. Even if we burn. I’d rather burn a thousand times than have to bury you once more.”

He stood, and one by one, reluctantly, they left.

The sound of the front door closing echoed like a tomb sealing shut.

You sat there, alone. Tears sliding down your cheeks in silence. You were left there, crying once again on the bed.

The silence of the apartment pressed in like water flooding your lungs, like time itself had stopped in mourning. The distant click of the door closing behind them echoed endlessly in your head. A requiem. A closing prayer.

They left. They really left.

You curled into yourself, arms wrapped tight around your knees, body trembling in the aftermath. The bond between you and them didn’t dim, but gods, it felt like it frayed. Like a red thread stretched too far and pulled too taut.

Derpy whimpered low beside the bed, nudging your hand with his damp nose. The magpie cooed mournfully from the window ledge. Their presence was warm and heavy beside you, like a weighted blanket on your chest. You reached a shaking hand to stroke Derpy’s fur, brushing the spot between his wide, eerie eyes.

“I tried,” you whispered, voice cracked and broken. “I really tried…”

You looked them in the eye. You begged. You touched their faces with every ounce of trembling hope you had left. And still… they said no.

After everything, their priority was still you. Always you. And maybe that should’ve been comforting. But it wasn’t. Because what comfort is there in a love that burns everything down in your name?

What solace is there in being adored so fiercely it suffocates?

Their love wrapped around you like vines, lush, blooming, and beautiful, but tightening with every step you took away from them. A garden and a cage. You were their heartbeat. Their reason. Their undoing. And now… they were going to become monsters for you. Willingly.

You stopped crying eventually. Only because your body had run out of tears. Still trembling, you rose and padded into the kitchen barefoot. The apartment was pristine. Every surface spotless. Everything in its place.

Except you.

You sat quietly and ate the congee Haneul had made, lukewarm now, but still comforting in a way that hurt. You imagined him in the kitchen that morning, carefully ladling it into the bowl while the others argued. Still thinking of you. Still putting you first, even when the worst part of him knew he might never see you again without blood on his hands.

You forced yourself to finish it in silence. You owed him that much.

You washed your bowl and dried your hands, padding back into your room like a ghost. You took a shower, the heat of the water droplets soothing what mess your face must’ve been at the moment. You got out and got dressed, drying your hair in an attempt to look as presentable as you possibly could after everything.

Your eyes drifted to your bag and there it was. The golden envelope, shining like guilt. Your fingers hovered above the zipper.

What would happen to them? Huntrix? You knew for sure they wouldn’t go down without a fight.

You pulled the invitation out slowly. Its weight felt heavier than it should’ve. Like it knew it could tip the balance of everything.

Could you do it? Go to the awards? Get in the way? Stop the soul harvest? Could you really face them again, knowing that you might have to choose between them and everyone else? You weren’t a hunter. You weren’t a demon. You weren’t powerful like them or strategic like Rumi or fearless like Zoey and Mira. You were just… you.

And still. You had to try. You had to at least try.

Because if they went through with it and you hadn’t given your all… if you’d just let them go and waited here like a good little doll, then their sins would become yours, too. The guilt would eat you alive.

No. You wouldn’t be complicit in this. You would do everything you could. Because you loved them. Gods, you loved them. But love wasn’t supposed to cost the world. And maybe, just maybe, if you showed up, if you stood there in the middle of it all, it would stop them.

Maybe they wouldn’t be able to do it with you watching. Maybe they'd choose you and the world.

You folded the invitation and tucked it gently into your bag. Your fingers lingered on the zipper, then you turned. Derpy sat by the door, tilting his head at you. The magpie flapped over and landed on your shoulder, pecking once at your hair gently.

“I know,” you said softly, your voice thick. “I shouldn’t go. They asked me to stay. But…” You crouched down to scratch behind Derpy’s ears. “I have to. I’m sorry.”

He let out a low growl, almost like a whimper. You rose and walked slowly to the front door. Hand trembling, you grabbed the knob and turned it.

Nothing.

Your brow furrowed. You tried again. Twisting it harder. Pushing, pulling. Still nothing.

“What…?”

You jiggled it harder. Yanked at it with both hands. Panic rising like bile in your throat. Then suddenly, a soft hum filled the air. A ripple of magenta light pulsed from the door like a drop in water. A shimmering shield spread outward in concentric circles, glowing faintly before fading again. Your heart stopped.

“No,” you whispered. “No, no, no—”

You yanked harder, kicked at the wood, slammed your fists into it. Another ripple. Brighter this time.

“No—!”

You pounded again, tears returning with brutal force. “Let me out! Let me out!”

Your foot struck the base of the door hard, pain shooting up your leg, but the door didn’t budge. The magic didn’t even flicker.

“No, no, no—please—”

You turned and ran to the balcony, flinging open the glass—and stopped. The same magenta shimmer encased the entire perimeter. It sparkled in the sunlight like a dome. Beautiful. Deadly. You slammed your hands against the invisible barrier.

“Let me go!”

No answer. You screamed again, this time hoarse, guttural. Your knees buckled. You collapsed to the floor, forehead pressed against the cold tiles, chest heaving in broken sobs.

They had trapped you here for your safety. They had locked you in a gilded cage lined with silken blankets, breakfast congee and forehead kisses. But it was still a cage. You felt like a ghost screaming inside a house that had already moved on without you.

“They locked me in,” you sobbed. “They locked me in.”

You remembered the moment Seoha looked at your bag. The gold invitation had stuck out. That was it. That was the moment they knew.

“That’s what he told them,” you choked. “That’s what they saw.”

You pounded weakly on the shield again, fingers raw. “I should’ve been more careful…” You slumped down, pressing your back to the balcony door, head falling back against the glass.

“Why…?” Your voice broke again, barely a whisper. “Why would you do this to me…?”

Your thoughts spiraled. Their faces. Their love. Their obsession. The way Jinu held your face like you were made of stars and secrets. The way Haneul always tried to soothe. The way Hwi trembled when you hurt. The way Seungho tried to hide his pain behind that cruel quiet. The way Seoha said he’d rather be hated and have you alive.

They meant it. They loved you. So much that they caged you. So much that they chose your life over everyone else’s. And you… You were powerless. You were trapped.

You stared out through the shield toward the sky. Somewhere out there, tonight, people would die. People you’d never meet. Lives you’d never know. Because of you. Because they chose you.

And no matter how tightly you wrapped your arms around yourself, you couldn’t hold that weight.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You had cried yourself raw hours ago. Now there was nothing left. Just a dull ache sitting inside your chest like a storm cloud that refused to rain.

You sat curled into the corner of the couch, knees hugged to your chest, eyes red and puffy, throat dry from silent sobs that had long since stopped clawing their way out. The apartment hadn’t changed. It was still warm, still soft, still falsely kind. But now it felt like a holding cell. A beautiful prison.

Derpy was curled against your legs, his breath steady and heavy like a tired drum. The magpie nuzzled into your shoulder, feathers ruffling as if he could sense the throb in your chest. They didn’t leave you.

But everyone else did.

Your demons… they were gone. Off to burn the world in your name. You didn’t know what time it was anymore. All you knew was that somewhere, right now, the Idol Awards were beginning. Somewhere, the girls were backstage. Somewhere, the boys were hiding in the shadows with blood on their hands and the fate of hundreds of souls hanging in their decision.

You clenched your jaw, fingers twitching against your knees. What were they going to do? Would they really go through with it? Would Huntrix be safe? You stared at your phone lying facedown on the coffee table. And then… slowly… you reached for it.

Your screen lit up with a soft glow that stung your eyes. The thumbnail of the Idol Awards livestream blinked at you like a warning sign. A window into the world you were no longer allowed to touch.

Your thumb hovered over it… and then tapped.

The screen opened. Bright. Loud. Chaotic. Your breath hitched. The stadium was packed wall to wall. A tidal wave of people. Thousands of fans cheering, holding glow sticks in shades of magenta and gold. The stage lights danced, cutting across the sea of movement. Two massive banners stretched across the main screen: Huntrix’s glittering emblem on the left, the Saja Boys' sleek sigil on the right.

Clips from Golden and Soda Pop played on loop, and the announcer’s voice boomed over the crowd: “Tonight, two of the hottest idol groups battle for the number one spot. Who will take home the crown?”

You swallowed thickly. Your heart was pounding, each beat echoing like footsteps in an empty hallway. You didn’t realize until now… you never heard the boys’ Idol Awards song in full. They never played it for you.

Why?

A knot tightened in your stomach. Was the song part of their ritual? What would it sound like?

The announcer’s voice called out again. “Please welcome to the stage… the Saja Boys!”

The screams that erupted from the crowd were deafening. “Saja Boys! Saja Boys!”

You clutched the edge of the couch cushion, your breath snagging. Your chest ached. They were loved. So loved. Thousands chanting their name with joy in their voices, never knowing what kind of monsters they were about to witness. Or maybe never knowing at all.

But the stage remained dark. No one appeared. You sat up straighter, heart stumbling. What was going on? Was this part of the plan? Were they late? Hiding?

“Okay…” the host said, voice faltering. “There’s been… a slight change in schedule.”

Your stomach dropped. No. No, no, no.

“Here to perform their hot new single, Golden, please welcome… Huntrix!”

“What…?” you whispered, eyes widening. Why weren’t the boys on stage? Were they planning to sabotage them? You stared as the lights dimmed. And then… Three figures emerged from the fog. You recognized them instantly. Mira, Rumi, and Zoey. They glowed under the spotlight, breathtaking and fierce. The crowd roared again as they took their positions. The familiar intro of their song, Golden began to play.

“I was a ghost, I was alone…”

Rumi’s voice soared through the air, sweet and powerful, steady as a siren call. Her pitch was pristine, every note wrapped in gold. Their choreography snapped like lightning, sharp, commanding, flawless. They were magnificent. And yet, you watched with bated breath, a tightness crawling up your spine.

Their eyes darted across the crowd as they danced. Scanning. Looking. Were they looking for you? Guilt curled low in your gut. You never messaged them. Never told them you weren’t coming anymore. You just didn’t show. Your throat tightened.

Rumi hit her high note, spinning beneath the spotlight. “We’re going up, up, up—it’s our moment—”

She reached up and grabbed a golden ring descending from above. It lifted her gracefully into the air as she sang, her voice unwavering, her smile radiant. The audience erupted, and you couldn’t help it. After all the pain of the day, you smiled too. Just a little. Just for a second.

But then… as she sank back down and twisted to stand at the edge of the stage, belting that final note of the chorus, the lights cut out.

You froze. Was this part of the routine? A pause. Silence. The crowd murmured, confused. And then— A new beat. Louder. Darker. Sharper. You straightened on the couch. Was this a new song? You hadn’t heard this intro before…

“Takedown, Takedown, Take-down, down, down, down…”

Your stomach twisted. Something in your gut felt uneasy. This didn’t seem right.

“It’s a takedown!”

The stage lights exploded back on. Mira and Zoey now suddenly stood behind Rumi. The choreography changed. It was jagged. Threatening. Aggressive. But Rumi—Rumi looked confused. Her smile faltered.

You leaned forward, heart hammering in your ears. What was happening?

“So sweet, so easy on the eyes,

but hideous on the inside

Whole life spreading lies,

but you can't hide, baby, nice try”

The lyrics hit you like ice water. You blinked. These weren’t just aggressive, they were vicious. You watched as Zoey shoved Rumi. Then Mira. They circled her, threateningly. And then you knew that this… was definitely not part of the performance they planned.

Rumi stumbled slightly, eyes darting around. You could see it. The panic bleeding through her poise. What the hell was going on?

“And I see your real face, and it’s ugly as sin,

Time to put you in your place 'cause you're rotten within”

Your blood ran cold. They were attacking her on stage. Publicly. You watched in horror as Zoey gripped the edge of Rumi’s glittering jacket.

“When your patterns start to show,

It makes the hatrеd wanna grow outta my veins”

She yanked it down. First one sleeve, then the other. You saw it. Just a glimpse. And it was enough to make your heart stop. Violet patterns.

Your hand flew to your mouth as your phone nearly slipped from your fingers. Rumi’s arms, marked in the same magenta and violet etchings you knew too well. She had demon marks.

No. No—no, that wasn’t possible.

"I don't think you're ready for thе takedown, Break you into pieces in a world of pain, 'cause you're all the same”

Rumi was a hunter. She was one of them. Wasn’t she? What the hell were you looking at? She stumbled backward, desperate to cover herself. Her hands trembled. Her face was twisted in anguish.

“Yeah, it's a takedown A demon with no feelings, don't deserve to live, it's so obvious"

"...I'ma gear up and take you down"

Mira and Zoey whispered something in Rumi’s ear. Rumi shook her head violently, eyes welling. You could barely breathe. You had a strong feeling she didn’t know this would happen. She didn’t want this.

And then it happened. The music twisted and glitched for a second. And Rumi—Rumi screamed.

“NO!!!”

The lights shattered. The audio cut. A scream so raw it pierced the barrier between performance and reality. Glass broke. And then, under a single surviving spotlight, you saw it.

Her body glowing. Her face twisted in fear. The same patterns the boys bore, exactly the same, etched across her skin. Her chest. Her neck. Her cheek. Pulsing violet and magenta.

A demon. Just like them.

You sat there in stunned silence, hand pressed to your lips, frozen in time. Rumi…

What the hell just happened?

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: Wahhh guys, the action, the tension! It's building! I'm sorry for the angst, but I wanted to make the reader's emotions as real as possible. Her reactions and decisions. I also wanted to emphasize how limited our options are. How all we can do is beg because let's be real- we're just a girl, not a hunter, not a demon... all we could do at this moment is the best we can muster. Our inherent nature is goodness, and I wanted to tackle this inner conflict of us having to deal with demons who love us so much that they're willing to do evil and bad things in our name. It's not an easy situation at all.

I also wanted to emphasize Huntrix's relationship with one another. Zoey and Mira trust Rumi, and that's what's going to make the big reveal of her being a demon 10x harder. The scene where they accept what she's up to and offer to help - I feel like I needed to write it out this way to make the betrayal sting a bit more and emphasize that in the next chapter. With that all said, thank you for reading as always!

I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!

Willa x.

───────── ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆ ─────────

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slushycoookie · 23 hours ago

Text

Clark knew about your fear of heights.

He just didn’t expect you to be standing on the roof of the Daily Planet, right on the edge, with determination in your eyes. You wanted to conquer your fear. Clark thought it was okay to be afraid of high places, but you argued that you’re dating a superhero who can fly. It wasn’t an option.

If only you came up with a different way to face your fears.

“You know,” Clark starts, looking down at the street beside you, dressed in his suit, “we can always start with something small. Like a tree. There are some pretty tall trees out there.”

You side-eye him, “What tree do you know that has the height of a skyscraper?”

“None, but I’m not comfortable with you jumping off of a building.”

“Me neither, but this is the quickest way to get over it.”

Get over it? He's not a psychologist, but he knows facing your fears isn't resolved in a night.

Clark sees your legs wobbling with each minor step you take. Your shirt practically wrinkled due to the amount of times you gripped it out of stability. He wants to hold you close and calm the shakes, but you’d get mad at him for stopping your plans. So he’d have to suck it up and hug you later.

“Okay, eyes on me.” You watch as he steps off of the ledge, beginning to float. His cape flowing along the nightly breeze when he reaches for you. His hand out, ready for you to take. “No rush. I’m ready whenever you are.”

You exhale, wiping your palms. Clark hides a smile as he knew how sweaty they can get when you’re nervous.

“You’ll catch me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Like I’m serious, Clark, don’t drop me.”

“You know I won’t.”

“Okay…” You take his hand, and he pulls you to him. You shriek before burying your face against the symbol on his chest. The same position you always take whenever he flies you anywhere. His arms are tight around you, his number one priority being to make sure you don’t fall.

“I got you.”

Those three words lessens the tension in your shoulders. You slowly look up at his eyes and his breath hitches. The moonlight makes you glow despite being scared out of your mind. You’re so beautiful. It’s attractive how brave you are at this moment. But he needs to focus and not think about kissing your perfect lips.

“You okay?”

You glance over his shoulder before shutting your eyes, “Uh-huh. I don’t know how you do this everyday.”

“It helps that I don’t die if I fall.” He smiles at your snort, glad that he’s making you feel better.

You try to look down, the grip on his suit getting tighter as you see how high up you are. Practically over 300 feet in the air. The cars below are small in your eyes, the people walking past even smaller. Clark doesn’t speak, watching you get used to the height. The way the corner of your lips slowly curl up at the sight. How your grip doesn’t become as tight as each minute passes.

Slowly, he drifts further away from the ledge, doing a small spin to get you more comfortable. His cape helps block out anything that appears too far in case you start panicking. You don’t. Instead, you pull back a bit, getting bolder.

“Be careful.”

“I’m fine. I have you.” Clark affectionately squeezes your sides. He hears your fast heart beat slow down the longer you stay up here with him. “God, what was I so afraid of?”

He hums for a moment, “Falling and dying.”

“That, yeah. But I should’ve done something like this sooner…”

Clark’s brows scrunch, “Like not jumping off a building, right? Please tell me you mean something else.”

“Yes.” You reassure him by leaning forward, rubbing his nose against yours, “Thank you for doing this with me. You didn’t need to.”

Clark’s hold turns into a hug, his thick arms embodying your entire frame, “I wanted to. Even if your methods are…extreme.” You give him a shy smile when he continues, “But you didn’t need to do this. I don’t want my identity to force you into doing things you didn’t want to do.”

“Oh no.” Your face drops, “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”

“A little...”

You exclaim, hiding your face out of embarrassment, “I’m sorry! I just thought that I should be better at being Superman’s girlfriend and not just Clark’s.”

“You’re a good girlfriend to Superman and Clark.” He puts your chin up to look at him, “They-I-like you for who you are. I wasn’t bothered at all by your fear of heights. You’re already amazing to me.”

Your arms find their way around his neck, wide eyes pulling him in. “You’re sweet.”

The kiss he shares with you is long overdue. Clark still keeps a firm hold on your body to make sure you’re stable while he’s immersed with your lips. The soft touch ending the night off on a high note.

When he places you safely back on the roof, you fall to your knees, happy to be back on something solid.

“No more practicing off of buildings anymore, right?”

“I didn’t say that.” You turn, pointing at him. “This was just the first night. I have to do it more than once to get comfortable.”

Clark grimaces. While he absolutely agrees you should practice more often, next time he’s going to find a tall enough tree for you to start with.

A/N: This is for all the girlies who love Superman but can't deal with heights <3 Me included

#clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark kent x black reader #superman x black reader #clark kent x you #superman x you #x reader #x black reader #clark kent #superman #slushycoookie writes

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riddlesrizzler · 23 hours ago

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The Only Exception

summary: That awful realization, day by day, moment by moment, that she was the exception. To everything. characters: mattheo riddle. whimsical! reader warnings: nope! word count: 1.0k

Mattheo Riddle wasn’t the kind of person who let his guard down.

He knew better. Knew what people were capable of. Knew that kindness was often just a trick of the light- temporary, fleeting, and just dangerous enough to leave scars when it vanished. He'd built walls around himself so high and thick that not even his closest friends-Draco, Theo, Enzo, Blaise-had seen more than a fraction of who he really was.

He was sharp edges and silence. A name people whispered like a warning. And he liked it that way.

Until her.

The first time he noticed it-really noticed it-she was twirling around in the courtyard in the middle of November. Her scarf trailed behind her like a comet, and her fingers were stained with ink and stardust, and she was smiling up at the sky like it had told her a joke only she could hear.

He’d stopped walking. Just… watched.

She waved at a portrait. Gave a gnome a piece of toffee. Tied a ribbon around a tree branch and whispered something that sounded like a wish.

She was soft. Too soft for the world he knew. And yet-she moved through it like it belonged to her anyway. Like she trusted it to be good to her. Like the cruelty never stuck.

And Mattheo realized: she wasn’t afraid of him.

That alone should’ve annoyed him. Should’ve made him push her away just to protect her from what he was. But instead… it intrigued him. It stayed with him.

And that was when it started.

That awful realization, day by day, moment by moment, that she was the exception.

To everything.

He hated loud places. Crowds. Noise. But somehow, when she tugged him into the greenhouse to show him a plant she swore was whispering her secrets, he didn’t mind the chaos of it. Didn’t mind the dirt or the way her voice bubbled over with excitement. He stood there, listening to her ramble about magic and wonder like the world hadn’t already broken her heart, and thought, This is tolerable.

And then a few days later he thought, No. This is… good.

He didn’t like to be touched. It made him feel cornered. But when she looped her arm through his one morning without asking-just did it, so naturally, like she’d always belonged there-he didn’t recoil. He let her. He wanted her to. Her warmth soaked into his skin and lingered long after she let go.

He didn’t trust people. Not with anything real. But when she asked him what his favorite constellation was-not what his wand was made of, or who his parents were, or whether he really had a temper-just something simple and strange like that…

He told her.

He told her, and he watched her face light up like he’d just handed her a star.

And every time she smiled at him after that, something inside his chest twisted. Like it didn’t quite know how to fit anymore. Like something old and dark had been pushed out to make room for her.

She left him notes sometimes. Pressed flowers between his textbooks. Doodles tucked into his cloak pocket. Little things that said: I’m thinking of you. That said: I see you.

No one had ever seen him before. Not like this.

And the worst part? She didn’t even realize she was doing it.

She didn’t mean to unravel him.

But she was. Thread by thread.

And he let her.

Because slowly-terrifyingly-he started to realize…

It would only ever be her.

He denied it for a while. Of course he did. He wasn’t the kind of person who fell for girls who believed in fairies and left sugar out for the castle mice. He wasn’t the kind of person who fell at all.

He knew lust. Hunger. Power.

But this? The way his heart ached when she wasn’t around? The way he started seeing the world through her-finding beauty in the ridiculous, the messy, the hopeful?

That wasn’t lust.

It was something worse. Something better.

Something real.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

Until the night she showed up outside the Slytherin common room with a candle in one hand and a letter in the other.

She looked small. Determined, but tired. Like she’d been carrying something too heavy for too long.

“I wrote you something,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at her. “What is it?”

She hesitated. “It’s not a love letter, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He raised a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” she said. “But I think I am.”

He blinked.

She stepped forward and placed the letter in his hand. “You don’t have to read it. I just needed to give it to you. Because… you’re the only person I’ve ever met who made me feel like I could be exactly who I am without being laughed at.”

He stared at her, the letter heavy in his palm, his throat dry.

“And I don’t want to fall for you if you’re not going to catch me, Mattheo,” she added quietly. “Because I’m not built for heartbreak.”

She turned.

And that’s when he knew.

He called her name before she could leave.

She froze.

And when she turned around, he crossed the space between them in three steps and kissed her like the world had finally stopped spinning -like every mistake he’d ever made led him straight to her.

She gasped softly into his mouth, stunned, and then melted against him like she’d been waiting for it all along.

When he pulled back, his voice was hoarse. Barely audible.

“It’s you.”

Her eyes searched his.

“It’s always been you,” he whispered. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”

She reached up, cupped his cheek with trembling fingers. “Say it now.”

And so he did.

“I love you,” Mattheo Riddle said. “I didn’t think I could. But I do. And it’s only you. It will only ever be you.”

She smiled like she’d been holding her breath for weeks and could finally exhale.

And Mattheo-who’d spent years building walls no one could climb-let them all fall, just for her.

Because she was the exception.

She was the one.

The only one.

#slytherin boys #slytherin #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter #slytherin aesthetic #my works #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle masterlist #mattheo riddle x whimsical! reader

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strwbryshortcakeprincess · 3 days ago

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Clark and his acts of service…

Clark is a loving boyfriend and will do quite literally anything to make sure you know how much he loves you.

Clark would surprise you at work with flowers and your favorite sandwich from your favorite sandwich place, skipping down the street. You’d be too focused on a task, oblivious to the fact that he is right behind you. But, he’d stand there patiently, flowers behind his back and a wide cheery grin plastered on his face. The awkward three minutes of him standing there waiting for you to notice his presence is all worth it when you finally spin around on your heel, pausing for a moment before you’re eyes glow and he sees that bright smile peering up at him, “surprise!” He’d holler out, whipping the bouquet of your favorite flowers in front him and into your vision. Jumping up and down and squealing, wrapping your arms around your lovers neck to show your gratitude, “oh my gosh- Clark! Thank you, you’re the best!” Clark’s cheeks turning a light red when you give him a sweet kiss on the cheek.

Walking home after a fun night out with Clark, his arm around your waist to pull you in closer to him, his warmth radiating protection and admiration. It was quite cold out, and due to your poor decision of wearing a small cardigan and small skirt- you were freezing. Clark noticed your shivering lip and how red your nose has become from the low temperature. Your face squinted in confusion when he stopped and pulled his arm away from you, already missing his warmth. It wasn’t until you saw him peeling off his coat- already denying your protests, that you realized what he was doing. “Uh-uh, I’m not gonna watch you turn into an icicle right in front of me any longer. Besides, sweetheart we both know I’ll be fine without it.” His words to soft spoken and laced with sympathy, draping his humungous jacket over your shoulders. It smelled just like him.

Coming back to your shared apartment after a rough day at work, Clark already waiting for you on the couch with some tea and blanket ready for you. He always knew when you’d need it. The pout on your face faltering when you see your ray of sunshine as soon as your walk through the door with open arms. Walking over to him you whine, “Clarkie, why are people so mean?” his heart breaking at your misery, seeing you slowly step closer to him. “Aw, m’sorry babydoll… you don’t deserve that- not at all.” Pulling you you into his lap, draping your legs over his, bringing your body to his, into a comforting embrace, shielding you from the world. He’d let you cry if you needed to, saying sweet things to you and rubbing your back. Or, he’d let you two sit in silence- rocking you back and forth while playing with your hair. Making sure you were able to relax and deep compress from your long day, allowing you to express any feelings that you had bottled up throughout the last 24 hours.

Rainy days weren’t always common in Metropolis, but when they came- they were harsh. The clouds pouring down on you, completely ruining the cute picnic date you and Clark had planned. The two of you deciding it would be best for a nice cozy day inside, watching movies and snuggling while the rain fell around you, creating a bubble. The only issue? Trying to make it back to the apartment before it gets worse. You and Clark tried to make your way through the streets that were filled with puddles and people rushing inside buildings. You’re both soaking wet, and you wore your favorite shoes today. You were too embarrassed to protest while in such a rush but you didn’t want to ruin your vintage Jimmy Choo’s… however, your boyfriend, whom knows you better than you know yourself- saw right through you. He was quick to swiftly pick you up, bridal style, and walk about three blocks until you made it into a secluded area, finding it best to fly you both home. Once arrived home, he helped you peel away your clothes and get into something more comfortable, preparing you for the cozy day that was ahead of you.

Clark loves to give you baths. Hot water filling the bathtub, bubbles on the surface, a pink bath bomb fizzing in the center, and rose petals spreading all around. He created a soothing atmosphere, dimly lit candles scattered around the bathroom and your favorite music playing in the background. He’d settle behind you in the bathtub, scrubbing your scalp with shampoo, washing your body for you- ensuring you don’t have to lift a finger. Helping you relax by dipping his hand between your legs, rubbing his thick fingers in small circles on your clit. Soft moans leaving you as you lean against him, grinding into his hand seeking release. “M’ph clark… right there-please!” You plead, feeling his head dip into the crook of your neck, peppering kisses all over. When he inserts a finger, you can’t help but arch your back, your moans louder and drenched with lust- feeling the weight of all your stress lift up off of you. Clark inserts another, whispering praise into your ear. “That’s my girl…doing so good for me. Go on, take what you need from me, sweetheart, you’ve earned it.” his words, mixed with the motion of his fingers, pushes you over the edge, reaching a peak that has you seeing stars and screaming his name. You practically turn into puddy as you fall back against his chest, huffing and dazed from your climax. And Clark is there, still praising you and rubbing his hand up and down your arm.

~~~

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed! Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated:) as always, my requests are always open so feel free to just chat with me anonymously:)

Much love, 🍓

#clarks’s shortcake #i wish he was real help #clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent fluff #superman 2025 #superman x reader #superman #dcu #dc universe #x reader #fanfic

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seitmai · 1 day ago

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“Donuts?” Jake’s smile lit up his face and you smiled back. He was such a sweetheart and deserved to have someone by his side. When was he going to find someone? When would it be his turn?

With him being so sweet, its gonna happen sooner rather than later

It was harmless flirting, like always. The gang all knew how crazy Hal was about Angel. He only had eyes for his girl just like all the other men in the shop. Loyalty meant a lot to them.

As it should be 🙂‍↕️

Bucky's eyes slowly opened as if he knew you were watching him, and he smiled at the sight of you. “Hey, Sugar,” he rumbled, making Steve smirk and your cheeks get warmer. It wasn't fair how his voice could turn you into a puddle. At least, it wasn’t fair for him to not do anything about it.

Two words and I too would melt

You took a seat, your cheeks heated. Your mind wandered to deep and sensual kisses with Bucky as he held you right there. Frantic kisses, too, where he just had to have you. And who could resist Bucky Barnes? You were just a woman.

Thats so real

The love in his eyes mirrored your own when he took your hovering hand and pressed it against his skin, encouraging you to feel it. "I want you with me always, Sugar. Right by my heart since it belongs to you.”

🥹🥹🥹

“It’s always been you,” he swore, his thumb stroking your knuckles. “The very first time I saw you, I knew you were it for me. My girl, my light… my fucking Sugar.” His eyes softened with unguarded affection and your heart ached in the best way. “What better way to show my love for you?” Your breath hitched again. Permanently… the way he had just tattooed your nickname over his heart. Not as a grand gesture, but as a sincere declaration. It wasn't just a tattoo to you. It was a promise that he'd keep you in his heart and he’d never break yours.

He is such a hopeless romantic and deeply devoted 🥰

You were both breathless when he finally pulled away and rested his forehead against yours. “Good,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Because I'm not letting you go.” “You better not,” you whispered, gently tracing the testament to his love again. “My grandma adores you and she’ll track you down if you think about letting me go.” Your mom was a different story, but her opinion didn't matter in regards to Bucky and your love life.

Thats the right way to think about it

Love and Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader

Summary: You surprise Bucky with a visit to the shop, and he has a surprise of his own.

Word Count: Almost 2.1k

Warnings: Established relationship, kissing, humor, tension, teasing, nicknames, referenced smut, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

Previous Part of AU: Tasty Treat

A/N: Let's pay our gorgeous tattoo artist a visit, shall we? ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics and Bucky edit by the amazing @nixakimbo. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You walked into the shop and giggled the second you saw Jake. He practically jumped out of his chair when he spotted the box in your hands. Bucky told you that you spoiled the gang by dropping by with treats, but you couldn't help yourself and they appreciated them. Bucky couldn't stop you, and you couldn't stop him when he snuck money from all of them back into the tip jar when he stopped by your shop. The last time you tried to protest he silenced you with a kiss. A long, deep, heated kiss.

He won the argument.

“Donuts today,” you announced.

“Donuts?” Jake’s smile lit up his face and you smiled back. He was such a sweetheart and deserved to have someone by his side. When was he going to find someone? When would it be his turn? “Thanks.”

“Aww, you shouldn't have,” you heard Hal say before he sauntered over and leaned against the counter. “And don't you look as sweet as ever.”

You shook your head and giggled again. He changed his hair to a shade of blue to match his eyes. “Does your girlfriend know you're flirting with me?” you teased.

It was harmless flirting, like always. The gang all knew how crazy Hal was about Angel. He only had eyes for his girl just like all the other men in the shop. Loyalty meant a lot to them.

Hal raised an eyebrow. “Aren't you more worried about your boyfriend’s reaction instead of Angel’s?”

“No,” you and Jake said in unison. If Bucky was within earshot he would've growled at Hal for flirting with you, but Angel could bring men to their knees with a look, including the man right in front of you.

The piecer shivered and it wasn't at all out of fear, judging by the smirk on his pretty face. “I’d better let her know I’m thinking of her,” he said, pointing behind him with his thumb. “And you should let your man know you’re thinking of him. He’s in Steve’s chair.”

Your brows furrowed. Bucky hadn't mentioned getting a new tattoo today, but it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He had lots of ideas for the blank spots on his skin. He was still waiting for the day when he’d get to ink you, and you hoped that day was coming soon.

“Don’t eat them all, Jake,” you warned, going to find your boyfriend.

“I make no promises,” he called after you.

Andy gave you a nod when you walked by and you smiled back. He didn't look as grumpy as normal and you hoped things were going well with Sunny. They were good for each other.

You bit your lip when you spotted Bucky in Steve's chair. He was shirtless, his impressive torso on display as the sound of the tattoo gun permeated in the air. He had his eyes shut, completely at ease as his best friend tattooed his chest. The spot over his heart was empty until now.

“Hey, Hottie,” you sighed.

“Miss me already?” he asked.

“Stop using your bedroom voice on your girl while I’m working,” Steve joked.

Bucky smirked and winked at you while you tried to keep heat from rushing through your body. He already used his bedroom voice this morning and convinced you to stay in bed a few minutes longer. You hadn't protested much. If the man wanted to give you a wonderful orgasm to start the day, you'd take it. Even if you had the worst day possible, you'd still have him at the end of it.

And while Bucky hadn't flat out asked you to move in with him, he seemed to be slowly moving you into his apartment. Not only did he convince you to bring some of your things from your place to his, but he had your essentials and favorites stocked up over the last few weeks. You could've brought it up, but you were waiting for him to officially ask.

“I think he's more than allowed to use that voice,” you teased. He could say anything he wanted in whatever tone he chose because he was Bucky fucking Barnes.

“See? Two against one.” Bucky winked again before giving his friend a pointed look. “And don't act like you don't use your boyfriend voice on Rose every time you see her.”

You giggled when Steve smiled sheepishly. It was sweet how everyone used nicknames for all of the significant others instead of given names. “That’s true,” he admitted.

“So, what’s the new tattoo?” you asked, trying to get a look.

Bucky held a hand up and Steve shifted just enough to block your view. “Nope. You can't come any closer. It isn't ready yet,” he replied.

You frowned, which made him frown. He preferred to see you smile. “You don't want me to see it?” you asked. That wasn't like him.

He gestured to the blonde. “He’s almost done, and I don't want to spoil the surprise.”

Your eyebrows shot up. A tattoo that he wanted to surprise you with? That sounded mysterious and romantic. Now you really wanted to know what it was.

“You know what?” Steve paused to look at you, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “It may be better if you wait in the break room.”

“Really?” you asked, looking at Bucky for confirmation.

“Really, Sugar. Be a good girl and wait for me,” Bucky said. He looked like he was trying not to smirk when you inhaled and he had the same hint of mischief in his eyes that Steve did. Peas in a pod, those two. “I won't keep you waiting long.”

You giggled. “Okay. I’ll go,” you agreed. You didn't mind waiting there, but you really wanted to know what the tattoo was. At least you wouldn't have to wait long.

The door swung open after a few minutes and Bucky walked in, still shirtless. He was a vision of ecstasy. “Hey,” he smiled.

“Hey,” you smiled back, getting to your feet so you could take a look at the new tattoo. If you stayed seated, your eyes would stay on his abs or move lower and you’d just be distracted. “So, what’s the…”

Your breath hitched and tears pricked your eyes when you saw the tattoo. You couldn't believe it. In an elegant script over his heart was a single word… SUGAR.

“Bucky,” you whispered, overwhelmed as your fingers hovered over the fresh ink.

He simply smiled and puffed his chest out. “You like it?”

“I love it,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. He had your nickname, his beautiful endearment for you, permanently etched onto his skin.

Your sigh was soft as you kissed him and you delicately traced the fresh raised ink. The sheer tenderness of the gesture had your heart melting like lava. “I can’t believe you did this.” To have that on him forever meant everything.

“You were it for me, too, Hottie,” you whispered, not bothering to wipe away the tear that escaped. You buried your face against his shoulder and leaned into him, inhaling the soothing scent of his skin, fresh ink, and gentle cologne. “I love you,” you mumbled against his skin, wishing you could say something more adequate and special after what he did.

But you loved him. You loved him with all your heart and more. You loved him for the man he was and how he poured himself into everything and everyone he cared about. He believed in you, defended you, and brought out the best in you. He would be by your side through it all. You could feel it.

He wrapped an arm tight around your waist and held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “I love you, too, so fucking much.” He pulled back just enough to tilt your head back up, his gaze searching yours. There was a familiar smirk tugging at his lips, but his eyes stayed soft and sure. “So…”

“...So?”

“You’ve been slowly migrating your stuff to my place, haven’t you?” he asked, running his thumb along your jaw.

You giggled, a watery, happy sound. “You’ve had a hand in that.”

“I have. So, why don’t we make it official?” he asked, his voice that low rumble that always made your heart race faster.

“You want to make it official?” you asked, your heart thudding with pure joy.

“I do,” he said and you gasped, picturing him saying that on your wedding day. “Move in with me, Sugar, and make my apartment our home. Permanently.”

Your breath hitched again. Permanently… the way he had just tattooed your nickname over his heart. Not as a grand gesture, but as a sincere declaration. It wasn't just a tattoo to you. It was a promise that he'd keep you in his heart and he’d never break yours.

And one day, you weren’t sure when, you knew he’d put his ring on your finger and ask you to be his wife. You’d pledge yourselves to each other on your wedding day, you’d take his last name, and you’d remain by his side. He had been your new beginning, and he’d be your happy ending.

Maybe you’d get something symbolizing your love for him on your own skin.

“Yes,” you breathed without hesitation. “Yes, I want to move in with you.”

His smile widened, one that lit up his whole face before he captured your lips in a deep slow kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck and wished you could’ve melted into him. You were utterly devoted to each other. Nothing would change that.

You were both breathless when he finally pulled away and rested his forehead against yours. “Good,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Because I'm not letting you go.”

“You better not,” you whispered, gently tracing the testament to his love again. “My grandma adores you and she’ll track you down if you think about letting me go.” Your mom was a different story, but her opinion didn't matter in regards to Bucky and your love life.

“We wouldn't want to disappoint her, would we?” he teased.

“No, we wouldn't.”

Bucky went in for another kiss when there was a knock on the door. “You two done making out yet?” Steve called out. “Jake’s about to eat all the donuts.”

Bucky smothered your giggle with a kiss. No wonder Steve suggested waiting in there. He knew you two would be like this. “I told him not to eat them all. You should go stop him,” you said.

Your boyfriend laughed, too. “Vultures. All of them.” He made no move to let you go. “You sure we can’t stay back here and have some fun?”

Heat pooled between your legs. As much as you wanted to fool around, you both had work to do. “How about we grab some more stuff from my place and have some fun there?” you offered with a playful glint in your eyes. “Then we can go back to our place and have some more fun?”

If Bucky had his way, he'd have you on every surface of his place and that was exactly how you wanted it.

“Our place,” he whispered, kissing you once more. “Sounds perfect.”

“Sounds like home,” you whispered.

Because home was wherever the two of you were.

I know it may have felt like he was going to propose, but he has other plans for that. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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snowangie · 2 days ago

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✦ soft launch. a joseph quinn x influencer.f!reader fic

summary: what started as one impulsive night with joseph quinn — the newly minted marvel star — wasn’t supposed to turn into anything bigger. you weren’t looking for a boyfriend (your life’s already a full‑time job: brand trips, deadlines, and quietly supporting your single mom, your stay-at-home older sister, and your brother in flight school). he wasn’t looking for headlines (he’s fresh off fantastic four’s release, drowning in press, and dead‑set on keeping anything real far from the tabloids). but one night blurred into morning. a “don’t make this complicated” kiss turned into him making you breakfast with nothing in his fridge. a joke about keeping things private turned into late‑night facetime calls — some soft, some not so soft. and now? he’s still the man everyone wants. you’re still the girl who swore she wouldn’t fall. but something about the way he calls you darling — like it isn’t a question — is starting to make you wonder if this “soft launch” is quietly turning into something real.

cw: smut (18+), soft dom joseph, oral (f!receiving), facetime smut, dirty talk, praise, slight angst about fame & privacy, mention of reader’s family struggles.

an: a lot of u messaged me to continue the soft launch oneshot i posted yesterday soooo here you go 🩷 it got way longer than i planned (like… this might be a whole series now??) and i’m posting more parts soon!!! thank u for loving this the way i do

—————————————

✧ part two of soft launch.

sunlight spilled across the room in thick, golden strips, lighting up the mess of sheets, his cardigan crumpled on the floor, your dress half hanging off the arm of a chair.

joseph was awake first.

he lay on his side, head propped on his hand, just… watching you. your cheek was squished slightly against his pillow, lashes stuck together from sleep, your lips parted. you looked so unbothered, so warm.

and joseph felt this low thud of panic in his chest. what the hell do i do now?

he’d had one‑nights before. this didn’t feel like that.

you stirred, stretching slightly, and his breath caught when your eyes blinked open, sleepy and soft.

“…hi,” you murmured, voice raspy.

his lips curved. “hi.”

you glanced around the room — his discarded clothes, the fact that his arm was still resting over your waist like he’d forgotten to move it — then back at him.

“so…” you whispered, teasing but shy, “do i do the awkward sneaky‑out thing, or…”

he cut you off with a small, crooked grin. “you’re not going anywhere. not yet.”

“i’ll make you breakfast,” joseph said a little too confidently, pulling on his sweatpants and heading toward the kitchen like a man on a mission.

ten minutes later, you stood in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to laugh.

his fridge contained:

– three beers

– half a carton of almond milk

– three pieces of light babybels

he turned, sheepish. “right. so, maybe… breakfast out?”

you ended up at a tiny diner five minutes from his house. he’d shoved on a baseball cap and sunglasses — the “celebrity incognito” starter pack — and handed you one of his button‑downs to throw over yourself.

“you look ridiculous,” you teased, sipping your coffee.

“you’re wearing my shirt,” he shot back, smirking, “don’t think i didn’t notice.”

you grinned. “i’m an influencer. i can stealth better than you. you? you look like you’re hiding from the CIA.”

he laughed, real and unguarded, and it made the waitress do a double take.

outside the diner, it happened.

just one click — a long lens from across the street — and suddenly there was a grainy photo of joseph quinn holding the door open for a mystery girl in his shirt on twitter before you’d even made it back to his house.

your phone buzzed with a notification and you turned the screen to him, smirking. “you’ve been soft‑launched.”

he groaned, running a hand over his face. “christ. i’m rubbish at this, aren’t i?”

“the worst,” you teased, but your heart beat a little faster anyway.

back at his place, he brushed crumbs off your lips without thinking, thumb lingering there a second too long.

“darling,” he murmured absently, like it was natural, like he’d called you that for years.

you blinked, then grinned. “darling? that’s very 1950s of you.”

“hm.” he kissed you suddenly, cutting off your teasing, hands braced on either side of the kitchen counter.

you pulled back breathless. “you can’t just do that every time i mock you.”

“watch me,” he said, and kissed you again.

the kiss didn’t stay innocent.

his hands slid under his shirt — still on your body — until he’d pushed you back against the couch, his mouth hungry but unhurried.

he tugged at the buttons lazily, halfway unfastening them, and then his head dipped lower, lips finding your stomach, then lower still.

“joseph…” your voice cracked on his name.

“just relax,” he murmured, pushing the shirt wider so he could kiss between your thighs, not even bothering to fully undress you.

it wasn’t the desperate, rough heat of last night — this was luxurious, drawn‑out, him taking his time like he just wanted to see you squirm, then stop before sex, leaning up to press a kiss to your lips.

“we’ve got all day,” he whispered, smirking, and you groaned, swatting his chest, already wanting more.

a little later, tangled on his couch, your phone buzzed again.

“work?” joseph asked, glancing at the notification lighting up your screen.

you laughed softly, sitting up, hair a mess. “yeah. i’ve got a dior dinner tonight. one of my longest brand deals — i can’t skip.”

“and pickleball,” you added casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “my best friend will murder me if i cancel again.”

he raised a brow, amused. “pickleball. of course.”

he hesitated, then: “i’ve got a Fantastic Four promo thing later — another red carpet. you should come.”

you smiled, teasing. “are you soft‑launching me, mr. marvel?”

he smirked, leaning back. “depends if you want to be.”

you slipped his shirt back on, buttoning only two buttons, standing in his living room like you owned it. “i’ll think about seeing you tonight. maybe after.”

you made it all the way to the door before turning, plucking one of your delicate gold rings from your finger and setting it on his nightstand.

“you forgot something,” he called, smirking.

you smirked back. “no, i didn’t.”

the dior driver picked you up at five, and by then joseph had already slipped back into “busy actor” mode — phone buzzing with texts from his publicist, a suit bag slung over his shoulder, muttering something about “a bloody press line” before kissing you once, quick, like he didn’t want to make it a thing.

you didn’t push.

you got it.

you weren’t new to men like him — you’d talked to plenty of actors, dated one or two for a minute, and you knew the rules: keep it quiet. no “hard launch,” no casual red carpet dates.

not because he didn’t like you, but because that’s just how it worked.

and you? you didn’t have time to pout about it.

your life was already a balancing act — brand deals, content calendars, invoices, all while making sure the mortgage on your mom’s house was paid and your sister’s therapy sessions cleared.

by the time you arrived at the dior dinner, you’d shifted into “influencer mode” — hair glossy, skin perfect, charm on autopilot.

the table was full of familiar faces: other girls with millions of followers, a couple of actresses, one editor from Vogue who called you darling in a way that made you feel like you were being sized up.

you smiled for the cameras, filmed a clip of your champagne glass clinking against another for your stories.

you didn’t mention the grainy paparazzi photo from this morning. you didn’t mention joseph at all.

because that wasn’t how you built your platform. you didn’t need him for clout — you’d built this from scratch, from nothing. from a childhood of eviction notices taped to the door, from nights your mom’s latest boyfriend forgot to leave grocery money.

after dinner, you changed in the car — dior slip swapped for bike shorts and a vintage tee, glam makeup wiped down to just gloss.

your best friend, lana, was already waiting on the pickleball court with a paddle in hand and that look on her face — the one that meant she’d been on twitter.

“so.” she swung the paddle like she was about to interrogate you with it. “you and joseph quinn?”

you groaned. “you saw that stupid photo.”

“everyone saw that stupid photo.” she grinned, then added, “i recognise my own best friend girl. you do realize my entire personality was eddie munson for, like, two years?”

you smirked, tossing her a ball. “and i told you i didn’t have time to binge stranger things because i was busy paying the water bill.”

lana softened for a second, because she knew the truth of it: you’d hustled your way here.

your mom — gorgeous, chaotic, men orbiting her like moths — had raised you and your siblings the only way she knew how. she’d been “the other woman” so many times she joked about it.

but jokes didn’t put food on the table.

so you learned to.

you took your mom’s looks, your own sharp instincts, and turned them into something. a ring light. a phone. an audience.

and now you supported them all — your mom, your older sister who hated leaving the house but sends you the funniest late‑night texts, and your brother in flight school.

you couldn’t afford to fumble this life for a boy. even if the boy was joseph quinn.

lana hit the ball back to you. “so what’s he like? is he… y’know…”

you rolled your eyes, grinning. “stop. i’m not giving you the play‑by‑play.”

lana smirked. “you’re glowing, though. so i’ll take that as confirmation.”

you laughed, shaking your head, but you didn’t deny it.

later, as you were shoving your paddle back into its case, your phone buzzed.

joseph: press thing done. didn’t hate it. wondering if you might hate me if i ask to see you later?

you stared at the text for a second, smiling without meaning to.

lana peered over your shoulder, gasping. “oh my god.”

you shoved your phone in your bag. “don’t start.”

but you were already thinking about it — the way you’d “forgotten” your ring on his nightstand this morning, the way he’d called you darling like it wasn’t even a question.

you texted back:

maybe. after. if you’re lucky.

you were still damp with sweat when you knocked on his door.

pickleball hair, flushed cheeks, bike shorts and a hoodie you hadn’t washed in three days — not exactly “dior dinner glam.”

the door swung open almost immediately, like he’d been standing behind it.

joseph looked… tired. not in a bad way — just human. the suit was gone; his hair was damp like he’d showered but given up halfway through drying it.

“hi,” you said, suddenly shy.

he smiled, soft. “hi. come in.”

the apartment was dim except for a single lamp. his jacket was draped over the couch, his shoes kicked into a corner.

you sank into the sofa, tucking your legs under you, still a little breathless from the walk up his stairs.

joseph sat on the other end, close but not touching, watching you like he was trying to decide what version of himself to be right now.

finally, he spoke.

“i should say this now, before…” he gestured vaguely, like he couldn’t say the word before i inevitably kiss you again and end up with you on my lap.

you tilted your head. “before what?”

“before we make this more complicated.” he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “i… i keep things quiet. relationships. anyone i care about. not because i want to treat them like a secret, but because…” he exhaled hard. “because once it’s out there, it’s not yours anymore. it’s everyone’s. and they don’t care if they rip it apart.”

he looked at you, waiting for you to flinch, or push back, or make it a bigger thing than it was.

you didn’t.

you just nodded slowly. “i get it.”

he blinked, like he wasn’t expecting that.

“joseph,” you said softly, pulling your hoodie over your head and tossing it on the arm of the couch, “you think i built my whole life to throw it away on… likes? comments? a headline?”

you shifted closer, knees brushing his.

“i worked too hard for this. for my family. my sister, my mom, my brother… it’s me. it’s always been me paying the bills, holding it together. so no, i don’t need anyone ‘claiming’ me. i don’t need you to tell the internet i’m this girl you’re seeing.”

you smiled, small, a little wry. “i already know i’m with you right here at this moment.”

the words landed between you, heavy and warm.

he reached for you then — not in a lunge, not desperate — just steady.

his hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your damp hairline, and he kissed you like the words mattered. like your understanding meant something.

the kiss deepened fast, his other hand sliding down to your hip, pulling you onto his lap until you were straddling him on the couch, his breath breaking against your lips.

“you smell like…” he muttered between kisses, smiling against your mouth, “…sweat and… victory?”

you laughed breathlessly. “shut up.”

he kissed you again, harder this time. “never.”

the hoodie was gone; the tee followed, tossed somewhere.

his hands were on your thighs, squeezing, spreading you wider over him. you felt him, already hard under his sweatpants, and it made you groan into his mouth.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “still sure about this?”

you nodded, too quickly. “yes.”

his smile turned sharp, just for a moment — that soft dom streak slipping through.

“good. because i’m not letting you tap out this time.”

you kissed him again, messy and deep, as he lifted you effortlessly, laying you back on the couch.

he stayed kneeling between your legs, pulling your bike shorts down slowly, dragging them over your knees, then tossing them aside like he’d been waiting for that moment all night.

“been thinking about this since you left this morning,” he muttered, fingers brushing up the inside of your thigh.

you gasped when he pushed your underwear aside and bent down without warning, his mouth hot and greedy against you.

this time wasn’t slow.

last night had been worship; this was hunger.

his tongue moved like he’d mapped you out already, knowing exactly where to press, how to circle, how to make you cry out his name before you could stop yourself.

your hands buried in his hair, tugging hard, and he just groaned against you, like he wanted it rougher.

he pulled back for a second, lips wet, breath ragged. “don’t think… i’ll ever get tired of this.”

then he pushed two fingers inside you and sucked your clit at the same time, and you nearly sobbed.

“joe, i—”

“let go,” he murmured against your skin, voice low, commanding. “now.”

you shattered.

came hard, thighs clenching around his head, gasping his name over and over as he kept going, kept licking you through it like he wanted every last drop.

he kissed you after, slow but filthy, like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue.

and then he was tugging his sweatpants down, not fully off — urgency taking over.

he pushed into you on the couch, both of you still half-dressed, the angle messy, perfectly messy.

“fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, hips snapping harder, “you feel—god, baby—”

his hands gripped your thighs, guiding every thrust, his control sharp even when his breathing wasn’t.

you came again first, clinging to him, nails digging into his shoulders.

he wasn’t far behind — hips stuttering, a low groan tearing from his throat as he pressed deep, staying there, trembling slightly as he kissed you again and again, like he couldn’t stop.

after, he didn’t move away.

just stayed on top of you, breath mingling, one hand brushing your hair back, his voice low and raw.

“you should know…” he whispered, like it was almost a secret, “…i don’t do this. not like this.”

you smiled softly, stroking his cheek. “yeah. i know.”

the next morning you left before sunrise — not in the “awkward sneak‑out” way, but because you had a 7 a.m. shoot call.

you scribbled a note on the back of a receipt (his only scrap paper, of course): cant walkkkk n i need to work early, but i’ll forgive u bcs ure too handsome to be mad at. – xx and left it on the counter.

by the time joseph padded into the kitchen, hair sticking up, rubbing his eyes, you were already halfway across town.

the first few days apart were easy.

busy.

then a week passed. then two since they last saw eachother.

not because anything was wrong — but because life just… happened.

you flew to hawaii for a brand trip with three other influencers and a drone guy named kyle who insisted on filming “content moments.” it was 12-hour days of bikini shoots, ocean “lifestyle reels,” and late-night networking dinners where you were too polite to say you just wanted to be asleep by 9.

joseph, meanwhile, was hopping from toronto to new york to chicago for Fantastic Four promo — junkets, red carpets, interviews where he smiled and told the same anecdotes over and over until he started to hate the sound of his own voice.

the texts. (not constant, but steady)

jo quinn 🦈 : you’d hate this press line. all i’ve eaten today is a granola bar and fear.

you : sounds like me at every lululemon dinner i fear.

you : what’s toronto like?

jo quinn 🦈 : cold. lonely. can i call?

the calls weren’t daily — maybe twice a week.

sometimes at midnight his time, when he’d be sitting in another anonymous hotel room, still half in his suit, tie pulled loose.

you’d be cross-legged on a balcony in maui, hair damp from the pool, phone propped on the railing.

“you look sunburnt,” he’d tease, voice warm even through the grainy FaceTime screen.

“you look exhausted,” you’d shoot back.

and then it would go quiet for a second — not awkward, just… comfortable.

you were shooting three looks a day for the hawaii trip — sundresses, swimsuits, behind‑the‑scenes “candid” moments that were anything but. your inbox filled with urgent emails: revisions to contracts, deadlines for reels, reminders to tag brands “organically.”

joseph was drowning in his own way — morning shows, press junkets, airport lounges that all blurred together.

the calls & texts started tame.

you: what city are you even in right now?

joe quinn 🦈 : …had to check the hotel notepad. atlanta. definitely atlanta.

joe quinn 🦈 : how’s hawaii? are you just… sitting on beaches all day?

you: if by sitting you mean doing six sponsored shots for sunscreen brands, yes.

then the calls started.

the first one was after a brutal press day — you FaceTimed him without thinking, and he answered in a hotel bathroom, tie loosened, jacket draped over the sink.

“didn’t think you’d call,” he said, voice low, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to sound relieved.

“didn’t think you’d answer,” you shot back, smiling.

and then, a week in, one of the calls… changed.

you were in bed, hair messy, wearing one of those soft tank tops you never wore out of the house.

he was sitting up in bed too, shirtless, the lamp on his side dim.

he smiled, slow, when he saw you. “you always look like that before you sleep?”

you raised a brow. “like what?”

he tilted the phone, running his hand through his hair, letting his gaze sweep over you in a way that made you press your thighs together.

“like trouble.”

it started innocent — you teasing him about his terrible hotel lighting, him asking to see the ocean view from your balcony.

but then his voice dropped lower.

“come closer,” he murmured, and you did, shifting the phone so your face filled the screen.

“closer,” he said again, softer.

you laughed, nervous and warm. “you’re bossy, you know that?”

“and you like it,” he said without hesitation, and your breath hitched.

it wasn’t planned.

it wasn’t some dramatic, sexty performance.

just you slipping a strap down your shoulder, almost casual, his breath catching on the other side of the screen.

him leaning back against his headboard, phone angled just enough to show his hand sliding lower.

you whispering his name when you saw, biting your lip when his voice broke.

it didn’t happen every night. not even every other night.

but every few days, one of you would say “can you call?” and the other would know exactly what that meant.

sometimes it was you, in a hotel robe, legs tucked under you as you set the phone on the pillow and let him watch you come apart slowly.

sometimes it was him, groaning your name softly, telling you in that low, ruined voice exactly what he’d do if he had you there.

and every time, you’d end the call flushed and breathless, more aware of the distance — but also more aware that this thing between you wasn’t cooling off.

three weeks in, the calls were shorter again — you were shooting at sunrise, he was doing back‑to‑back interviews.

but even then, there were voice notes.

his voice in your ear at 2 p.m.:

“thinking about you. can’t focus.”

yours, later that night, whispered into the dark:

“just got back to my room. wish you were here.”

lana was scrolling on her phone as you sat cross‑legged on her couch, still damp from a hawaii pool shoot, hair wrapped in a towel.

“so,” she said, not looking up, “are you like… just talking to him?”

you blinked. “what?”

she finally looked at you. “joseph. the facetime guy. the… soft‑dom‑british‑movie‑star guy. are you like… making him your only option?”

you hesitated, fiddling with the seam of your hoodie. “i mean… he’s the only one i want to talk to right now.”

lana set her phone down, leaned forward. “i love you, you know i do, but babe…” she gave you that don’t kill me for saying this look.

“what?” you said, bracing yourself.

“you don’t really think you’re the only girl he’s doing this with, right?”

you frowned. “what do you mean?”

lana raised a brow. “he’s joseph quinn. he’s on a press tour. he was literally photographed with doja cat like… three months ago?”

you groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “oh my god, i forgot about that.”

“yeah,” lana said, matter‑of‑fact. “so unless he’s had a sudden ‘one‑girl‑only’ revelation, you should just… be realistic.”

you peeked up at her, defensive but thoughtful. “i’m not stupid, lana. i know what this is. i’m not sitting here doodling ‘mrs. joseph quinn’ in a notebook.”

lana softened. “i’m not saying don’t like him. i’m saying… don’t bet everything on him. keep talking to him, have fun, whatever. but don’t stop living your life. don’t make him the sun your whole world orbits around.”

you sighed, leaning back against the couch. “you’re right.”

“of course i’m right,” she said, smirking, grabbing her phone again. “also, if you do end up dating him, i am absolutely using that to get into steve harrington’s dms and get my stranger things box set signed.”

you threw a pillow at her.

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revelboo · 2 days ago

Note

I went in for a haircut today to try something new with short hair because I got sick and tired of taking care of my long hair. I asked for a something a bit below the shoulder and a trim on my bangs. I got the Alice Cullen haircut from the twilight movie.

I’m so angry but it’s not like I can do anything since they can put my old hair back on anymore. Anyways may I request a tfp Starscream (or any other tfp bot) with some other bad haircut situation to make me feel a bit better?

Sure!

Haircut

TFP Starscream x Reader

• “Stop flailing,” he growls as you smack at him, wailing and swearing like he’s murdering you. Instead of trying to help. Trying to untangle you without hurting you after you’d gone to sleep on him near his vents and your hair had gotten pulled in. Choking him as he’d started overheating, coming out of recharge and trying to sit up, making you scream when he’d accidentally dragged you by the hair. The two of you stuck together since he can’t see to get you loose and he can’t just pull without hurting you. And finally, his habsuite door opens. “It’s about time,” he snarls at Knockout as the medic has the audacity to smirk at him.

• Tears streaming down your face as the other medic clears his vents and laughs at you both, he’s immediately on your shit list. “Get me loose, you shiny pimpmobile,” you snarl, wishing you had something to throw at him. ‘Teach your pet some manners,’ Knockout sneers pulling out a thin blade from subspace and you start swearing threats realizing what he’s intending to do. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

• Wincing at your scream of pure outrage when Knockout saws through your hair and he has to pin your arms against your sides to get you to hold still, Starscream’s wings flick. As soon as you’re free, he’s doubling over, aggressively trying to clear his vents to get your hair out. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” Knockout says, gesturing with the scalpel and he makes himself look, wincing to see one half of your hair sheared off much shorter and sticking up. “Have fun with that,” the medic adds as Starscream stares at your hair and you squirm a hand free to reach up.

• Can hear the pimpmobile laughing as he sees himself out and your turkey is just staring at you, mouth open as you try to use your hands to figure how bad it is. “I need a potato, some sugar, and a crowbar,” you demand, hands trembling in outrage. Because you’re going to fuck up that smirking, red asshole for this. It’s get angry or start bawling and you prefer angry. He couldn’t have taken the time to just untangle you? There had to be a way to free you without hacking your hair off.

• Helplessly trying to comb his servos through your hair to hopefully to make it better, he groans. “Why were you sleeping against my vents?” He growls and you narrow your eyes at him. ‘No. You are not making this my fault. You fucking ate my hair,’ you snap and his wings flare as he realizes your hair is still in the vents. Can feel it tickling in there. Shuddering, he drops you on the berth, trying to not purge his tanks. How is he supposed to get it out? It’s inside him. And he is purging now, choking as he keeps aggressively clearing his vents. Trying to get it out.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #tfp starscream

151 notes · View notes

ccyomie · 2 days ago

Text

꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱ hair clip ── park jongseong

꒰ details ꒱ — just jay teasing you about your hair clip collection and you putting a few on him.

Ი︵𐑼 ⌗ MORE JAY ⋮ ꩜ bf!jay x f!rea → drabble. fluff, pet names (baby), teasing (lovingly) and banter between two people in a relationship.

coco’s notes … i’ve been so motivated lately what’s happening AAAAAA? (this is a good thing) a mini jay drabble because they’re in the states and i’m screamingggg i won’t be seeing them sadly for this is for all my girlies who aren’t seeing enha but still wanna feel something lol. likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

“wait i don’t think i have this one yet,” you said, letting go of jay’s hand and grabbing a pompompurin hair clip, it was yellow and brown, just his normal face and that hat he always wears. the clip was plastic not plastic enough to snap if you bent it but plastic enough to know it was plastic.

jay turned around towards your direction standing close behind you, “this isn’t like the ones you usually collect.” he said, gently resting a hand on your lower back. “i know, but he’s cute.” you said, “he’s…?” he added “yes pompompurin is a boy, but fine i won’t get it.” you said gently straight up, jay grabs the hair clip and says “and why not?” “because you basically told me no…” you mumbled, causing jay to laugh slightly.

“baby i would never tell you no, i was just implying that all you other hair clips are like… different, you have some food ones i’ve definitely seen a ritz cracker hair clip in that collection.” he says softly kissing your cheek, “i just never seen you buy a sanrio…? did i say that right? one before.” you smile at his words “yeah you said it right,” you say pausing then continuing “maybe i just wanna start another collection with sanrio hair clips this time.”

he kisses your forehead then hands you back the hair clip, “and who am i to stop you?” he lifts his hand from your lower back slowly so that you can feel the warmth of his hand leave your body, he reaches for another hair clip this time it’s a ‘hangyodon’ one. “this is interestingly cute.” he says picking it up then putting it back.

you smile to yourself picking up the hair clip he just put back and said “mhmm, it is.” you grab his hand guiding him towards a little mirror hanging on one of the shelves. “squat for me really quick please.” jay doesn’t hesitate or ask any questions, he just does as you say, you slide the hangyodon hair clip out the packet and brush a few strands of his hair out the way of his forehead the clip the hair clip on to keep the hair in place.

“now this is interestingly cute.” you tease and he raises an eyebrow in the mirror, “wait you’re right…” he says in a mocked shocked way “but i am handsome so what did you expect.” he teases back.

“yeah yeah yeah,” you say rolling your eyes. he takes out his phone to get a better look at the hair clip before saying “alright let’s put this up and go pay for your pompompurin before i buy you the whole store.” he’s joking but he’s serious, if you told him that you wanted anything else he’d get it for you. simple. no discussions needed.

“baby, we have to buy that for you. you can’t just try it on look handsome and leave it here.” you say gently taking the clip out his hair and for a split second his eyes meets your and you look at but he sees the sparkle in your eyes, it’s always there. and how could he tell you no? “fine, but i want something in return.” he says lowly.

“mhmm… what?” you say, “i want you to put that apple hair clip on me as soon as we get home the green one, red is not really my color.” and you laugh not in a performative way but in a way that only jay makes you laugh and what he said wasn’t really funny but he’s cute.

“sure jay, i can do that.” he right hand comes and gently cups your face rubbing his thumb against your cheek gently, “i love you.” he says, softly almost like a whisper, like he was speaking only to you and he was. you smile at his words “i know.” you add back teasingly.

“you know?” he says any other time he would say back “good.” or “i never want you to feel any other way.” but the teasing in your tone made his blood boil, not out of anger but out of something else. something he couldn’t quite name or say aloud but he felt it.

and you were gonna feel it later.

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stlllle · 2 days ago

Text

Stray Kids as parents

Part 2

part 1 here

Masterlist stray kids

Main masterlist

Seungmin as a girl dad

“She has my calm, your beauty, and more power over me than anyone ever has.”

Seungmin was the type of guy who always said he’d be a strict parent.

“No spoiling. No weakness.”

But the second he held his daughter?

Yeah. That plan disintegrated.

She had him wrapped around her tiny, chubby little finger before she could even open her eyes.

---

Finding out:

He didn’t react at first.

Just blinked. Looked at the test. Then at you.

“Is this…?”

You nodded, nervous, waiting for the sarcasm.

But it didn’t come.

He sat down slowly. Ran a hand through his hair.

You watched his ears go pink.

And after a full minute of silence—

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Simple. Calm.

But when you leaned in to hug him, you felt it.

His arms around you—tight. Steady.

His heartbeat: racing.

“I’m scared too. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

---

The pregnancy:

Seungmin didn’t talk much about his feelings.

But he showed it in a million tiny ways.

Always carried water for you.

Downloaded pregnancy apps. Took notes at doctor appointments.

Even timed your contractions during Braxton Hicks like it was a science experiment.

“3 minutes and 42 seconds. I think it’s fake. But I’m monitoring it.”

He built the crib perfectly—and double-checked every screw.

Learned to cook every single food you craved.

Woke up before you just to make breakfast and leave little notes on your pillow.

“Today she’s the size of a kiwi.

So you get kiwi pancakes. Deal with it.”

---

When he found out it was a girl:

He stared at the screen.

“It’s a girl,” the nurse said.

He nodded slowly. No tears. No gasp. Just… stillness.

But you saw it.

The way he bit his bottom lip. The way his eyes glassed over.

And that night, when you were asleep, he whispered into your belly:

“You’re my girl now.

I’ll be soft with you. Just don’t tell anyone.”

---

Third trimester:

He read bedtime stories to your bump every night.

Made a playlist called “For My Little Lady.”

Even wrote her letters for her to read when she turned 18.

“If you’re anything like your mom, you’ll be beautiful and stubborn.

I’ll love you even when you slam doors.”

He designed her nursery like a tiny calm sanctuary.

Soft neutrals. No overload of pink. A plush puppy in every corner.

And every night before bed, he kissed your belly and said:

“Goodnight, little one. Don’t kick your omma too hard.”

---

The birth:

He didn’t cry.

Not visibly.

But when he held your hand, his grip never loosened.

His voice never shook.

He was your rock.

“Just breathe. You’re doing perfect.”

And when she arrived—when her cry filled the room—

His mouth opened slightly. His eyes locked on her.

He took one step back. Like the world had just flipped.

And when they handed her to him?

He held her like she was made of glass.

Pressed his cheek to her forehead. Whispered:

“Hi.

I’m the guy who’s gonna be here every single day of your life.”

---

The first weeks:

He didn’t do the whole “look at my baby!” show online.

Didn’t post. Didn’t scream.

But behind closed doors?

He was so gone.

Would stare at her for hours while she slept.

Would hum softly during feedings.

Would fold her tiny clothes with military-level precision.

“She drooled on my shirt again. I’m never washing it.”

He took the night shifts without complaining.

Kept a full spreadsheet of diaper changes and feedings.

“I know she poops at 3AM now. I’ve accepted my fate.”

---

Quiet nights:

You’d find him by the window, rocking her gently, singing under his breath.

“You’re not even talking yet and I already like you more than most people.”

Sometimes he’d talk to her like she understood everything.

“Your omma’s amazing. You should thank her someday.

I’ll teach you how to say 'thank you'… and 'I love you.'

But you’ll figure out the rest. You’re already smart.”

And when she smiled in her sleep—just barely—

He smiled back, eyes soft, heart wide open.

---

“She makes me want to be better. Quieter. Kinder. Everything she deserves.” — Kim Seungmin

Jeongin as a boy dad

“He’s small, sweet, soft… kind of like me, I guess. But he’s already my whole world.”

No one expected Jeongin to be the first one to become a dad.

Not even him.

But when life surprised him with a tiny little boy,

He embraced it with every inch of his shy, gentle heart.

And suddenly, growing up didn’t seem so scary anymore.

---

Finding out:

You didn’t know how to tell him.

Jeongin was still figuring out life — still playful, still a little messy, still him.

But the moment you showed him the test, his eyes widened.

And then he blinked.

“Wait… really? You’re serious?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He stared.

And then—his eyes softened. Slowly. Gently.

“We’re gonna have a baby…?”

Another nod.

And then he smiled.

A big, genuine smile, like the sun rose early just for him.

“I don’t know if I’m ready. But I really wanna try.”

---

The pregnancy:

He was so nervous at first.

Kept Googling everything.

Worried about every little ache you had.

Kept a checklist app that pinged him every 4 hours.

“Did you drink enough water? Did you stretch today? I saw on Reddit that stretching helps.”

He practiced lullabies on his guitar.

Rubbed lotion on your belly like it was sacred.

Asked the baby questions like:

“Do you think I’ll be a cool appa? Please kick once for yes, twice for no—WAIT—OH GOD, WAS THAT A KICK?!”

---

When he found out it was a boy:

He froze for like 7 seconds.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor said.

He blinked.

Then his mouth opened.

Then his face turned pink.

And then:

“He’s gonna wear little matching beanies with me. Isn’t he.”

He didn’t cry until you were in the car.

Quietly. Silently. While staring at the ultrasound pic.

“He’s real. He’s really coming…”

---

The third trimester:

He went full soft-mode.

Built the crib with IKEA instructions in one hand and YouTube tutorials in the other.

Cried when your belly moved for the first time.

“He waved. That was a wave. I swear.”

Started calling the baby “my little buddy.”

Sang softly to your belly every night, whispering between songs:

“I can’t wait to meet you, tiny bean. I’m not cool, but I’ll try to be.”

---

The birth:

Jeongin was terrified.

Forgot how to breathe. Almost fainted.

Kept repeating “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay” like a prayer.

But when your son was born—when he heard that first little cry?

He froze again.

Then looked over at you. Then at the baby.

And then his whole face cracked open.

“He’s here… he’s really here…”

Held him close to his chest and whispered:

“Hi, buddy… I’m your appa. And you just changed my whole life.”

---

The first days:

Jeongin took SO many pictures.

And cried at every single one of them.

“Look at his fingers. They’re like… like perfect noodles.”

He dressed him in little animal onesies.

Sang songs while feeding him.

Got peed on twice and laughed like it was an honor.

“I’ve never loved anyone this much before.”

Started narrating their whole day like a storybook.

“Today, Baby Y/N drooled on Appa’s hoodie. It was magical.”

---

Late nights:

He would stay up even when you were already asleep.

Rocking his son gently, humming lullabies through yawns.

“You’re my little best friend. You don’t even talk yet, and you’re already the coolest person I know.”

Sometimes he cried a little, quietly, into the baby’s blanket.

“I don’t know how I got this lucky… but I’ll protect you forever. I swear.”

---

“I’ve never been more scared in my life. But I’ve also never felt this kind of love before.” — Yang Jeongin

#skz x you #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fanfic #skz fluff #skz headcanons #jeongin x you #jeongin x reader #jeongin x y/n #in x reader #in skz #skz seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfic #straykids x reader #stray kids

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starryjake · 22 hours ago

Text

poor girl | b.e

in which ej makes you feel better when you’re sick.

pairing: byun euijoo x fem!reader

warnings: sex while reader is sick, fingering, praising, dirty talk, unprotected sex, finger sucking.

“baby?”

ej’s soft voice was accompanied by an even softer knock on the door. he opened it slowly, stepping into the bedroom cautiously.

there you were, swaddled up in bed with an ice pack on your forehead and a box of tissues by your side. your eyelids were heavy, but the sight of your boyfriend woke you up slightly.

“you awake?” he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“a little,” you answered weakly.

“i got you this,” he said, handing you a can of your favorite soda. “you should be drinking water, but i thought you deserved a little treat too.”

“thank you,” you pouted, in awe at how kind he was. “can you open it for me?”

“of course i can, sweetheart,” he replied, taking the can back and cracking it open for you. “still feeling weak, huh?”

you nodded in confirmation as you brought the can up to your lips, taking a sip of the fizzy beverage.

“but i think i’m feeling a little better,” you said, setting the soda on the nightstand.

“yeah?” ej asked, perking up slightly. “maybe your fever went down.”

“i think it did,” you confirmed.

he patted your thigh. “well, can i get you anything else?”

you thought about if there was anything else you needed.

“do you think you could just lay here with me?” you asked, oddly embarrassed about it.

meanwhile, ej’s heart exploded at your cuteness. he’d been such a good nurse for you over the past few days of your unexpected sickness. he’d been back and for the apartment getting things for you and running errands for you. and the fact that at that point, all you wanted was his company, brought him so much joy.

“yeah, baby,” he answered, climbing up the bed and laying next to you.

you laid beside each other and quietly watched the tv. just having ej there next to you made you feel so much better.

“hey ej?” you spoke after a few minutes.

“yeah?” he replied, directing his attention to you.

“can you please rub my tummy?” you asked shyly, but the smile that spread out across his face reassured you.

“of course,” he answered. “anything my girl wants.”

he pulled you in a little closer to him. you felt bad, wanting to keep some distance so he didn’t get sick, but he didn’t seem to mind.

he slid his hand beneath your shirt. you shuddered at the sensation of his coldness on your warm skin.

ej began rubbing his hand back and forth on your smooth stomach, then up and down and in little circles.

you sighed in contentment, letting your heavy eyelids close. it felt too good, so relaxing that it was nearly impossible to stay conscious.

he rubbed your stomach for a few minutes and eventually you felt yourself doze up.

you weren’t sure how long you were out for. it didn’t seem like long, but what immediately jolted you awake was the feeling of ej’s hand trailing down from your stomach and into your underwear.

you gasped, eyes flying open. you looked over at ej, his eyes fixated on the tv screen.

“euijoo,” you whined tiredly, blinking up at him.

“hmm?” he hummed, fingers slowly massaging your clit. “is that okay, sweetheart? are you too sensitive?”

in your state, you were quite sensitive. just the feeling of him slowly, lightly rubbing your clit, was making you feel tingly and lightheaded. you could feel yourself producing wetness, even sick.

“it feels good,” you answered through an exhale, leaning tiredly on his shoulder.

you helped him out by spreading your legs slightly, giving him more space to work with. he slid his long fingers down your slit before dragging them back up, gathering your wetness on his fingertips.

you whined into his neck, jutting your hips forward in desperation.

“relax, honey,” ej urged, kissing the top of your head. “you’re sick. just let me take care of you. can you do that?”

you give him a soft nod, trying to let yourself let go for him, to relinquish all control. you didn’t have the energy, anyway. you just wanted to feel good after feeling like complete and utter crap for the past few days.

suddenly, his middle finger was circling your hole, applying a bit of pressure before slowly sliding it inside. you unconsciously clenched around him, sighing in relief at the feeling of being filled.

he massaged his finger inside you, pressing it against your warm walls. he used his thumb to rub your clit, his hand fighting against the fabric of your thin underwear.

after a moment, he slid another finger inside you and began fucking you with both of them, slowly and deeply since he knew you couldn’t handle much else.

“what a good girl,” he praised, kissing the top of your head once again since he just couldn’t help himself. “you’re doing so well, so sweet for letting me finger your pretty pussy. does it feel good, baby?”

“yes, euijoo,” you cried out. “feels so good.”

sweat was gathering on your forehead from both the actions you were partaking in and your fever rising with the evening. you felt slightly dizzy, especially as your orgasm drew nearer and nearer.

ej thrusted his fingers in and out of pussy a few more times before you gasped, whimpering as you came. you shut your thighs around his hand, your hips twitching. ej moaned just at the sight of you, at the feeling of your thighs vibrating from shakiness.

“that’s it,” he cooed. “let go for me, baby. you deserve it.”

you sighed as you were finally done cumming. ej slid his fingers out of your pussy and out of your underwear.

you gazed up at him with exhausted eyes, curling into his chest. you figured you’d go to sleep now, but quickly realized ej had other plans.

“lay on your side for me, sweetheart,” he commanded.

you tiredly rolled onto your side. as ej pressed his frontside to your back, you could immediately feel his erection rub against your ass. he sighed from the very slight pressure.

he was fighting a mental battle. he wanted to fuck you so bad, but you were sick, fragile. sure, he’d just fingered you and you seemed to take it well, but he wasn’t sure if he should go much further.

luckily, you made the decision for him.

“do you wanna fuck me?” you asked, craning your neck back to glance at him.

“can i?” he asked.

you responded by sliding your shorts and underwear down your legs, leaving your lower half completely bare and ready for him.

ej was quickly to follow.

having a previous orgasm under your belt had left you completely wet, making it easy for ej to slide right on in, immediately stuffing you all the way full with his cock.

“oh fuck,” he whispered in your ear once he bottomed out. “my god, baby, you’re so warm.”

he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you still as he pulled out and pushed back in, filling your wet hole perfectly.

“euijoo,” you whined, squeezing his hand weakly.

“yeah, baby?” he said, slowing his hips to a halt. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you assured. “keep going.”

he pulled out and slowly pushed his throbbing length back in you. sweat was quick to build between your bodies, making you both sticky and slick.

he grabbed your jaw gently, pulling your face to meet his. your cheeks were flushed, hair tousled, lips swollen and red.

“my poor girl,” he cooed, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “i hate that my baby is sick. just wanna make you feel better.”

you suddenly wrapped your lips around his thumb, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as you sucked on it. he watched you in awe, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

“oh yeah,” he moaned, speeding his pace slightly. “fuck, baby. you’re so sexy. you like that? like sucking my thumb?”

your eyes fluttered open and you nodded, mouth too full to use your words.

“that’s right,” he mumbled, pressing his thumb on your tongue. “just keep doing that, sweet girl. i’m gonna cum soon, gonna cover you in all my cum.”

you moaned around his thumb, eager at just the idea of being blanketed by his thick cum.

you could feel your own orgasm approaching once again, a familiar tightening in your stomach. you repeatedly clenched and unclenched around his cock, pushing your ass back into his pelvis.

ej brought his fingers down to your clit, rubbing you until you couldn’t hold back for a second longer.

your mouth opened and he slid his thumb out to hear your array of broken moans and cries of his name.

“ej!” you moaned, eyes rolling back.

“there you go, baby,” he coaxed you down. “just a little more. ‘m so close. i know you’re sensitive, honey, and you’re doing so, so good for me.”

you whined deliriously, leaning back against his chest.

all it took was a few more deep thrusts before ej was messily pulling out, spilling his load across your ass, your thighs, and your side. you felt each rope of it hit you, spraying across your body.

he held you close to his body, taking a few minutes to calm himself down. only once he felt your shaking body was he able to snap back into reality.

“fuck,” he exhaled. “are you okay, honey? you’re shaking.”

“i’m okay,” you assured sweetly, though you were feeling as though you could pass out at any given second.

“let me get you some water,” ej replied, peeling himself off you. “can i get you anything else? aspirin? a snack?”

“no, i’m fine,” you said. “thank you.”

and just like that, after giving you two orgasms, he was back to being your nurse.

a/n: wrote this bc im sick…………..in the head 😔

#andteam ej smut #&team ej smut #andteam ej #ej smut #&team ej #byun euijoo smut #byun euijoo x reader #byun euijoo #andteam smut #andteam x reader #&team smut #&team x reader

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lucy-literates · 3 days ago

Note

Hey.. I’m back.. 🤕

So Malachi and reader have been dating for a while, reader is a well known singer making tops hits and getting on billboards for years, but ever since she turned 18+ she’s started making lightly explicit music, and I assume you know Billie Eilish, and how she be kinda freaky on her stage. Reader starts doing that but they only do it when Malachi can’t make it to her shows, and it’s not like it’s a secret reader tells him about it, but he feels left out. So to make him feel better she makes a new song about him FOR him, to play at her next show, and she does her freaky stuff..

I KNOW this is a lot and if you don’t wanna write this that is perfectly fine!!

A/N: Welcome back! I love this, soooo much!! I had so much fun writing it, I hope you enjoy ittttt :)

All For You

Malachi had seen the clips.

He wasn’t stalking you, exactly — but Twitter didn’t make it easy to avoid when your name was trending every other week. And the moment he saw “Y/N wild on stage again 🥵🔥” under a blurry clip of you straddling a mic stand like it had personally offended you? His stomach twisted.

You were incredible. Confident, famous, powerful. You deserved the world.

But God, he hated not being there.

He wasn’t possessive — not really. You told him everything. You warned him before your image pivoted, even let him hear the demos first. He’d said he was cool with it. And he was, mostly.

He just wasn’t cool with the fact that the rest of the world got that version of you… The version that arched your back on stage. The one that dropped low and licked your lips between lyrics. The one who moaned lightly into the mic on the second chorus.

All of it — except when he was there.

Because when Malachi was backstage, you didn’t do any of it.

Not the eye contact with fans. Not the hips. Not the growl in your voice when you said “baby.”

He never said anything. He couldn’t. You were being respectful, right? It still didn’t stop the ache in his chest.

Until your next show.

He didn’t even know he was going to make it until that morning. You’d sent a casual, “wish you could be here tonight 🖤” and he’d booked the next flight.

You had no clue.

He watched from the wings of the stage, hood up, arms crossed — just another stagehand as far as anyone knew. The lights dropped. The crowd screamed.

And then you came out in leather and mesh, soft red lighting behind you.

And your voice purred:

“You like the clean girl on camera, but she’s dirty when she’s home…” “Singin’ sweet for the world, but I’m only real on the phone…” “You think I tease the crowd, baby—nah. I tease you when you're gone.”

Malachi’s eyes widened.

“Don’t want them touchin’, just want you fussin’…” “Backstage, hands on my hips, tell me how I should’ve done it.”

The audience was going insane. But you weren’t looking at them. You were staring dead at the wings. At him.

“This one’s for you, baby,” you said into the mic, voice velvet-sweet and low. “Sorry I’ve been making them sweat when I should’ve been making you blush.”

And then you danced. No, performed — just like you did when he wasn’t there.

You were unapologetic and sensual, body rolling through the bridge, throwing in a wink, tossing your hair, biting your lip during the last chorus.

The screens behind you flashed with lyrics in bold red:

“NOT FOR THEM.” “ALL FOR HIM.” “ALL. FOR. YOU.”

After the show, Malachi didn’t even wait for your team. He found your dressing room and walked in without knocking.

You spun around, still in stage clothes, glowing with sweat and adrenaline. Your eyes widened when you saw him. “Baby—! You came?!”

He kissed you so hard he backed you into the vanity table, hands on your hips, breathing like he’d just run through fire.

“I knew it,” he whispered against your lips. “I knew you were saving it for me.”

You grinned, breathless. “Did you like your song?”

His voice was low, wrecked. “I need to hear it again. Preferably while you're not wearing that.”

You laughed. “How ‘bout live in private?”

Tag List:

@laylayschipzz

@purplerose291

@imnotnotgabrielle

@imnotjadaddy

@23swife

@mysticmarble222

@saphiraelise

@coffeeonvenus

@casey1-2007

#malachi barton x reader #malachi barton x you #malachi barton #zombies victor #zombies 4 dawn of the vampires #under wraps #villians of valley view #colby madden #stuck in the middle (with you)

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redemptions · 1 day ago

Text

Sweet Melody

Pairing: hongjoong x reader, platonic!ateez x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 4074

blurb: 4 times you were caught singing + 1 time it was intentional

authors note: so I’m trying to get back into writing, no pressure on myself, and I ended up writing over 4k words of this. I also thank the drunk episode of wanteez for the entertainment and idea 💕

——————————————————————————

Hongjoong’s whole body ached. The schedule today had been filled with dance practice, recording time, fittings with the style team, meetings with executives about this aspect of a comeback and that - the physical exhaustion weighed on them all and all he wanted to do was spread himself across the sofa and mentally disappear for a bit.

His manager had dropped him off the shared apartment just moments before and Hongjoong typed in the door code with sluggish urgency. On the buzz of the third number, the door swung open and Wooyoung was there, hissing at him to be quiet.

Hongjoong’s eyebrows jumped incredulously. At this point in the day, his patience was fried and he was second away from snapping something back when Jongho elbowed his friend out of the way.

“You’ll want to see this,” he said, voice low but he had a smile creeping wider across his face.

“See what?” Hongjoong muttered back, finally stepping into the apartment.

Not everyone was back from their schedules yet, but Mingi stood just out of the entry way, barefoot but still in his jacket, watching something just beyond. What…was happening?

Hongjoong was about to ask his dongsangs to explain themselves better - he was way too tired for this - when he heard it. A familiar song. Wave. And a voice layered across it, interweaving itself with the smooth voices of his group mates.

Honestly, it was a voice he’d recognise in a crowd.

You weren’t belting out anything, no performance or grand display. When he peered around the corner into the main living space, you were on the sofa, folding the bathroom towels. The song - their song, his song - was playing low from your phone and then there was you, head visible over the back of the sofa, singing along and swaying to the smooth beat.

The smile that stretched across Hongjoong’s face was automatic.

Mingi nudged his shoulder. “It’s cute right?” If he wasn’t trying to be quiet, Hongjoong was sure the man would have been bouncing on the tips of his toes in excitement.

“She was singing when we arrived,” Jongho explained lowly, “Wooyoung didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Hey,” Wooyoung slapped a hand to the youngest member’s stomach, a look of mock affront on his face. “You wanted to listen too!”

“I didn’t want to embarrass her,” Jongho replied simply, but they knew it was only partially true. Hongjoong could understand - music, but especially from those you cared about, was something he liked to hold on to as well.

He tried to stay silent, carefully shaking his foot to remove his shoe, but his luck meant it landed louder on the flooring than he intended. Hongjoong winced. His maknaes looked betrayed.

The words had cut short and you finally looked up, caught sight of the crowding members in the entryway. Wide eyes stared back. Hongjoong watched the blush crawling its way from under the collar of your shirt. No, wait, his shirt.

“How…how long have you been standing there?” You ask mildly, trying your best to hide the embarrassment you were no doubt feeling.

Wooyoung noticed too and, of course, immediately had to make it worse. “Long enough to know you do a good impression of us.” He grinned, toothy and charming.

You groaned, lowering your face into your hands, still clutching an unfolded towel in your hand.

Now that they were caught, there was no hesitation with Mingi shuffling on socked feet to drop into the space next to you on the sofa. He grinned, wide and teasing. “Noona,” he called, “You sing so well.”

You told him to shut up.

He didn’t. “So, who’s your bias?”

“Jongho,” you answer deadpanned.

Of course, this immediately caused complaints from Wooyoung and Mingi, who pressed in close and tried to convince you - amongst arguing with each other - they were a far superior choice. Jongho ignored them and grabbed a pile of folded towels to put away.

“Thank you Jongie,” you said, louder than you would have, “That’s why you’re my favourite.”

“Naturally,” Jongho agreed, and offered a smile. “You should sing for us.”

You huffed, rocked back into the cushions behind you, and folded your arms across your chest. “I’ve changed my mine. I like Yeosang best.”

Watching the interaction had Hongjoong smiling. It was in moments like this that it was easy to forgot some of the turbulence that you had all experienced at the beginning of your relationship. Sneaking around, and then a wider secret amongst the group, and now - blissful domesticity. It was enough for Hongjoong to feel disgustingly mushy, but that wasn’t something he was going to show in front of his group members.

He did however, come up behind you on the sofa, sliding his arms around your shoulders into a hug. You sighed and he felt the tension bleeding from your body, as you leant further into his hold. The top of your head brushed his nose and Hongjoong pressed a firm kiss against your soft hair, finger tracing figures of eight on the sleeve of the shirt.

You hummed contently, angled your head back and looked at him with sparkling eyes. Embarrassed, for sure. Irritated, almost definitely. But warm, contented, happy.

“Control your children,” you told him.

Hongjoong huffed a laugh. He angled his head down, lips hovering next to your ear. “I’ve had them all day, it’s your turn now.”

ATEEZ was filming a drunken episode, their filming schedule later than usual to accommodate, and you were sitting cross legged beside their managers. It was, of course, as chaotic as you had expected it to be. You had drunk with the members a handful of times so the outcome of this ‘soju experience around Korea’ was not at all surprising. They were wild, bouncing off each other, Jongho and Wooyoung making their hyungs drink far more than they normally would. The drinking games were entertaining that was for sure, but by the time San had fallen off his stool for the third time, you were just as worried as you were trying to stop yourself from hysterically laughing.

At some point, many shots in, San stumbled towards the cameras. “Noona,” he called and dropped down in front of you, landing on his knees.

You looked up at his blurry eyed, red face and smiled sympathetically. “Yes, Sannie?”

He dunked his head, too heavy to hold up anymore and rested it on your knee. “I had a lot of soju,” he mumbled into your jeans, voice low like it was a secret.

You stifled a laugh, and moved your hand to affectionately rub the back of his neck. “You did,” you agreed. “Are you okay?”

San sniffed once, and then his body lowered entirely, like it couldn’t keep it up anymore. “I’m,” he rolled his head to squint up at you, slightly blinded by studio lights, “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded. “What do you need?”

San thought about it hard. “…Chocolate milk?”

“You can have chocolate milk,” you promised. You and the other managers shared an amused look. San’s manager got up, keeping low under the camera to retrieve the coveted sweet drink.

You ran your fingers through his hair comfortingly. San sighed deeply, tension leaving his body entirely. He was like a puppy when drunk, you mused. Just needed a good scratch behind the ear.

Face mushed against your leg, San began singing. It wasn’t exactly quiet but it wasn’t clear with his position. You recognised it as ‘Deja Vu’ almost immediately. You snickered, fondness blooming within your chest. Since Jongho had admitted he wanted the opportunity to drunk sing with his group mates, San hadn’t stopped singing, like it triggered an inch that he had to keep a melody to stop.

“Cute,” you murmured affectionately.

San tapped your opposite knee. “Sing with me.”

“Sannie…”

He didn’t even hear the protest, too busy breaking out into the next bar. When you didn’t start to join in immediately, his face scrunched up in the most adorable of pouts.

Maybe you were a push over, but after poking the lines between his eyebrows, you sighed and picked up the next notes. Quiet, low, more like a whisper than anything else but it was enough for San’s face to relax, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face.

When another body appeared, uncoordinated in front of you, San’s alcohol ridden body was bumped, his head jerking off your knee. He made a loud noise of complaint, the song dying in his throat, to glare at Seunghwa. The oldest member’s neck was a deep red, and his eyes were blown, a true sign of how many soju shots he had taken.

“I want a song,” he declared.

Your answer was immediate. “No.”

Seunghwa dropped onto his butt, hand on his chest and face set into a pantomime of betrayal. “Why? San got a song.”

“San’s a baby,” you replied back simply.

“I’m a baby,” Seunghwa argued.

“You’re a mother, Hwa,” you corrected.

Seunghwa turned his head to look back at the staging. “Joong, make —— sing for me.”

Hongjoong looked up at his name. He was holding it down better than the others, that was for sure, but you could see the way he squinted forward, trying to focus his blurred vision on what was happening in front of him.

“Why is San on the floor?” He asked, confused.

“Because he’s the baby,” you replied clearly.

Hongjoong nodded in understanding, easily accepting the answer.

Seunghwa drew attention back to himself. “Hongjoong-ah, I want a song.”

A surprised look passed over Hongjoong’s face. “Ah, okay.” And then he began singing. San sat up quickly, swaying as he joined in. Seunghwa’s “that’s not what I meant,” couldn’t be heard over the passionate serenade around him.

It was late for Hongjoong. On a normal day, he’d have been up, dressed and already beginning some type of schedule by 7:00am. Today though was a day off and his alarm was turned to silent. It was an agreement you had made ages ago - no schedule means no alarm. He picked up his phone from where it was charging on his bedside table and squinted at the sudden brightness of the screen. He had to lower the level before he could see the time. 7:02am.

See. Late.

Hongjoong returned his phone, stretching with a groan and splayed his hand into an empty space. That made him pause, surprised. If he was an early riser, then you were an afternoon riser if you could help it. Alarms were your mortal enemy. Plans before 1pm a mark of war. And yet, you weren’t in bed with him. Odd.

Hongjoong was mindlessly scrolling through his phone when you entered the room. You were wearing one of his shirts, one of the bagger ones, with your phone in one hand and wet hair dripping against your neck. You closed the door quietly, and padded carefully to the desk where your shared skincare and individual computers cluttered. Hongjoong locked his phone and took the time to just look.

You hadn’t noticed him. In fact, you were trying to stay quiet for him. You were in your own little world and from his angle, he could see the earbud in your right ear. You took the chair and searched through the organiser for your exfoliation pads, humming as you did so. Hongjoong couldn’t pick up the tune first, just random notes, until you hit the pre-chorus.

“Read between the lines, look here, Lucifier,” you muttered the words, rocking your shoulders to the beat in your ears.

Our song again. Hongjoong felt his cheeks hurt from smiling. He rolled onto his side to look better, head held in the palms of his hands. His eyes traced the water drops falling from the ends of your hair, the press of your fingers as you put serum onto your cheeks; the arch of your foot as you tapped to the beat; the bare expanse of leg, your thighs barely covered by his clothes. It was honest, a private moment of self care and quiet pleasure. It made him feel sickeningly sweet and hot under his non-existent collar.

He did so love to watch you.

Hongjoong didn’t interrupt your moment but it was only so long before you noticed him. When you turned your head dramatically, your seated dance, you caught a glimpse of his startlingly awake face and jerked, cursing loudly.

“Joong,” you complained.

Hongjoong smile widened. “Yes baby?”

You pressed a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart. “You scared me.”

“Not my fault you didn’t notice. You should pay more attention to your surroundings.”

“You were sleeping,” you argued, “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“You didn’t,” Hongjoong reassured. He reached out one hand, curling his fingers. “Come here.”

You pouted as you put your earbud away and you made your way over, but when he shuffled over, widening his arms, you crawled into the space, back against his front, like you were always supposed to be there. Hongjoong pressed his face into the curve of your neck and just breathed for a moment.

“I woke up without you,” he murmured.

Your fingers wrapped around his affectionately. “I wanted to go get breakfast for everyone,” you murmured, “it’s been a long comeback preparation.”

Hongjoong hummed in agreement. “Sweet,” he kissed your shoulder, “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you persisted and he didn’t push anymore. They’d had this argument numerous times and you were both as stubborn as each other.

“You were singing,” he said instead, “our song.”

He felt when you shifted, and could see the tips of your ears turning pink. “It’s a good song. Catchy.” You speak like you’re defending yourself.

Hongjoong grinned again. He rubbed the tip of his nose up and down the curve of your neck. “Don’t be embarrassed. You can be a fan.”

You whined his name out, not having to voice how much he wanted him to stop. He huffed a laugh again and squeezed your fingers, moving your hands to his mouth so he can press a kiss to your knuckles. “I like when you sing my songs,” he admitted.

You turned your head to look at him closer. “…You do?”

“Yeah, it’s hot,” Hongjoong pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

The pink travelled from your ears down the curve of your neck and under his shirt. “Joong…”

“What?” He asked, feigning innocence.

“I’m getting breakfast,” you reiterated firmly.

Hongjoong moved your joined hands to your thigh, and his thumb rubbed a mindless pattern. “Breakfast can wait a little,” he said, “Tell me your favourite part.”

Your body was thrumming with energy, powered from the cheers and excitement of those around you. The stadium was filled with excited fans, happiness like a contagion that swept the crowd with each song, each staging moment. Usually, you’d be in the back, but for this concert, an area had been reserved for important figures, investors, family members and of course, yourself.

You always enjoyed the shows, felt lucky you had the opportunity to enjoy them from wherever you were, but there was something about being in the crowd. The boys were already a number of stages in, two outfit changes, and had no signs of slowing down. The concert video was playing, the fans were cheering and then it only got louder when the beginning bars of ‘Bouncy’ began to play.

You cheered too, clapping and dancing. Of course, you’d had to record the moment. You tried to keep your phone as steady as possible, even as you danced and joined in for the fan chants. You shouted the words. Tune and melody was less important than just pure enjoyment and energy matching.

Later in the night, with the boys back in their sweats and make up free, celebrating a show well done in a private lounge at the hotel you were all staying at, you showed Yeosang the videos you had recorded over the night. He had taken up place in a corner of the sofa, long legs up on the sectional, and held his food plate closer to his mouth so he wouldn’t spill anything. He listened to you fondly as you gushed at him.

“You guys were just so good,” you complained, smiling wide, “Look, and hear how loud everyone was!”

You pressed the volume buttons to really demonstrate just how much the audience had loved it. The bass was loud, the screams were louder but something was clear.

Yeosang nearly choked on his food when he laughed. “Noona…” he drew out your name, “is that you?”

Your cheeks went red. “That’s enough. You get the point.”

You tried to pause the video but Yeosang’s hands were fast, plate now in his lap and his phone gripping yours. He held it out of the way so you couldn’t reach it.

“Ya,” Yeosang chuckled, “I don’t know Noona, you sound…”

You cut him off. “Give it back.”

“Wooyoung said you could sing.”

“You’re losing favourite privileges,” you stated firmly. You reared over to snatch your phone back and this time, Yeosang didn’t stop it. He just laughed.

“Yeobu,” you complaining, turning your head to the right where Hongjoong talking with Yunho. He paused what he was saying, angling his head to look at you. “Your child’s making fun of me.”

He huffed a laugh and adjusted his arm around you, pushing on your shoulder until you were leaning fully into him. He gave Yeosang a firm but mocking look. “Apologise to your mother.”

You elbowed Hongjoong hard in the side in retaliation.

+1.

The norabang was one of the nicest you had been in, you had to admit. It was somewhere in Gangnam and a room had been rented out, blinds over the door, so no curious onlookers could peer in. There were few times when they could all be out together without being recognised, and precautions had been taken. Considering they spend most of their lives singing, you would have not have thought that a karaoke bar was where ATEEZ would want to spend their free time and yet, they had thrown themselves into it like a treat.

Jongho and Seunghwa had sung a ballad. Wooyoung had sung a trot song he had said his grandparents used to sing with him. Mingi, Hongjoong and San had preformed a rap from the last generation. Yeosang was currently preforming with heart wrenching honesty, as if he were in his own music video.

You were flicking through the song list, a paper menu that sat next to the food and drink one. Yunho dropped into the seat next to you and threw his arm around your shoulder. He was out of breath from belting the backing vocals for Yeosang, and his cheeks were flushed with alcohol.

“——ie,” he crooned, “Sing with me next.”

He looked at you so earnestly like the puppy he was, but nervous churned tight into your chest. It must have shown on your face. Yunho paused, eyes flicking over your expression, smile becoming softer, less teasing. He angled himself to lean closer and lowered his voice to ask, “What’s wrong?”

He was good at reading the emotions of those around him, you knew. Yunho was the same age as you and had been one of the first that helped bridge the gaps of friendship. He’d been a good person to speak to at the time, a sounding board for your worries and fears when you didn’t want to bother Hongjoong with them. It was easy to let your fears out.

“It’s not that I don’t like singing,” you admitted, “I love singing.”

Yunho bobbed his head. “Okay.”

“Singing with you guys…,” you tried to find the right words, “…it can be a lot.”

“Because?”

“You’re all professionals and I’m not,” you murmured.

Yunho shrugged. “You know we don’t care.”

“I know.”

“And anyway, from what the others have said, you don’t sound bad at all,” he continued to reassure. The hand that wasn’t over your shoulder poked your forehead. “You’ve gotten lost in your head. Why should it matter if you’re having fun?”

“I mean, it doesn’t,” you said reluctantly. It was true, and it wasn’t that you thought any of the boys would judge you for your ability, but that was a rational thought in a situation based around irrational worries.

Yunho noticed. He pinched your cheek affectionately. “Sing with me,” he suggested, “We’ll do it together.”

He deliberately made his eyes wider, sides of his mouth lowered into a pout, and you couldn’t refuse. “Together.” You agreed.

Yunho grinned, bounced up and tugged you to your feet. Yeosang had finished the last note and the room whooped. Yunho took the microphone and pushed it into your hand. It felt heavy in a way that mics didn’t usually feel. “We’re singing next,” he announced happily.

Your fingers twitched around the microphone, and you gnawed your bottom lip in nervous. Yunho picked the song - one of theirs, of course. You took a deep breath when the first bars of ‘Dancing Like Butterfly Wings’ began to play from the speakers. Mingi whooped for you both, Jongho and Seunghwa followed with cheers of encouragement. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Hongjoong leant back in the chair, legs spread comfortably, and a warm look in his eyes. He smiled when he caught you looking.

Yunho started, singing the first part of the verse. You watched the words scroll on the screen in front of you, swallowed and took the plunge.

It…wasn’t as scary as you thought it would be. Like ripping off a plaster, once you had started, once you had caught yourself in the rhythm, you were caught up. It was easier with another and Yunho took all those high notes that Jongho usually sang so you didn’t have to even try.

At the end of the song, Yunho grinned and wriggled his eyebrows teasingly. You gestured from him to bend slightly and when your arms were in reach, you pressed two fingers to his cheekbone. He grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to the back.

“No fair,” Wooyoung complained. He wrapped his arms around your neck, peering over your shoulder. “Noona, sing with me next.”

“I thought you were going to sing with me,” San frowned back.

You laughed, a tad hysterical from fraying nerves and adrenaline. It was Hongjoong that appeared to dislodge you from your arguing dongsang. He pulled you closer, arms slipping low on your waist as yours raised around his neck, interlocking at the base.

He arched an eyebrow. “Have I told you that you sound good?”

You flushed and ducked your head. “Joong.”

One hand moved to brush hair from your forehead, catch your chin and force you to look up. He nudged his nose against yours, lips barely touching. “I liked it.”

“You did say you liked me singing your songs,” you reminded.

Hongjoong rolled his lips, humming. “You don’t have to sing again if you don’t want to,” he murmured. He knew about your worries, of course, how privately you held any kind of lyrical expression. He felt proud that you’d taken this step, sung so beautifully and loudly to them all.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, simple but thankful. He sighed against you, eyes fluttering closed, fingers tapping your jaw.

Hongjoong yelped at Seunghwa’s foot against the small of his back. He broke from you and turned to glare at his elder. The man sat, drink in hand, looking very much like a parent about to scold his child. “Not in front of the children,” he told the leader firmly. He smirked when you laughed and Hongjoong rolled his eyes.

Hongjoong gathered you close on the sofa, legs over his lap and head resting on his shoulder. It was rare for him to hold you so close in front of anybody, preparing his affection more subtle than this, and so you relished this small moment. You traced the length of his hands. “I’ve decided by the way,” you said lowly.

He turned his gaze from San and Wooyoung’s promised ballad. “Hmm?”

“Yunho’s the favourite.”

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a/n: please let me know what you think! 💕

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