#and how they can help him go through this

[rosy-hollow]

Thinking about Number 2 Pro Hero Dynamight whose pretty wife is not only a Pro Hero but the Number 4 as well - the only thing stopping her from getting higher is because she simply didn't feel like it.

You're extremely powerful, but you also knew how taxing it was to be in the top three ranks of hero society, what with the extra publicity and pressure, instead settling for number four because it was the best position, in your opinion.

Though, the public doesn't really know your reasoning for staying at your rank, and though you remain an inspiration for men and women alike across all of Japan and even spreading to other countries, that didn't stop certain people from underestimating you.

It was a random Tuesday.

You were exhausted.

Tired to your bones.

Katsuki was out on a mission, and you knew there would definitely be some paparazzi - and though he would be back later today, you missed his warmth and comfort.

So, you turned on the TV, surfing through various channels before your blonde husband came into view on the screen.

The reporter there had a wide smile plastered on his face, so stretched it almost looked fake.

You sighed. This should be good.

The man had slicked brown hair and a pointed nose, waving his microphone into the disgruntled blonde's face, the latter's nose crinkling slightly in discomfort.

You, on the couch can't help but mimic the blonde's expression instinctively, having been together so long that you felt his slight irritation through the screen.

"So, Pro Hero Dynamight! Everyone knows you're married to the Number Four Pro hero, your wedding had been all over the news!" he chuckles - though to you it personally sounded like sputtering car engine.

You blink - that's definitely not what you were expecting the reporter to ask.

Katsuki raises an eyebrow on the screen, not saying anything but suspicious as to where this conversation is going.

"However...your wife has been maintaining that spot for a while now...many people can say that they haven't noticed any progress in her career! What do you say about this?"

You look at the screen in disbelief, not so much offended, instead just shocked at the pure audacity of the man.

Katsuki, however, being the angel he is, took offense on your behalf.

You watch his Adam's apple bob as his eyebrow twitches, getting a glimpse of that pure anger that seemed to be ever present during his teenage years.

But he doesn't lash out, years of maturing and your love let him reign him emotions in, no matter how violently they were swirling in his chest.

Instead, he barks out a laugh, dark and menacing - enough to make the reporter visibly squeak in fear. Even you felt your eyes widen slightly at the change in demeanor.

Katsuki glances and the camera and scoffs, leaning in close to the reporter to whisper in his ear, enough for the microphone to pick up.

"My wife could single handedly wipe out every villain in Japan in she wanted to. Only reason why she hasn't is because she's sweet enough to give the rest of us sorry asses a chance."

You're pretty sure your whole body is red by the time the channel switches to some random toothpaste ad.

A/N: yayayayay katsuki loves his badass wife

[yan-randomfandom]

I've been reading the fanart. You have a natural talent for creating a more distinctive personality for the Saja Boys from the bits and pieces they gave us in the movie!

Ever since that fanart where the Saja sneaked into the reader's room, I couldn't stop imagining what they would be like sleeping alone with her, as if every day of the week except the weekends they will take turns sleeping with the reader or something like that.

And again, I love your writing. I hope you like the idea. Have a nice day!!!

Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; anon thank you so much heheh!!! this one isn't too accurate to your idea, but i love it and i hope it's still okay!

summary; physical touch with the boys and why they wanna go to your bedroom :))) (touch starved. written separately but they all live in the same housing)

warnings; stalking (watching you sleep), body curious, touching w no permission, nothing sexual tho!

— 🍃 [Monday]

Here's the thing, guys. The boys don't actually need sleep. They're demons. Sleep isn't something their bodies need—instead it's something they want. They are still aware and can feel through touch, which is exactly why they'd prefer to sleep with you.

You're warm, so alive, and they don't know it yet.

Surprisingly enough, Jinu is the first one to knock on your door.

"Jinu?" you drawl, voice laced with sleep. He stands awkwardly by the doorway, patiently waiting for you to process what's happening. Glancing idly at your sleepwear and dimlit room.

You yawn, widening the door. "What's up? Need something?" You pause, raising a lazy accusing finger. "Wait. You're not here to suck my blood, are you—?!"

"What? No!" Jinu gasps, almost offended. You sigh out of relief anyway.

"...We're not interested in physical bodies. Anyway, uh, sorry for waking you up. I just need to see how our socials are going," he explains as he steps into your room. "You can power your computer and go back to sleep."

As soon as you heard the word 'social', you were already turning it on. "'kay, buddy. You sure you don't need help, though? I know I taught you a bit but I understand it can get confusing—"

"No, no," Jinu huffs, denial flooding his form. "I can do it."

"You remember how to turn it off?"

"Yes. Don't worry."

Then you fall asleep next to him, your body slightly pressing against his. His eyes slowly drift away from the glow of the computer screen to your sleeping form. He stares for a moment.

Soft, warm. It reminds him of the past on how he couldn't sleep with his own fam—

Jinu pulls the computer plug off and teleports away.

—💐 [Tuesday]

Baby made you piggyback him. A lot. It was sort of your fault.

You saw the Saja Boys taking turns carrying him—it was a pretty funny ordeal. Then you jokingly offered to piggyback him to see what the hype was about.

He accepted it all too eagerly. As soon as his full weight falls on you, you're genuinely surprised at how light he is. It's probably equivalent to a box full of volleyballs.

"You're lighter than I thought," you say, adjusting your arms behind his legs.

Baby suddenly lets his head rest on yours. "Why are you so..." Warm. He buries himself into your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.

"Why am I so what?" you ask, turning your head, only achieving to tickle him more.

He doesn't let you go for the rest of the day.

And by extension, night.

You tried to complain at first. "Didn't we agree to—"

"Just this once, please?"

You folded.

He snuggles all comfortable within your arms, acting as the little spoon, greedily content in your warmth and breathing.

But then you wake up with his mouth on your skin. He wasn't biting, sucking, or anything. It was just.... there.

Still, though, you assumed the worst.

"I thought you said demons don't suck blood, Jinu!?!"

"We don't!!?!"

—🪷 [Wednesday]

Abby wanted you to touch his abs for some mysterious reason. Yapping about how "no one else will have this chance," or "you might not live long enough to feel it!" and "I actually haven't let anyone touch my artificial abs yet" — it was really weird, but you shrugged it off and agreed anyway.

Like hell yeah. Sure, why not?

So he unbuttons his shirt, all giddy, and watches as you reach for his skin.

You make contact with his abs. Caressing it gently, it feels normal in texture — but you suppose it's a little too cold. The fact didn't totally sound weird at the time.

Looking up, you flinch at Abby's expression. You thought he'd be smiling, like he was the whole time, but he looks so serious that it's actually concerning. He's not looking at you; his eyes were down and fixated on your hand.

You notice, pulling your hand away from him, and snapping your fingers. "You okay?"

He blinks. "Uh."

Later that night, Abby welcomes himself into your room.

He stares at you from the corner. From the center. From the edge of your bedframe. On your bed.

Sometimes, he'd gently let his hands roam over your exposed skin. Mostly your warm hands. And your warm face.

You wake up to find his face in front of you.

Screaming, you unintentionally kick him in the abs.

"Ow, my perfectly crafted abs!"

— 🪻 [Thursday]

Mystery almost lost it when you pat his head.

You did it voluntarily. It's a nice, comforting feeling as you pat his shoulder, his arm, and his cheek. He utterly melts under your casual touches without a single word.

He loves it. You leave him demanding for more. So, Mystery decides to linger around you like a guard dog. Who hopes to be spoiled, who wishes to be held.

But, then, night comes.

"You're not exactly allowed in my room," you say, only to pause when he straight up whimpers.

... You folded. With a sigh, you step away from the door and give him space to walk in.

He happily skips into your room, flopping face-first on your bed. You stare at him for a moment, thinking about how despite them not being human — they really love to rest.

You lie down, feeling Mystery move around under your blanket, closing your eyes when he finds himself comfortable against your chest.

Your chest rising and falling with every breath—Mystery simply can't help but feel envious.

— 🌺 [Friday]

Romance is confused.

There's a buzz between his band members — apparently, they visited your bedroom? Didn't they agree to avoid that specific place in this house?

He doesn't realize he's been staring blankly at nowhere. Reality hits him hard when something gentle touches his hair.

"Might wanna style your hair again, Rome," you chuckle, brushing his hair with your fingers. He shivers when your skin grazes his forehead. "You got the bed head. Though I guess you just snap your fingers and it'd be all okay."

You leave right after that, but Romance keeps staring at the last place he saw your figure, his fingers fidgeting with the hair you just touched.

Okay. He gets it now.

Next day, you woke up with him hovering over your head.

You suddenly grab his shoulders, push him back against your bed, breathing heavy from the shock. The bed sinks under both your weight.

Romance stares immensely up at you.

"You guys," you breath, "will be the death of me."

He smirks. "I can only imagine."

— krazy

[rainrot4me]

Creepypasta Men Twitter Links

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── .✦ dividers by me. links belong to their respective twitter users. please notify if any links mess up or become deleted!

๑ jeff the killer

Jeff can’t help but keep going. No matter how pitiful you get, no matter how sloppy his hips move, he just can’t stop. He just needs you to shut up before you wake the whole mansion.

You’ll come when Jeff fucking lets you come.

Jeff thought taking you to a concert would be fun. But when you get a little too drunk and handsy, he pushes you into the bathroom and show you exactly what he thinks of that.

Jeff likes you desperate, covered in slobber, and fully satisfying him.

Jeff’s gonna show you just what a bratty mouth gets you. Full of his cum, that’s where.

Jeff couldn’t wait to come see you. He snuck in through your window, cornered you in the bathroom, and pulled aside those pretty panties. Make sure to be quiet, though, you don’t want to wake up your roommates…

๑ ticci toby

How is Toby not supposed to touch you when you fall asleep like that? He’ll try to be gentle… try.

Toby can’t help but push your back down further, seeing just how far you can arch for him.

Toby loves when you push back on him. When you fuck him like you want it. He’ll make sure you feel so good, you don’t even need to worry.

Toby loves cumming inside. Your noises, the way you grip him, the way it all spills out afterward. He can’t get enough.

Toby is exhausted. But you just look so good laid in bed, legs tangled up in his sheets. Maybe just a quickie to knock you both out…

Toby doesn’t believe how good you feel. How has he gone so long without fucking your wet little cunt? He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to turn back now.

๑ eyeless jack

Jack fucks messy. If you’re not covered in his cum, then you’re not finished.

Jack knows you can take all of him. You’re just not trying hard enough. He’ll make it fit.

Jack will spend hours fingering you loose just so he can fit all of himself inside. He can hardly wait until you’re sobbing and begging for him to just fuck you already.

Jack can smell you. Every time you walk past him, he can’t hardly stop himself from jumping you. Are you in heat? Cause you just smell so good, so sweet, so delicious. He needs to have a taste…

You went down in the basement to get some wounds treated after a nasty fight. So, how did you end up flipped over on Jack’s medical table begging him to go faster?

Jack wasn’t lying when he said you’d feel him right here as he pressed his finger into the middle of your belly. He’s not smug, but he did tell you so.

๑ masky (tim wright)

Masky couldn’t wait until you got back to the mansion. He needed you right here, right now.

Masky can’t get close enough. No matter how deep he gets, it’s just not enough.

Masky gets back from a long mission, and he can barely make it up to your room before he’s unbuckling his belt and tearing your clothes off. He’ll make sure you know exactly how much he missed you.

Masky knows he’s big. But you take him so well. Don’t cry, you feel so good.

You think you’re funny? Running your mouth all day and expecting Masky not to fuck the attitude out of you? That’s cute.

Masky doesn’t think two rounds in the shower was enough. He needs to feel you cum on his cock just one more time…

๑ hoodie (brian thomas)

Hoodie forcing you to take his camera. Ordering you that if you look away from the lens, he’ll stop. He wants to watch you fall apart over and over again later.

Hoodie cannot be blamed for what he does when you wear that sinful skirt around him.

As if all the teasing wasn’t enough. Now, Hoodie won’t give you an inch of satisfaction until you prove you’re desperate enough for it.

Hoodie can’t believe how small you are under him. You take him so well, it’s a wonder he doesn’t split you in half.

Hoodie promises it’ll just be the tip. He gives you his word. But why does it feel so good? And why can’t he stop his hips from just pushing further and further in?

Hoodie told you not to run. This is what you get when you don’t listen to orders. Maybe getting fucked stupid will teach you a lesson.

๑ ben drowned

Ben couldn’t believe when you strolled into his bedroom wearing the outfit he bought you as a joke. But don’t worry, he won’t let it go to waste.

You wanted his attention so bad, what happened? Ben even paused his game just for you. So lay here and take it.

Ben hardly thinks it’s fair when you get to walk around in those stupid little panties. They’re dumb, so why is he so hard?

Ben is a little preoccupied with his match of whatever stupid game he’s been obsessed with. He gets thrown for a loop when you climb his lap and start begging for attention.

Ben will make sure to fuck you so good you’re seeing stars by the time he’s through.

Ben knows his fingers feel good. So what if he made you put on that stupid outfit? You’ll do whatever he says if you want to cum.

๑ back to my masterlists

── .✦ rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[sunday-bug]

The Celibacy Challenge

Pairing: New Avenger!Bucky x New Avenger!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3k

18+ Minors DNI (NSFW)

Synopsis: You decide you want to try a celibacy challenge with your boyfriend, Bucky. Who caves first? The New Avengers place their bets.

A/N: Is this based off a challenge that I failed with my husband? Hehe. Also, shoutout to my girls for betting against me - @soelstress @buckybarnes82 @buckybarnesfic / yes, it was ME, you were right.

“Why though? I just don’t get it, honey,” Bucky sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s supposed to be a challenge, baby! It’ll be fun.” You’d just gotten through a poor explanation of a sex experiment you wanted to try with Bucky, and he was less than enthused.

You show him the article you have pulled up on your laptop - 30 Day Abstinence Challenge: A Battle of Wills - and smile. “It’s meant to be hard… no pun intended. And at the end when we can finally have at it, it’s apparently explosive.”

Bucky furrows his brow, clearly unimpressed with the idea, and lowers his voice, his expression growing more serious. “Is it not explosive enough for you?” He blushes, looking around the empty common room before he continues more quietly, “Because It is for me.” 

“Oh stop, it’s amazing, baby. You’re amazing. That’s not what I’m saying. Just try it with me? It’ll be good for us! And there’s this optional part that people add where they do yoga together at night. It’s supposed to help you relax and loosen your muscles.” You look up at him with a hopeful gaze, nearly begging.

He rolls his eyes. “I know how to help you relax and loosen you up already. We don’t need a sun salutation for that.” 

You cock your eyebrow at him. “Didn’t know you were a yoga man, Buck.” 

“I’ve dabbled… it was a long time ago - anyway, if you really want to try this, then I’ll do it with you.” 

“Yay!” You squeal. “Let’s start fresh tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? So are you saying… ?” Bucky winks at you.

“Yes, Sarge. Take me to bed.”

DAY ONE

Bucky walks into the kitchen the next morning to you and Yelena at the breakfast bar nursing two coffees. 

“So, yeah, it’s supposed to help you feel centered and then at the end, it’s apparently incredible.”

Bucky stops short and looks at you, “Really? You’re telling everyone about it?”

You shrug and smile, “I mean, yeah? Why not? It’s not like they don’t know we have sex, Buck. We’ve been dating for a while now.”

“Yeah, and we hear you sometimes. It will be nice to have silence for a month,” Yelena quips, sipping her coffee and eyeing Bucky.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair and preparing his own cup. “Fine.”

By the end of the day, everyone in the Watchtower knows about you and Bucky’s little challenge. John gave Bucky a nod and flexed his bicep as Bucky walked into the gym that afternoon - a silent show of support. Bucky sighed and popped his headphones in. As he’s doing squats, a large body appears behind him and waves in the mirror. Bucky grunts and hangs up the bar, taking out an earphone. 

“What do you want?” He asks gruffly.

“Winter Soldier… I hear it’s going to be dry month for you! No snow in forecast,” Alexei jokes, his face turning red from holding back laughter.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky groans, returning to his workout.

“You can do it. You are strong - resilient. You survive Hydra. You can survive no lovemaking for month, eh?” Alexei elbows Bucky in the ribs.

Bucky glares daggers at Alexei and he finally takes a hint, walking off.

Meanwhile, you are working out on the opposite end of the gym, chatting through your jog.

“You’ll do great,” Ava says, running on the treadmill next to you. “It’ll go by fast. Plus, if we get called to a mission, it’s not like you’ll have time anyway.”

“You’re right. Honestly, though, I just love the thought of making him squirm,” you tease.

“You would,” she laughs. “You guys are cute together.”

DAY TWO

After dinner you walk into the living room to find everyone crouched down around the coffee table. Bucky had gone out to get more snacks for your movie night. As soon as you walk into the room everyone stiffens and Bob swallows as his eyes dart back and forth between the coffee table and you.

“What’s going on, you guys?” You ask suspiciously, walking quickly to the table to find any evidence. John puts a small notebook with writing you can’t make out in his back pocket and Yelena scrapes some coins into her hand. “Oh, hi girl,��� she says, an attempt at nonchalance. “What movie should we watch tonight?” 

You narrow your eyes at them all - your teammates, your friends - and cross your arms. “Bob, what’s going on?” 

“Uh,” he stammers, looking around at everyone. “We were, uh, just… uh, making a list of movies we haven’t seen yet.” 

“Really?” You ask, putting your hand out and looking at John. “Give me the notebook.” John stands up quickly and backs away. 

“No,” he scoffs, backing into a wall. “It’s just a list of movies. I swear.” 

You see Alexei’s body shaking with laughter out of the corner of your eye and turn toward him. “What’s so funny?” 

“I cannot say,” he chuckles, running a hand through his beard. 

“Alexei Shostakov, tell me now,” you demand, walking over to him. Bucky walks in at that moment, two grocery bags of snacks in hand and assesses the room. 

“Is everything ok?” He asks, putting the bags down on the kitchen island.

“No!” You whine. “They are up to something!” You gesture to the team. 

“You mean the bets?” Bucky asks casually as he starts to unpack the bags.

Your skin heats and you crane your neck to look at him. “What bets?”

“The bets on our challenge,” he explains, and Yelena and Ava groan. John throws the tiny notebook on the coffee table. “What the hell, Bucky? She wasn’t supposed to know!” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Doesn’t matter anyway. She’s gonna lose.” 

Your heart skips a furious beat and you march over to him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You demand. 

“Our challenge. You’re going to cave first,” he explains calmly, handing you an Oreo.

“We place bets,” Alexei says, walking over to grab a bag of Twizzlers. “We all agree that you cave first. You lose.”

“Are you kidding me?!” You shout, looking at everyone. “Glad to know you all think so highly of me. I’m going to win just to spite you all.” The team laughs, knowing you aren’t truly upset. 

You turn toward Bucky and stand on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Prepare for the worst 30 days of your life.” Bucky chuckles, but you notice the hair on his forearm stand on end.

“I look forward to winning,” he quips back, his lips brushing your ear.

DAY THREE

Tonight you and Bucky head to the gym to do your new nightly yoga routine. You changed into shorts and a sports bra - your red set that he loves - and set your mats up. He saunters in, gym shorts slung dangerously low on his hips and no shirt. 

“Ready to get all stretched out?” He asks, dimming the lights. 

You scoff at his suggestive comment and settle onto your mat. “Yep,” you answer quickly, still annoyed about the bets.

“Good, I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he mutters, sitting on the mat across from you. “Take it away, sweetheart.”

You lead, talking about each position and how to breathe through them. You glance over at Bucky during downward facing dog and see him checking out your ass in your yoga shorts. 

“Next up is called the happy baby pose,” you say, lying on your back. “You bring your legs up and grab your feet with your hands, like this.” You demonstrate, spreading your legs and grabbing your feet. Bucky’s throat bobs as he watches you model the pose and then he clears his throat.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re not slick,” he groans. “I’m not falling for your tricks.”

“You’re right. It’s not like you haven’t seen me in this position before. Many times,” you say with a wink. Bucky grabs his feet and follows your lead, stretching into the pose. His eyes find their way to you again.

“Enjoying the view?” You ask, looking over at him. 

“Fuck yeah I am,” he growls before shutting his eyes. “But I’m winning this damn thing.”

You groan and sit up. “Fine.”

Bucky chuckles and you finish your last few poses before rolling up your mats. There’s a light sheen of sweat covering his back and you lick your lips. Fuck - look away.

DAY FOUR

Bed sharing was not without its difficulties. Cuddling was second nature at this point in your relationship, and many times the spooning and soft snuggles led to more. But not this month. You were not going to break first. Bucky pulled you into his chest, still half asleep, and nuzzled into your neck as morning light filtered into your shared bedroom. His breath on your skin sent an immediate jolt of pleasure between your legs and you knew you were in the Danger Zone. 

“Time to get up!” You announce more loudly than normal, squirming out of his arms. You turn to look at him, and damn if he wasn’t a God among men. “Fuck,” you whisper, knowing this was going to be a lot harder than you thought. But it would all be worth it. Right?

You walk down to breakfast and see Yelena and John sitting at the table, while Bob is in the kitchen cutting up some fruit. 

“Morning,” they all three say in unison, and John stealthily removes his tiny notebook from his pocket. You see the movement from the corner of your eye and glare at him. “Really, John?” 

“Well?” Yelena asks, waiting for details. 

“Jesus, guys. Nothing happened,” you say, reaching into the pantry for a box of Cheerios. “Sorry to disappoint. We’re still holding strong.”

DAY FIVE

“You’re doing a hell of a job rearranging furniture,” Bucky quips from the office off of the living room. 

“I’m trying a new arrangement - the feng shui is off in here,” you mutter, pushing the couch a few inches to the left. “Everyone else will like it, too. Don’t worry,” you say. 

“Oh, I’m not worried, doll - I’m just watching,” he leans back in his desk chair and winks. “Maybe it’s not the feng shui that’s off. Maybe you’re just missing something.”

Just a wink - just that little smirk sends heat flooding to your core. Fucking Bucky. Well, you wish you were. But here you are, arranging furniture just to feel something. 

“Try moving the coffee table a little to the right,” he quips, fully watching you now, his legs spread in his chair, his arousal obvious. You want to pounce on him. 

“Stop teasing me, you prick,” you whine, turning your back to him. 

“Stop teasing me in those fucking leggings, then,” he says gruffly, walking out to you, eyes dark.

He looks feral. Like a wild animal - a hungry wild animal. A hungry, horny wild animal. Jesus. Your thighs clench together as he stands behind you, barely touching you. “You need some help with this?” 

“Yes,” you admit. “Thank you. And stop breathing so close to me.”

He smiles and walks to the other side of the coffee table, helping you lift it with ease. “Where to?” 

You groan under the weight of the table and nod your head to the right, “Just this way.” You let out a sigh as you both set down the table and Bucky’s lips twitch into a smirk. “I’ve been missing that sound.”

“What sound?” You ask, confused. Bucky walks to you and gets in your personal space without laying a hand on you. 

“All your little sighs, your groans and moans, your fucking whimpers, you saying my name… Hell, you not being able to say anything because your mouth is full. I need to hear it.” He tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His dark blue eyes are stormy and full of want.

“Are you breaking first, then?” You tease, leaning up to softly kiss his lips.

“Never,” he whispers into your mouth before breaking away. He chuckles and adjusts himself before walking back to the office, leaving you there aching and full of need. Asshole.

DAY SIX

You walk to the garage to find Bucky working on his bike - tight black t-shirt, rag slung over his shoulder, and the smell of sweat and grease in the air. Nope. Nope nope nope. You turn back around, knowing you won’t be able to take this view without jumping on him. 

“Where you off to, baby?” He asks before you get back to the door, wiping his hands on the rag. 

“I was just looking for… a paintbrush. It’s not here,” you say, hand on the doorknob, eager to escape this honey trap.

“Could you bring me some water please? It’s getting hot out here,” he asks sweetly, and you now notice the sweat dripping down his temples and neck, pooling into the hollow of his throat.

“Uh huh,” you squeak out, rushing back into the compound to get you both some water. Your throat felt so dry all of a sudden - so thirsty. You steel yourself before walking back into the garage, and when you open the door you find your precious, evil man standing over his motorcycle, wiping his sweaty face clean with his t-shirt. His abs and biceps glisten in the sun shining through the open garage door. 

“Thank you,” he says gruffly, reaching for the water bottle. He takes the cap off slowly, eyes never leaving yours, and takes a long drink, humming quietly as the cool water goes down his throat. 

“You’re welcome baby,” you say, sitting down on an overturned bucket, feeling your knees getting weaker with each passing second.

“Would you hand me that wrench?” He asks, gesturing to the workbench covered in tools. You move your hand to what you think he’s asking for and he shakes his head. “The one to the left. There ya go. Good girl.” You pick up the wrench and promptly drop it on the floor at his praise.

“You okay?” He asks with a smirk. This motherfucker.

“Honestly?” You ask, about to combust.

“Honestly,” he encourages you with a wink.

“I need you to bend me over and make me forget my name,” you admit confidently.

He laughs and bites his lip. “You caving?” 

“I’m caving,” you say with a shrug. “I need you.”

“Get your ass upstairs, then. I’ll be up in a second,” he growls.

“But I can’t lose! Everyone was betting that I’d cave first!” You whine, standing up and kicking the bucket like a child.

“Then we’ll tell them I caved first,” he says quietly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You’d do that?” You ask in amazement, ready to let him have you however he wanted.

“I just want to hear you sigh my name into my neck, baby. I could give a shit about some bets… Now, get upstairs. Take off that pretty dress. Lay on the bed. I’ll be there in five.”

You fly back inside and run upstairs to your bedroom, the ache building between your legs. You strip off your dress and get under the covers to wait for Bucky.

Bucky walks inside the compound calmly and washes the grease and grime from his hands. His dick is already hard, and frankly, he’s a bit pissed at the days that went to waste when he could have been buried inside you. He makes his way to your room and passes John.

“You look like a man on a mission,” John jokes, taking in Bucky’s focused saunter and dark eyes.

“I am,” he mutters, walking past John to your bedroom.

He walks through the door and closes it abruptly behind him.

“I’m sorry. This challenge was a dumb idea,” you admit, pulling the covers up to your chin. “I need you. I miss you.”

“It was a strange idea, love. I’ll agree, but the yoga has been nice. I love seeing you in all those positions,” he whispers, getting on the bed with you and pinning your wrists above your head.

“You’re not going to go easy on me, are you?” You ask, biting your lip and trembling. 

“Not even a little bit,” he growls.

–

After you both thoroughly and completely fail the challenge (twice to be exact), you head downstairs for dinner with the team. John already has his notebook on the dining table propped open with a pen. You try your best not to make eye contact with anyone. 

“You guys do anything fun this afternoon?” Yelena asks, raising a brow.

“Just watched a TV show together,” you answer almost too quickly. 

“What show?” Bob asks genuinely.

“Golden Girls,” Bucky says at the exact moment you say “The West Wing”. You clear your throat and correct yourself, “Golden Girls”, just as Bucky says “The West Wing”.

“We watched both,” you say with a nervous laugh, putting some green beans on your plate.

Yelena walks over to get a plate and looks at Bucky. “James, your shirt is on inside out.”

John snorts from the dining table and you look at him warily, then to Bucky. 

“Oh, yeah, it is,” Bucky looks down and shrugs, filling his plate and walking to the table. “What’s so funny, Walker?” 

“You guys obviously caved. We just need to know who,” Ava says quietly, rolling her eyes.

Bucky scoffs. “It was me. She’s just too cute. Couldn’t help myself,” he says as he plants a kiss on your head. “Everyone happy?” 

Bob’s eyes light up from the end of the table and he shouts excitedly, “I was right!” 

Your eyes flit up to meet him. “You believed in me, Bob? That’s so nice actually.”

“Of course I did. Barnes never shuts the hell up about you. I knew he’d cave first. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you to-”

“That’s enough,” Bucky interjects. “I caved first. Let’s move on and enjoy dinner.” He looks at you slyly and winks before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I’ll always take the blame for you, sweetheart. But you’re going to pay me back later with your mouth.”

Your thighs constrict and you gasp quietly. Poor Bob. Awful at placing bets, but he’d never have to know.

[kuidore]

Zoeystery headcanons ✧ KPOP Demon Hunters ✧ Zoey x Mystery

✧ ultimate yapper girl x listener boy

✧ He thought she was cute the moment he saw her bouncing her shoulders to soda pop while Rumi and Mira glared at her

✧ he’s not shy, just quiet. he just isn’t used to being human, and it tires him out a lot more than the others.

✧ He slowly feels like he’s actually relearning his humanity with Zoey, not just going through the motions of a human life like he had felt doing the idol thing

✧ Zoey gets anxious that people aren’t listening to her if they get too quiet. She’s used to being mid-ramble, asking a question, and not getting a response because the person tuned out and she didn’t realize

✧ after the first time she asks Mystery if he’s listening, he starts letting out noises of acknowledgement to reassure her while she’s talking so she doesn’t have to lose her train of thought

✧ he wants her to know that he’s listening very intently, and will sometimes even just say it out loud when he doesn’t have a better comment to make

✧ Zoey thinks it’s adorable, and she slowly feels less and less uncomfortable rambling for hours about television or animals or the songs she wanted to write

✧ She eventually just naturally stops apologizing for rambling or being too over the top, to him and to other people

✧ He starts getting better at conversations, but only with her. He asks social questions he used to think were stupid or boring or useless, because she’s the only one whose answers he actually wants to hear

✧ Mystery remembers nothing from his actual life on earth before the demon realm, and that doesn’t change even as he gets more comfortable as a ‘human’

✧ He couldn’t care less. He outright tells Zoey that it “leaves more room in my brain for the memories we make”

✧ she has to excuse herself from the room for a moment and yell into a pillow about how cute he is

✧ He can hear her doing it. when she comes back with a notebook he’s smiling wider than she thought he was even capable of

✧ she sits him down and they make a bucket list of everything she can think of that she considers “necessary to the human experience”, no matter how small

✧ she feels bad about being *excited* over his amnesia, but she can’t help but chatter about how she was going to be ‘introducing him to all this new stuff!’

✧ items on this list include but are not limited to; seeing the ocean in person, finding a really cool rock that you wanna keep forever, going to the bathhouse, and spending an entire day on the couch

✧ Mystery doesn’t really see what’s interesting about any of it, but he agrees because he wants Zoey to go with him

✧ He likes it, mostly because *she* likes it. He could be literally stranded in the arctic, if Zoey was finding a way to have fun he would be able to do it too. His number one idea of ‘fun’ is just… being around her.

✧ Mystery constantly wants to have Zoey on his lap/between his legs/sitting in literally any position where he can wrap his entire body around her from behind and rest his chin on her shoulder.

✧ he falls asleep like this fairly often. Zoey calls him her weighted blanket

✧ in general they both sleep a lot, they take afternoon naps together almost every day

✧ After enough time he’s got basically everything human down besides the ‘not barking at people who get too close to Zoey for his comfort’

✧ that one is an active choice. He has absolutely no intention of stopping that one

✧ bad saja boy became bad Mystery fairly quickly

✧ He pouts every time she says it. At first she felt bad about it, but eventually she started to find it cute

✧ he’ll sit with his head in her lap while she writes lyrics. She’s always patting his head and playing with his hair while mumbling about how soft it is.

✧ one day he realizes the whole time she’s been avoiding his bangs, and he grabs her hand and moves them away himself so she can see his face when she isn’t actively trying to kill him

✧ “You already know what I look like. I don’t care. If it’s just you.”

✧ She’s so giddy she grabs him and kisses him for the first time, and they’re both a little shocked by it

✧ it was the first time she saw him blush and she immediately became determined to make him do it as much as possible.

✧ She already has a notebook of things he likes and dislikes so she can remember (she has ones for Rumi and Mira too obvi)

✧ she adds a section to Mystery’s for things that make him blush

✧ she’s studying this guy like a bug and he secretly likes it

✧ He keeps the bangs cause most of the time he’s just so unable to control his own facial expressions that he would probably get into a fight in public

✧ but he starts pinning them back when he’s with Zoey

[iamactuallysocute]

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER

PLOT: So here you are, the sweet little assistant to HUNTR/X. Not anything like Bobby, no. You’re the only human they let in on their secret of being hunters, and your job is to help them out the best you can. Fetching the weapons, patching up wounds, memorizing demon looking ppl, preferably without fighting because you’re ass at that. You’re smart, sweet, know what will the girls do next.

Which is exactly why the Saja Boys decided to kidnap your ass.

Oh, they still look like a wet dream, don’t get that twisted. But they deadass snatched you up because you know too much. You know how the girls work. You know where they’re going, what they’re planning, how to hurt them.

Except, you won’t talk. Not even when they tried. And oh, they tried. Little threats. Little games. Little moments that left bruises.

Now? You’re a guest in their fancy-fancy high-rise apartment in the human world that they have so they don’t have to go back and forth between worlds. More like their prisoner, but the fridge is stocked and you’re not chained anymore.

cw: implied female reader, kidnapping situation, a shit ton of cursing, Romance being a flirt, a boner, mentions of sex, Mystery being curious about your body, boys being boys and fucking with you

You stand at the sleek marble counter, a knife in your hand, slicing through a peach.

Behind you, Romance’s laugh fills the room, deep, as Mystery literally tackles him over the back of the couch. They hit the floor with a heavy thud, limbs tangled, and Mystery growls.

Romance? He’s grinning. Loving every second.

“Damn, if you wanted to get me on my back you could’ve just asked.” he purrs, voice smooth.

Mystery’s response is to sink his teeth—actually sink his teeth—into Romance’s shoulder.

“Fuck—ah, yes, harder!” Romance groans dramatically, shoving at Mystery’s face but clearly not trying to get him off.

You just keep cutting your peach, the juice sticky on your fingers.

Abby’s sprawled in an armchair, bouncing a stress ball off the wall hard enough you’re certain he’ll crack the plaster. He’s wearing a tank top that shows off his arms and his attention span is shot to shit. He’s been drumming his fingers, cracking his neck, muttering to himself about needing to do something.

Baby’s on the floor, cross-legged, looking at his phone what he grew to love so so so much since they figured it out. He actually looks like he has no idea what’s going on but doesn’t care anyway.

Jinu is in the kitchen, not far from you, sipping tea like none of this is happening. His hair’s still a little damp from a shower, and he looks… normal. Calm. Like he could be your neighbor, the guy who helps carry your groceries.

He notices you’re out of reach of the fruit bowl and slides it closer without a word.

“Thanks.” you mutter, not looking up.

Not forgetting that you fucking HATE his guts!!

“You’re welcome.”

And that’s the thing with Jinu. He’s nice. Too nice.

You slice another piece of peach. Try to pretend you don’t hear Romance moaning as Mystery bites him again.

Baby snorts quietly, still scrolling.

You just keep slicing fruit, silent, petty, waiting for the moment they let their guard down. Not happening.

Romance walks over eventually, leaning against the counter next to you. His scent hits you—fuck you in the ass it’s good. Why does it have to be good?

“Need help with that, angel?” he murmurs, voice like velvet, fingers brushing a piece of peach off your plate and popping it into his mouth.

You don’t look at him. “Fuck off.”

“Alrighty.”

He doesn’t move though.

Mystery, now perched on the arm of the couch, watches the two of you , you’d guess. You can’t see those fuckass eyes.

You remember the first meet.

God. The girls just finished, you gave them all the luxury they could ever need then went back to your apartment. Exhausted. Filthy. You got home, peeled off your clothes, stepped into that shower, and thought—finally. Finally, you could breathe.

Then, a bold whistle from behind you.

You turned your head, soap stinging your eyes, and there was….

Drumroll…

🥁🥁🥁

Romance.

Yes indeed, the fucker whistled.

You froze. Completely naked, completely vulnerable. He moved fast—too fast—hand over your mouth, body pressed up to the shower glass.

“Don’t scream. We’re just gonna have a little chat.”

You wanted to kick him. You really did. But he had you pinned, all casual, like this was just another Tuesday for him.

“Options.” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek like he was trying to soothe you. “You tell me what I wanna know. Or—and I like this one better—I take you with me.”

You glared at him. You hated him.

(Since your girls did too and know he’s a demon but anyway)

But what could you do? Naked, trapped, outmatched. So you nodded. Let him hand you a towel. Let him grin when you dressed in whatever you could grab. Let him walk you out of your own damn apartment like he was your date for the night.

You snap back to now, slicing that peach a little too hard. The knife hits the cutting board with a sharp thunk.

Romance notices. Of course he notices. He always notices.

“Careful, baby. Gonna hurt yourself.” he teases, snagging another piece of fruit from your plate like he has every right.

You don’t answer. Just cut another slice, the peach juice sticky on your fingers.

Then there was the time you tried to run.

You’d waited until late. Until they were sprawled out, arguing over anything, distracted by their own bullshit. You’d crept to the door, so quiet. Almost made it.

Baby caught you. Not with strength. With a simple:

“Hm?”

And then Jinu was there. Calm. Closing the door gently. Taking your arm, leading you back.

“Don’t do that, okay?” he’d said, as if you’d just made a small mistake. Like it wasn’t a big fucking deal.

Romance had clapped you on the back when you were forced to sit back down. “A+ for effort, though.”

Slice. Slice. Another piece of peach.

Mystery’s watching you now. Not saying anything, just watching. His head tilted, into your direction.

You finish slicing the peach. Set the knife down.

Romance steals another piece, grinning at you over it.

Mystery growls under his breath at the whole thing.

Abby’s already forgotten about you, too busy flicking Baby’s ear to annoy him.

Jinu’s watching you quietly, you’d guess. Don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

You remember that time you bit Romance.

God, the nerve of him. You were done—so done—with him always getting too close.

D-O-N-E.

That time, when he cornered you to get things out of you. “C’mon, angel, just tell me a little secret. Just one. I’ll owe you.” He’d said. “You’re so tense. I can help with that…”

And you just snapped. Lunged in and bit his arm as hard as you could.

And the fucker?

The fuck?

He winked at you.

Didn’t pull away. Didn’t cuss you out. Just grinned like you’d given him a gift. “Easy, girl.” he said, voice low, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of him. “Didn’t know you liked it rough.”

You wanted to scream. Instead, you glared and tried to yank free, and he let you—only because he felt like it. Not because you could have escaped him.

You organize the little peaches on your plate. They looked quite cute.

You tried to stand your ground once.

Told Abby to back off, to leave you alone. And what did he do?

He laughed. That easy, bright, warm laugh like you’d just told him a joke. Then he slung his arm around your shoulders and practically dragged you down the hall like you were his best bud.

“You’re funny as hell.” he said, ruffling your hair like you weren’t glaring daggers at him. “C’mon.”

Asshole.

“Where you think you’re going, superstar?” he’d teased last time, when you made it to the elevator and thought, for one sweet second, you were free.

You’d fought. Kicked. Swore.

And he’d just laughed, hoisting you up like you weighed nothing. Carried you back down the hall like you were some drunk friend at a party, not a prisoner.

“C’mon now. You know you’re not going anywhere. Let’s not make it weird.”

Baby shifts where he’s sitting, lazy as ever, glancing up from his phone just long enough to take a sassy look at you.

Then there was time they played good cop/bad cop on you.

Mystery had you cornered in the kitchen. Not even saying anything—just standing there, too close. You’d tried to sidestep him. He’d mirrored the move, blocking you without touching.

And then Romance walked in. All relaxed, all casual. Slid in between you and Mystery, arm around your waist like it was his right.

“Ease up.” he said to Mystery, but his hand tightened on your side. “She’s not gonna run. Are you, angel?”

You bite into a piece of peach now.

Or there’s the night you tried to lock yourself in a room.

Abby broke the door down. Just… busted it open like it was made of cardboard.

“Don’t do that, babe.” he said, happy af, picking you up like you weighed nothing and carrying you back to the main room. “You’re gonna make us feel bad, hiding like that.”

You’d pounded at his chest. Tried to fight.

And he’d just laughed again, so warm, so easy, like you were play-wrestling.

You put the cutting board back, close the cabinet a little too hard.

There are also mind games. Oh, the fucking mind games.

Like how Jinu always helps. Always so polite, so considerate. Slips a glass of water into your hand when you’re too angry to ask. Pulls out a chair for you. Puts a blanket over you when you fall asleep

(and yeah, you pretended to be asleep that time. sue you, you were cold).

And it gets in your head. Makes you second-guess your hate. Makes you wonder if maybe he’d let you go if you just asked nicely enough. Makes you forget, for a second, that he’s the one who seals the doors behind you.

Or how Baby never speaks to you unless it’s to cut you down.

That time you begged, just once, just quietly, just to Baby because the others were too busy fucking around, you asked him to help you slip out.

And he’d looked at you. Just looked. And smiled that tiny, mean smile of his.

“Cute that you think anyone here gives a fuck what you want.”

Yeah, when he doesn’t currently not give a fuck about what’s happening around him, this is what you’ll get of him. Allat pretty face is a waste, fr.

You wipe down the counter, scrubbing too hard, like you can erase their fingerprints from your space.

And Mystery.

Mystery, who’s so feral you almost thought you could use that. That maybe he was the weak link. That maybe his violence meant he didn’t care about the plan, that he’d let you go just to spite the others.

But no.

Like the time you tried to sneak a phone off the coffee table, thinking no one was looking.

Mystery had crossed the room in a blink, snatched it out of your hand, and grabbed your jaw so fast your ears rang.

His nails had pricked your skin. His breath had been hot, his growl low.

“Don’t.”

One word. That’s all. And then he let go like you were nothing. Like you didn’t even matter enough to punish.

You open the fridge, shove the plate in, close it again like the slam of the door can drown out the noise in your head.

You turn, walk closer to them in the living room so you look more genuine, sweet like sugar because you can’t help it. That’s just how you sound.

“Can I use the sauna?” you ask.

No one says anything for half a beat.

Jinu the asshole the FUCKING asshole hums. “In exchange for some information, you know. Tell us a thing or two.”

You groan. Actually groan. And before you can stop yourself, you do the tiniest, most frustrated little kick at the air. Just a flick of your foot, like you’re trying to shake off the annoyance. Just a little kick. Adorable, really. A stupid, tiny burst of frustration because this is so fucking unfair and they know it.

And that’s when Abby, quick, grabs your leg mid-kick.

“Gotcha.” he says, voice bright. And the worst part? He doesn’t even look at you. He’s already turned back to whatever dumb shit they’re talking about, your ankle resting in his grip.

And now you’re there, balancing on one foot, arms out a little to steady yourself.

“Abby—let go—!”

But he’s not paying you any mind. His fingers loose but firm around your ankle, like he could crush it if he felt like it, but he’s just holding it.

As if you’re some toy he forgot he was playing with. Fucking asshole.

Romance sees the opportunity immediately. He slides closer, slow, a finger tapping at your knee, then your thigh, all innocent and infuriating. “Look at you. One foot. So talented.”

You swat at him, trying to push him away, but that just makes him laugh.

Mystery, meanwhile, is staring at your leg. Head tilted, curious. Like he can’t decide if he wants to pounce on it or just… study it. It’s been a while since he’s seen a human girl this close. That’s obvious in the way his gaze lingers too long on the shape of your calf, the flex of your foot as you wobble.

Baby is absolutely checking out your ass.

Not even trying to hide it.

One glance over his phone, those eyes sliding down, a little smirk ghosting at the corner of his mouth before he looks back at his screen like he’s the innocent one here.

You hop a little, trying to tug your leg free, still balancing awkwardly. “Abby—seriously!”

But Abby just laughs, chatting with Jinu, your leg still in his grip.

Romance pokes at you again. This time at your side, grinning when you squirm. “Careful, sweetheart. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

You try to stomp your other foot, frustrated beyond words, but you’re already jumping on one leg, and that just makes all of them snicker.

“Abby!”

“Hmm?” His voice is unbothered, eyes still not on you. “Oh. Right. Forgot I was holding you.”

Liar.

“Nah, c’mon—tell us a secret.” Abby says.

You tug.

He doesn’t budge.

“Abby.” you hiss.

But it’s useless.

Romance pokes you in the side, fascinated by the way your curves move.

“Stop it—” you try to swat at him, but you’re too busy trying not to fall flat on your ass.

Romance laughs, brushing your hand aside easily. His fingers brush your free ankle lightly, just to mess with you, and you nearly lose your balance again.

“Seriously, let go.” you snap, hopping on your one foot, trying to twist free.

But Abby’s grip is firm, not tight enough to hurt, just impossible to break.

He still isn’t looking at you. Instead, he’s grinning at Romance. “Hey, look at this—” he lifts your foot slightly, turning it in his hand like he’s inspecting it “—her foot’s like half the size of yours.”

Romance, of course, is lining his foot up next to yours while you’re still caught there, balancing. His grin is all teeth. “Tiny.” he says, delighted.

You’re burning up with embarrassment now, face hot, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. You’re jumping a little, trying to shake your foot loose, but all it does is make Romance poke at you more, fingers brushing your calf, your ankle, your side.

“Stop it!” you snap, swatting at him, but you can’t even aim right on one foot.

Baby doesn’t even hide it anymore. He leans back, arms crossed, eyes flicking between your legs, your ass, your face, enjoying every second of this humiliation.

“Alright, c’mon now.” Abby says, finally glancing at you. “Give us a little intel, and you can go steam yourself all you want.”

You’re about to lose your balance for real—arms flailing slightly, heel of your standing foot sliding on the polished floor—when finally, finally, Jinu’s voice cuts through the mess.

“You can use the sauna.” he says simply, with a small nod, like it should’ve been obvious all along.

“There you go, superstar.” Abby lets go, laughing under his breath as if this was all in good fun. You stumble, catch yourself on the couch, heart pounding, face flushed.

Romance grins, hands up like he’s innocent. “See? All you had to do was ask.”

Baby smirks, looking back down at his phone as if he wasn’t just ogling you.

Mystery sinks back onto the couch arm, still watching, but at least he isn’t about to lunge anymore.

You straighten, brushing your hands down your sides, trying to regain a scrap of dignity.

“Thanks.” you mutter, shooting a glare at the rest of them before turning on your heel and heading toward the sauna.

Romance leans back, hands up like he’s innocent. “Enjoy yourself, angel.”

Baby gives you one last look, and Mystery’s head follows you until you’re out of reach.

You huff, fixing your clothes, dignity in shambles as you stomp toward the sauna.

God, you hate them.

God, they’re fucking hilarious.

God, you hate that you almost laughed too.

Alright, so there you are. Finally. Finally in the sauna.

You thought maybe—maybe—you could steal this one small victory. After all the shit they put you through, the teasing, the games, the constant pushing and pulling, you’d gotten away.

The heat envelops you, thick, fogging up the glass as you sit there, knees tucked up, towel clutched tight to your chest.

Your heartbeat’s just starting to slow. Your breathing evens out. The sweat begins to bead at your temples, trickle down your neck, and for a blissful minute, you think:

peace.

And then.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You freeze. Eyes snap to the glass door.

Abby and Romance.

Side by side, standing just outside the sauna with the most shit-eating grins you’ve ever seen.

And god help you,

they’re in nothing but towels.

Romance has his slung low on his hips, arms crossed behind his head. Like he knew what this would do to you. His eyes meet yours through the steam, and his grin somehow widens.

Abby’s hitched up carelessly at his waist, and he’s leaning against the glass with both hands, forehead pressed against it, breathing patterns making little clouds on the surface.

And because he’s Abby and he’s got no shame, he leans in further until his abs are smushed up against the glass too, leaving perfect imprints of his ridiculous physique.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Romance’s knuckle on the door this time, slow and rhythmic, like they’ve got all the time in the world.

These bastards have nothing but time. And you? You’re the best entertainment they’ve had in centuries. Three hundred years of whatever suffering Gwi-ma put them through, until you.

And you can tell. You can see it in their faces, the way they’re lit up like kids on Christmas morning. The way they’re making a game out of this. The way they’re not just keeping you prisoner, they’re enjoying every second of it, like you’re their favorite new toy.

“Baby girl.” Romance calls, voice muffled through the glass, drawing the words out like a slow melody. He knocks again, forehead resting against the glass, leaning down a little so his eyes are level with yours. “Come on. Don’t be like that.”

(Guys I don’t mean baby girl in a weird way I promiseeeee)

Abby starts whining. Full-on whining, dragging out the vowels like he’s the one being tortured here.

“Pleeeaaaseee. Let us in. Don’t hog all the steam. You know it’s rude.”

Your grip on your towel tightens. You shake your head, glaring, but that just seems to make them more determined.

Romance is flattening his palms against the glass, leaning his weight forward, so casual.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” he purrs. “It’s not safe to sauna alone. What if you pass out? What if you get too hot?” His voice drops lower, dripping with mock concern. “We’d hate for something bad to happen to you.”

You point at them through the foggy glass. “Stay out.”

They’re having the time of their lives.

Abby’s face is smushed against the door now, nose flattened, grinning so hard you can see the crinkle of his eyes even through the fog. He slides down slightly so his chest presses up too, leaving an actual print on the glass that you’re sure you’ll see in your nightmares.

“Come oooonnnn.” he drags out, hands sliding down the glass with exaggerated despair. “It’s lonely out here. It’s cold.”

“Yeah.” Romance chimes in, knocking his knuckles lightly again, rhythm playful. “So cold. We’re shivering.”

Neither of them looks the least bit cold. They look like gods, golden and gleaming in the low light, all muscle.

Abby presses his forehead right next to Romance’s, their faces squished together, two idiots united in their mission to annoy the living shit out of you. His abs are still plastered to the glass, leaving sweaty smudges in their shape.

Romance starts dragging out words like he’s dying of heartbreak. “Weeeee just waaaant to reeeelaaax.”

And then, before you can stop it, the door creaks open.

Romance’s hand is already on the handle. Abby’s pushing through behind him, grinning.

“You—” you start, clutching your towel tighter, scooting back like that’s going to help.

Romance plops down way too close, towel barely clinging on, stretching his long legs out. He leans back, hands braced behind him, turning his head to look at you with that maddening, lazy smile.

Abby flops down on your other side, sighing like he’s just found heaven, spreading out. He stretches his arms up, rolls his shoulders, all muscle.

“This is much better.” Abby says cheerfully.

“Yeah.” Romance agrees, eyes glinting with as he studies you, watching the way you clutch your towel like it’s the only thing saving your dignity. “See? Cozy.”

You glare at them both, heart hammering so loud you’re sure they can hear it over the hiss of the steam.

“You could’ve waited.” you mutter, trying to inch away without actually standing and risking… well, anything.

Romance leans in slightly, close enough that you can see the bead of sweat trailing down his temple, the curve of his smirk.

Then, these assholes giggle.

Giggle.

Big, strong, terrifying demons who could rip a man apart in seconds, sitting on either side of you, legs sprawled, water dripping down their ridiculously perfect bodies—and giggling like schoolgirls who just found a crush’s diary.

Romance leans forward, glancing at Abby, his grin wide and boyish and so fucking irritating. His hair’s still damp, little droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw, catching in the hollow of his throat before disappearing below that towel hanging far too low on his hips.

Abby snorts, eyes crinkling, that same big, bright grin that makes it impossible to stay mad at him for long—no matter how much you want to. He’s got one arm thrown over the back of the bench.

“I feel relaxed already.” Abby teases, voice low and warm.

And the giggling starts again. Little bursts of it, like they can’t believe their luck.

You press your back against the wall, eyes narrowed, clutching your towel so hard you might leave permanent wrinkles in the fabric. You feel the heat rising higher in your cheeks now, but it’s not from the sauna.

Because they’re close. So close you can feel the heat coming off them, not just the sauna’s heat but theirs. Like being caught between two furnaces.

Fuck them.

And they’re not just sitting there politely, minding their business. Oh no. Their gazes slide over you, undressing you with their eyes without a single ounce of shame.

Romance lets his gaze drop, lazily, from your flushed face to the slope of your shoulders, down the curve of your towel-clad body, he’s imagining exactly what’s under there. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

His mouth quirks up at the corner like he’s thoroughly enjoying the view.

Abby’s no better. His eyes trace you all the same. Like he’s taking mental snapshots, adding to whatever collection of moments he’s tucking away for the next time he’s bored at 3 a.m.

And it’s not subtle.

They’d hit that. No question. In a heartbeat.

Hell, Romance would have you against the sauna wall the second you blinked yes—if you blinked yes. The man has no shame. His lust, so open, so easy, it’s like breathing to him.

But that’s the thing about Romance—he knows the difference. Knows the difference between wanting to get you under him and wanting something real.

And somehow, that second thing? That’s creeping in now, too.

It’s not just the game anymore. Not just the fun of teasing you, seeing how red they can make you go, seeing how long they can keep you flustered before you snap.

It’s that you feel different.

You’re not like the other fleeting amusements they’ve found across centuries of boredom and bloodshed. You’re not just a pretty face they can toy with until it breaks.

You’re the most fun they’ve had in so long they’ve almost forgotten what fun is.

It’s growing. Quietly, steadily, in between all the teasing.

Romance, for all his shameless flirting, knows it too. His desire’s loud, sure, but this other feeling? This is different. It’s not about the chase, or the win, or the thrill of the moment. It’s about the way his heart kicks up when you roll your eyes at him, when you snap back, when you don’t fold.

And Abby? He’s the same. He laughs and plays and pokes, but somewhere in the cracks, something real’s settling in.

Something that isn’t just about keeping entertained.

You’re fun. You’re alive.

And in their endless stretch of centuries, that’s fun.

Because now, it’s not just about keeping you around for what you know.

Now, it’s about keeping you around because they want you around.

All those feelings for them, while just now, you had enough. Enough.

So you stand.

You push yourself up off the bench, clutching your towel, heart pounding, cheeks blazing, ready to make your exit.

But the second you straighten, the second you think you’ve reclaimed a scrap of dignity, Abby decides otherwise.

Big, warm hands catch your wrist and waist at once, and before you can so much as yelp, he drags you right back down into his lap.

“Ah-ah. Where you goin’, babe?” he says, voice all smooth, like you’re a kitten trying to escape bath time. His grin’s wide, eyes sparkling with that boyish light that makes you want to slap him and maybe kiss him just to wipe it off his face.

And there you are—your much smaller frame hauled back against him, towel still clutched to your chest, your legs draped awkwardly over his, skin burning where it meets his.

You squirm.

You kick and wiggle and slap at his arms, trying to peel yourself free, but it’s like fighting a brick wall that laughs at you.

“Let me go!” you snap, voice high with frustration, but you might as well be shouting at the wind.

Because Abby’s laughing now. Genuinely laughing, head tipped back a little, like this is the funniest shit he’s seen in decades.

Romance is no better. He’s doubled over, palm slapping the bench, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. That rich, boyish sound fills the sauna, echoing off the wood, making your cheeks burn hotter.

You kick again, trying to shove at Abby’s chest, trying to slide off his lap, but he’s holding you tight, like it’s nothing.

Abby leans in a little, his grin crooked now, voice low and warm, the kind of tone that makes you want to hide.

“You’re makin’ this real hard for me, sweetheart.” he says, and there’s no mistaking the double meaning.

Your heart lurches.

And, oh—you feel it. You definitely feel it.

Right there, under you.

A huge fucking boner.

And instead of stopping—instead of being sensible—you kick more. You squirm harder. Your face is on fire, but you’re determined to break free, determined to make him pay for putting you in this position, even if it’s making everything so much worse.

Abby groans low in his throat, but it’s laced with laughter, like he knows exactly what you’re doing and loves it. Loves that you’re trying. Loves that you’re flustered and mad and completely powerless.

Romance is laughing so hard he can’t sit upright, folding over himself, practically wheezing, tears streaming down his cheeks, pointing at you both like he can’t believe how lucky he is to witness this.

You give one more valiant wiggle, slap at Abby’s arm, and finally—finally—he lets go. Though maybe because he’s too worked up to keep playing

“Alright, alright.” he says, laughing, lifting his hands in surrender. “You win, babe. Go on.”

You shoot up like your life depends on it, clutching your towel so tight your fingers ache, hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, chest heaving. You glare down at both of them, cheeks blazing, trying to regain a shred of dignity.

Abby is the picture of innocence now. One leg up to hide his hard on, arms draped across the back of the bench, looking for all the world like he’s just a guy enjoying a sauna and not someone who just very nearly got dry-humped into oblivion by a squirming, furious human girl.

But of course, the second you’re upright, Romance leans forward, grinning wickedly, fingers grabbing for the edge of your towel.

“Just one little peek.” he says, and his hand shoots out, fingers hooking the edge of your towel.

You shriek, twisting away just in time, slapping his hands, stumbling toward the door. The towel stays on—thank god—but barely.

Romance collapses back onto the bench, grinning, breathless from laughing.

“Worth a shot.” he teases, voice low and sinful. “Next time, angel.”

You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re too busy marching toward the door, heart hammering, body burning, swearing to yourself you’ll never trust a sauna again.

And behind you, the sound of their laughter chases you all the way out.

You storm out of that sauna, towel clutched so tight it’s a wonder you haven’t shredded it by sheer force of will. Your heart’s hammering in your chest, skin blazing from more than just the steam, and you’re done. Done with Abby’s lap. Done with Romance’s bullshit. Done with them probably high fiving each other as you’re walking. Done with all of it.

You stomp barefoot across the marble floors, steam still rising from your skin, water droplets trailing behind you.

And then you hit the living room.

Jinu’s perched on the edge of the couch, looking every bit the composed, gentlemanly demon he always pretends to be—except for the fact that his eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight of you. His lips twitch at the corners, like he’s trying not to smile.

“You went in there with clothes on.” he says, voice mild. “I’m pretty sure of it.”

You don’t even slow down. You wave a hand at him, dismissive, furious, embarrassed beyond belief but way too stubborn to show it.

“Not now, Jinu.”

“Just pointing it out.” he says, and you can hear that gentle, teasing lilt in his voice now that somehow makes it worse. Like he’s the only one in this house capable of being nice to you, but he still can’t help poking at you when you’re like this.

You glance down just in time to see Mystery crouched slightly, head tilted, attention fixed on the hem of your towel.

His hand twitches, like he’s fighting the urge to just lift it and satisfy his curiosity.

“Mystery—”

You swat at him, fast, instinctive. Like shooing off a cat who’s about to knock over a glass.

He tries again.

“Mystery or whatever your fucking name is!”

Your voice pitches higher. You swat at him again, and this time he dodges.

Baby’s watching the whole thing from the arm of the couch, shoulders shaking as he laughs quietly.

You and Mystery keep up this ridiculous dance—him darting, trying to sneak a look, you batting him off.

Every time you think you’ve shaken him, he circles back around, silent, predatory.

“Mystery, stop it!” you hiss, stomping your foot, cheeks burning so hot you’re sure they must be glowing.

He actually listens. Pulls back just a bit, but not before giving you this tilt of his head—this weird, almost innocent curiosity, like he really, genuinely wants to know what’s up there. Not because he’s trying to be a creep. Just because he’s Mystery.

He leans back, hands up, like he was just wondering, like you can’t blame a guy for being curious.

You tug your towel tighter, shooting him a glare that promises violence if he tries it again.

Baby just tips his head back and laughs, soft and delighted.

You storm the rest of the way across the living room, muttering curses under your breath, knowing full well this won’t be the last time they pull this shit.

Because why would it be?

You’re the best fun they’ve had in centuries.

You slam the door to your room shut with more force than necessary, your heart still thundering in your chest.

The room’s quiet now. Blessedly quiet.

You take a deep breath, forcing your legs to move, crossing to the dresser where they’d dumped your things they got from there and there. You let the towel drop, pulling on fresh clothes.

But as you tug your shirt down and run a hand through your damp hair, the questions start creeping in.

Will you ever get out of here?

…Maybe.

You want to believe it. That there’s a crack in their plan, a way to slip past their too-quick hands. That somehow, the girls will come for you. That you’ll find your moment and take it. But looking at how they watch you, how they enjoy keeping you close? It’s hard to be sure.

Do the girls miss you?

Yes.

They have to. You’re not just some assistant with a clipboard and a coffee order. You’re the one who kept them safe, who watched their backs when they were too busy saving the world to watch their own. They have to notice you’re gone. Right?

Do the boys actually like you as a person?

Yes.

And that’s the most confusing part. Because it’s not just the teasing, the poking, they see you. Under all the sweet voice, the petty little kicks, the glares and the stubbornness, they see you. And somehow, they like what they see.

Is Romance always trying to get in your pants?

Yes.

But he also respects the game. And maybe, just maybe, he likes more than just what’s under your clothes.

Does Abby really think you’re cute when you fight him off?

Yes.

You see it in his smile, in the way his eyes soften when you kick and squirm and glare up at him.

Is Baby secretly rooting for you?

Absolutely so fucking yes.

He won’t say it. Won’t even crack more than that smirk. But you catch it, sometimes—in the tilt of his head, in the glint of his eye. He enjoys you. Enjoys watching you give them hell.

Is Mystery curious about you in ways he doesn’t understand?

Indeed.

It’s in every glance, every tilt of his head, every quiet lean-in. You’re new, he likes it.

Does Jinu really care?

Yeah.

The only one who treats you normally. The one who talks to you like you’re a person. The one who always seems to step in right before the others push you too far.

Are you actually safe here?

No.

Not really. Not from their games, their teasing, their endless curiosity about what makes you break. Not from the way they make your heart race, in anger or fear or something more dangerous you don’t want to name.

Are you in danger of falling for them, even a little?

…Maybe.

You flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, clothes rumpled and hair still damp, wondering how the hell you’re going to survive this. Wondering how you’re going to keep yourself from softening toward them when they look at you like that, when they laugh like that, when they treat you like this.

Will you ever stop hoping for a chance to escape?

No.

Not ever. Not even if they keep making you laugh when you shouldn’t. Not even if they’re the most fun you’ve ever had.

You’re getting out.

Somedays

But god—if they don’t make it hard to want to leave.

You lay there on that stupid, too-nice bed, staring up at the ceiling, the city lights leaking in through the blinds, casting stripes across your skin. And you think—fuck.

Because damn your empathy.

You should hate them. Every single one of them. For snatching you away from your life. For laughing at you when you fight back. For treating you like a kid. You should be plotting their downfall, hating the sound of their voices, the way they look at you, the way they keep you here.

But you don’t. Not really. Not deep down where it matters.

Because it hits you, lying there with your heart still racing and your body still warm from the sauna

They probably don’t know any better anymore.

It’s probably been hundreds of years since they had anything like this. Since they saw their mothers. Since they were boys, real boys, not demons, playing at being human on a stage with bright lights and screaming fans.

When was the last time they got tucked in at night, you wonder. When was the last time somebody made them soup when they were sick?

When was the last time they did human shit?

Jumped on a trampoline, if they ever had done that.

Had a snowball fight.

Built a fort and camped out in it.

Splashed each other in a pool until they were breathless with laughter, not because they were trying to drown each other but just because it was fun.

Ran barefoot through wet grass on a summer night, chasing bugs.

Sat on a rooftop with their best friend, eating about the future like it was some big, beautiful thing waiting for them.

The last time someone baked them a birthday cake and sang to them, even off-key?

God, when was the last time they had that?

You think about Romance, all charm and heat, with that constant flirt in his voice—when was the last time someone kissed him because they loved him, not because they were enchanted by his face?

You think about Abby, always teasing, strong enough to crush you but never does—when was the last time someone hugged him just because?

Baby, with not giving a fuck at anything—when was the last time someone gave him something with no strings attached?

Mystery. Ferocious, curious—when was the last time he felt safe enough to just exist?

Jinu. The only one who looks at you like you’re still a person, like maybe he remembers what it felt like to be one, too—when was the last time someone sat with him in silence, not because they wanted something but just because they liked him?

And you feel that damn softness bloom in your chest, that aching empathy that’s going to get you killed or worse.

Because you don’t blame them. Not really.

They’re lonely.

Lonely in a way you can’t even imagine, in a way that sinks into your bones and makes you hungry for anything real.

You’re not just a hostage, not really—not to them. You’re a spark of humanity in their endless dark, and they don’t want to let go.

And yeah, it’s selfish. It’s cruel, in its way. But can you really hate them for it?

Can you hate them for wanting to keep you close when the world left them behind centuries ago?

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face, trying to shove the thoughts away, trying to remind yourself—they kidnapped you. They’re using you. They’re playing with you because it entertains them.

But still.

You see the way they look at you when they think you’re not paying attention.

You see the way they light up when you kick back, when you glare, when you curse them out, when you fight—because maybe you’re the first thing in forever that’s real to them.

And goddamn it, you understand.

You don’t forgive. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But you understand.

Boys who laugh too hard when you fight them off because they don’t know how else to show they like you.

So yeah.

Fuck your empathy.

Because you see them. And you can’t unsee it.

[undyingdecay]

Hey I realized an ask I sent in a while back was kinda long and would like to shorten it so you can better work your magic in it! So here's a shortened version: perv!Bob making you keep his cum inside you all day because he just wants himself to be with you any way he can... NO other reasons...

see — bob’s not slick. he thinks he’s being subtle when his hand slides down between your thighs after he’s already fucked you through the mattress for what feels like the third time that night, his fingers lazily pushing his own cum back inside you when it threatens to leak out. like he’s helping. like he’s doing you a favor. and the look he gives you when you tense around him, the soft, breathy “oh god” he lets out — it’s so transparently needy it makes your stomach flip.

its never enough for him

not the fucking, not the come-drunk haze in your eyes when he pulls out, not the wrecked little noises you make when he fingers it back into you after, mumbling something about “don’t waste it, baby, s’meant to stay there.”

he’s obsessive. clingy in ways he won’t admit out loud, but you see it in how his eyes follow you around a room, in the way his fingers ghost over the waistband of your panties hours after, already thinking about how he could stuff you full again if he asked the right way. always thinking about you carrying some part of him with you.

he gets weird about it after sex, too. clings a little tighter, murmurs nonsense against your shoulder about how good you feel, how perfect you are, about how he doesn’t ever wanna leave. and you should’ve known it was coming the second he whispered, voice rough and sticky-sweet, “can you—can you keep it in for me, baby? just for a little while? please?”

it’s not like you didn’t expect it — he gets like this sometimes. possessive in a soft, almost pathetic way. desperate to leave something of himself behind. not because he wants kids (you’d made that clear early on and he swears he’s fine with it, says it doesn’t matter) — but because he’s obsessive. because he wants you so full of him you feel him for hours after he’s gone. because he likes the idea of you sitting at work, shifting in your chair, thighs sticky and aching and his cum still clinging to your insides.

and he’d text you about it too, the perv. sweet, sappy little messages like “thinking about you. miss you already.” ollowed by something filthier, like “jus' wanna keep filling you up please?”

when you get home it’s worse. he’s all over you, nosing at your neck, whining about how much he missed you, how he’s been thinking about you all day. his hand sneaks under your skirt without so much as a greeting, his fingers gliding through the mess between your thighs like it belongs there — and he gets so fucking hard at how much of him’s still left inside you. it makes his breath hitch, his voice go tight when he mutters “you’re s' pretty, y’know that? s’perfect. s’fucking perfect.”

and you tease him about it, of course you do — tell him he’s a sick little perv, that you oughta make him clean you up with his tongue, and the way he whimpers at that, pupils blown wide, cock leaking against his stomach, it’s almost embarrassing. almost.

he loves the idea of it though — of you walking around with him still buried deep inside you. like it’s proof. like it makes you his in a way words or rings or promises never could. and he’ll ask too, between ragged breaths and sloppy kisses: “don’t want kids, know you don’t, but—fuck—could pretend, yeah? just for a sec, just for me?”

and you let him. 

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

New Purpose | Yandere Saja Boys x Reader

“You want me to do what?!”

The call from your awkward and friendly acquaintance in the idol-managing business leaves you in an unreadable ball of confusion. Typically when Bobby did call you it was to brag about his girls or about the latest resort he was gifted by the girls. But this time he needed your help and you weren’t sure if you were going to give it. 

“Please please (Y/n)! You taught me everything I know; if there’s anyone who can handle them it’s you.”

Bobby pleading on his knees doesn’t change your reluctance but the pleading gazes of the boy-band in question made you slow to voice it. It also was harder to refuse when you could see the shining blue shackles on each of their wrists. A marked hand slides onto your shoulder with a stealth you haven’t felt in a long time and instinctively you reach for the holster under your coat, locking eyes with the one you once deemed to be an enemy.

“It can only be you. Mx. (L/n).”

It’s the purple-haired idol who not only was rumored to have once endangered the Honmoon but mended it with strength that surpassed her ancestors. Here she was glowing with her shining demon marks in broad daylight. A part of you still found it wrong.

She took your blatant staring in stride; sending Bobby out of the room,”Mind giving us some space? I think it might land better y’know? Idol to idol?”

“Oh, sure thing Rumi! In fact, I’ll go get the celebratory ramyeun now!”

He dashed as if his life depended on it, leaving you and Rumi with the shackled demon idols. Looking warily at the hunter you slowly pulled your hand away from your holster. The fakely wide smile on her fades into something more concerning. Pressing her purple-painted lips together, it’s time to address the real elephant in the room. 

“Why are they still here?! I thought you killed them all when you made the Honmoon golden.”

She nervously smiles, “I–thought I did too. But it seems that they were sealed in the upper world instead. The only one who….didn’t make it was thanks to Gwi-Ma.” She steps away from you, putting her hand out as if to pet the “baby Saja boy.” Previously he looked as though he was dead; standing with a face that epitomized boredom. That all changed when Rumi came close. His eyes glowed that sinister yellow and his fangs were bared as he chomped at the air her hand used to be. The blue chains clink with golden chains that shine in a ripple like the Honmoon itself. 

“You must mean the leader. Jin.”

You were playing with fire. For all the shipping edits that the idol leaders were put through, anyone could’ve guessed that they were close. While you don’t have eyes and ears close to her domain, it still got back to you just how close she’d gotten with him. During Huntrix's report of the event, Jin’s returned soul was what gave the trio the power to completely exorcise Gwi-Ma. A feat that was impossible even for the first hunters to exist.

“Yes…Jin,” she spoke his name with a heavy resonance. A respect that hadn’t dulled at all because it still felt raw.

”He saved me by showing me how to accept this part of myself rather than hide.”

She held her hands in front of her playing with the light against her marks, “Still he’s showing me there’s more to this side of myself I never really understood before.”

You watched her close her hands into fists and turn to you with a fierceness in those brown eyes you’ve never seen in person,” Which is why I think we should try helping them before we kill them.”

Stopping your laughter you finally spoke, “We?”

“We. Huntrix can’t do this on our own. You’ve been handling the otherside of the hemisphere well and now that both sides are sealed all that’s left is to care for the demons that slipped through.”

“Then why not just kill them?” The one with abs tries to jab at her which she skillfully dodges,” They clearly aren’t fond of you.”

Pausing she looks at them and then at you. 

“I have to try…if Jin saw something worth using maybe…maybe there's more to them that I haven’t seen yet. That no one’s seen. I’m hoping you can do that.”

“I’m retired. I don’t think I can do much of anything now.”

Rumi gives you a look. That glare of determination that makes you feel exposed.

“I’ve heard you before. You can do this.”

You turn, prepared to refuse but she grabs your hands.

“Please (Y/n).To protect our reign of peace….please.”

______________________________________________________________

“Alright, Saja boys. Listen up you live and breathe to be the idol group I demand you be, you hear me?!” 

The collective groans of the demon boy band, the sound makes you smirk. In an instant, you begin to hum an old song you used to sing unsheathing your whip from its holster. Romance is the one who perks up, the only one who seems to catch on that you are about to obliterate them.

“AcK!”

“OW that burns!”

“Please don’t!”

“Okay okay, we’re all listening p-please contine.”

It’s over in seconds. Everything but their faces is covered in disgusting blue welts. 

“As I was saying. I expect my perfect idol boy band to be smiley, friendly, and to say 'yes (Y/n)' whenever I ask you questions. Is that clear?”

“Yes (Y/n)!”

“That’s good now have a good show just like we practiced!”

It’s been interesting taking on the Saja boys. Their image that had Jin be their cool and calm collected leader was very much the truth. Without you breathing down their necks you found they were quite awful to all around them.

“Abby did you or did you not hit that PA with a button of yours, on purpose?”

“I mean they were looking too hard anyway it’s not my fault.”

“It is your fault that they went to the hospital thanks to your stupid little stunt.”

“It’s whatever they got a souvenir they’ll never forget!”

CRACK!

“Not the whip please, I’ll make a public apology! Sorry!”

You’ve dealt with idols that had a kamidere complex or outright narcissism but you haven’t dealt with literal demons who barely grasped that humanity was anything more than a population of overgrown bugs. 

“Alright, Bae Bee what’s going to be the right response if someone asks how you feel about the subject of turtles?”

“Goo Goo Gaga?”

“No. Try using real words please.”

“It’s…whatever?”

“I did that whole slide show and you didn’t gather anything from that?!”

“....”

FWHIP!

“Their…mid?!”

CRACK!

“Wahhh!”

But you wouldn’t continue with this farce if you didn’t realize there was a learning curve to be had. The first time it dawned on you was when Romance came to you in the dead of night, clutching the book you’d gifted them your second day: How to be a Human for Dummies. You were lounging on the large couch watching your shows when he walked in. He stood awkwardly by the door like a child who’d come to woefully inform his parents he’d wet the bed. You pretended not to know he was there; gauging if he’d actually ask for help like you offered.

“Why should we try?”

You muted the TV. Giving the pink-haired demon your full attention, you turned as he stood at the opposite end of the couch.

“Because you’ll die if you don’t.”

His nails dug into the paper cover,” no I mean why do we have to…I’ve already tried doing that before. I don’t want to go through that again.”

His marks flashed and you couldn’t see his face clearly; his hair making a curtain you so desperately wanted to peek past. 

Sighing you stood, “Follow me.”

Doing as he was told he followed you over rooftops, skillfully swinging through the concrete jungle to end it bumping into your back. He opened his mouth to insult you, to whine about how you couldn’t just answer the question to following your gaze. Down below in a window that flashed with all matter of colors, was a girl surrounded by friends singing terribly into the microphone as they cheered her on.

“You see her” The girl with the red bow in her hair?”

“...yeah.”

“She used to wonder that too. She used to walk home every day from school to her room. Locking herself away because she once listened to the same voices you do. Frankly, if she had continued listening she would have ended up just like you.”

“Then why isn’t she…like me that is?”

“Because she kept trying. Worked hard to find those she could care about; though it was hard she found them. Only because she tried.”

“So what?! I try and everything will be fixed?”

“I didn’t say that but no matter what you’ve done. Trying to make amends. Trying to be better is what makes it, you, worth it in the end.”

“Even if it took 300 years?”

“Even if it took 300 years.”

They certainly had their moments and that was enough to not exorcise them when their third month existing in the idol world rolled around. Much to your displeasure, you had no choice but to inform Rumi you’d continue to manage the Saja boys. If only to help them reconcile with themselves. To instead use their talent and influence to strengthen the Honmoon and continue to keep the positive energy that the fans permeated alive and well. 

If you worked hard, you could save the remaining Saja boys.

____________________________________________________________

“I hate this.”

Mystery was the first to voice this opinion. Finally left alone and unsupervised the Saja Boys were able to speak without the threat of being whipped, stabbed, or otherwise ground into a pulp on the shining golden Honmoon. Backstage just before another performance.

“Yeah, this just such a bummer. It was more fun when we worked for Gwi Ma!” Abs spoke leaning against the walls of the hidden stage. 

“Was it actually fun or were we just happy not to be reminded of who we are?” 

Romance turned still maintaining the front position of the band just as they’d been instructed, looking into the golden eyes of his fellow demons. Looking for the same confusion he’d been saddled with since they started this.

“I don’t really care, I just don’t like feeling…like this.” 

“Like what, Myst?! What exactly do you feel?” 

Abandoning his position, he closed in. Holding the quiet demon by the neck and slamming him into the wall. The infrastructure of the stage shook and dented but Romance was careful. He wasn’t certain why he cared so much to know his answer. He’d been asking the same thing of himself for all this time.

Mystery pursed his quivering lips. Romance growled and threw the demon to the ground, rolling into Abs’ feet. The muscular demon deflated when Romance turned to him expecting an answer, his eyes darting around as if the moving walls would have it scrawled somewhere. 

The lack of response only made the pink-haired demon angrier. Fangs beared and marks on full display he charged narrowly scratching at Abs’ face. Mystery got up to intervene, fully prepared to bite the neck of the completely wild Romance. Until his voice broke the silence.

“Purposeless. That is what we are feeling.”

His real voice was much deeper than his human one which is why when the late Jin led the group he was specially instructed to keep it hidden. But they had no leader. They have no Gwi-Ma. All they have in this hidden stage is each other. 

Romance retracts his claws, the marks still glowing bright, and he pulls at his locks.

“He’s right. W-we have nothing anymore! All we have is ourselves and that’s worse than nothing. W-w-we can’t even go back!”

His shaky declaration makes everyone unsettled. Placing a name to their fear—to their reality made it far too true. Their marks all begin to glow with an anxious throbbing. Mystery retreats into himself huddling into the corner. Abs freezes, willing his body to move and failing miserably. Even Baby lets the cap he’s wearing cover his face as he slowly slides to the floor.

“What’s the use of trying to change if I don’t even know why I’m here?! You’ve seen these humans!? They don’t know so what am I supposed to do?!”

The Honmoon throbs at his cry. 

“How can I try when I don’t want to face who I am?!”

Demon marks flaring in tandem with the flickering gold.

“What good can come from someone as far gone as I?!”

The Honmoon dangerously touches the color pink. 

“What am I supposed to do with myself!? Without any voice what am I supposed to do!?”

Multiple tears of the barrier are forming and joining at the seams around each of the separate Saja boys. Each one is influenced by their pain and about to damage the sanctity of the Honmoon.

~kzzt~

Like a heaven-sent. The comms in their ears buzzed to life.

~kzz~He~kzztz~

The pink fades and the healing blue returns to the barrier.

~kz~Hey can you guys hear me in this thing? It’s me (Y/n).kzztz~

It’s your voice. Their guardian. Their manager.

“As expected these walkies are crap. Anyway, I expect you boys to give me your best because I know you can do it. Can you do that for me Saja?”

The voice in their ears answered the only remaining questions.

“Yes, (Y/n).” “Yes, (Y/n).” “Yes, (Y/n).” “Yes, (Y/n).”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now wow that crowd and no soul stealing.”

The silence of the stage was lighter. More defined. The long turned-off comms burned into their ears. All of them replaying the echo of their manager’s voice—soothing, uplifting, commanding.

“It is them. That will be our purpose.”

Baby’s voice spoken with clarity confirmed what they all decided. As the stage begins to rise and the cheers of their fans increase even more. The Saja Boys are in position, prepared to perform just as their manager demands it. 

______________________________________________________________

“So how’s it gone, managing them?”

All of Huntrix was over for the day, enjoying some bubble tea as they looked at the golden-covered city. The barrier glowed strong with a healthy pulse fully powered by their fans.

You were glad that you’d convinced the boys to attend their shoot solo. Otherwise, you would’ve risked having this conversation with them around. Which wouldn’t have been a good idea considering how close they’ve gotten.

“It’s going great. They haven’t had another incident since I last called.”

The girls shared a look. 

Mira sneered at the promotional material for the group scattered on the table, picking it up like it was dirty laundry. 

“By great do you mean, like the Honmoons not broken great or that there's an uptick in murders in the last month—all where you guys were going on tour–great?”

Zoey chuckled anxiously, “We don’t want to accuse but the numbers don’t look great.”

Shooting a look at Rumi, you settled in your chair. Looking out at the city below carefully putting pressure on the plastic cup in your hands.

“Look I wish I could definitively say it’s just a coincidence but I looked into those cases myself and most of them seem airtight. But I’m not entirely sure there wasn’t some demonic influence.” Zoey and Mira shared a look before turning back to you with a grimace.

“I’m saying there’s just no way to tell for sure if it was them and without evidence I can't exactly ‘convict’ anyone.”

“So you're saying there’s no way not one of those boys slipped through your grasp?”

“Yeah (Y/n)...we know you’re technically retired and there’s five demons and one of you…it can’t be easy.”

Rumi finally looked ready to speak and you had a feeling you weren’t going to like it. 

“We were thinking maybe you should take a break!” She didn’t look entirely convinced, looking between Mira and Zoey. “We’re going on a break for a little while so maybe we can look after them for you.”

“I’d love that,” you studied their faces for some kind of joke,” but I don’t know if you can handle the boys any more than I could.”

The girls confidently laughed.

“Are you kidding?”

“We nearly killed them the last time we met!”

“Yes, Huntrix has got this in the bag!”

The girls cheered with pride as they whooped and hollered at one another. You admired their spunk, something you felt came far too less now that you’ve outgrown the group you used to hunt with. 

“Alright then girls, I’ll take you up on your offer–”

“Yes!” “The-Best-B-ab-y Sitters in the wooorldd!” “Yeah, this is going to be a piece of cake!”

“---a word of caution girls.”

Your words had them stopping in their tracks, their triumphant smiles only softening to acknowledge you. The only one it completely faded from was Rumi, who almost looked afraid to see you step on the elevator.

“The Saja Boys are a lot more determined than you’d think. Try not to be an obstacle for them.”

With that, the metal doors slid closed, and for once in a long time you were alone. Now came the hard part—telling them. 

______________________________________________________________

“You have got to be kidding me!?”

It was Bae Bee taking his usual spot at your back, his fanged sneer hissing into the side of your head he was previously nuzzling against. His nails had gotten longer penetrating the T-shirt you were wearing, a single flick to his wrist had him retract his claws but not loosen his grip.

Speaking of claws you could feel the demon on your lap allowing his to emerge and grip at your jeans all the tighter. The practiced action of oncoming tears soaking through the denim told you, Mystery was having a similar reaction. Across the room were Romance and Abby both dressed in their custom robes were drying with their respective blow dryers after using the dressing room’s shower. Both appliances were crushed and melted onto the floor within seconds of your announcement. The demons-responsible, flashing their marks and fangs at you. Romance immediately straightens up, adjusting his hair and robe before glaring down at you.

“I thought we had a deal.”

“YEAH A PROMISE! WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BREAK THOSE.”

Abby was worse for wear marks and teeth on full display; you mentally noted to pay the venue for the damage he’d cause. Already a partition was torn through, a wall successfully punched into, and a microwave was effectively torn apart. If you didn’t ease his worries the staff would be next.

“I’m not leaving you guys. The deal was that if you all made an effort to change, I’d never leave.”

“Which is what you’re trying to do,” Mystery muffled protests had everyone nodding.

Romance stepped forward again, arms crossed and amber eyes glowing deviously down at you. 

“Then that would mean our deal is off!”

“No, it’s not! We never said anything about time off or leaving and coming back.”

“Didn’t have to,” Bae whispers into your ear with a smirk on his face, ” You are the one who agreed.”

It’s then you feel the need to reach for your whip, reaching for your beloved weapon underneath your coat. Searching for your saving grace next to your waist you only to find its empty holster. Looking over to Abby who’s suddenly stopped his violent tirade to pull at the much sought after weapon. 

“Then if you go that means we don’t have to abide by the rules anymore.” He looks at you like a puppy, one who’s done something awful and hopes you understand. The boisterous Abby was no longer there, a serious look on his face. 

You want to soothe him. To deny it. But the truth of the matter was just that, you had to leave and at this point,t it wouldn’t do you any good to demand they accept otherwise. Your whip across the room, your body held in place by a smirking demon, your legs held down by another, and your attention on the one you were sure had made the most progress. 

“We have changed if it helps. We’ve upheld our end of the deal. For you to go against us now…well we’ll just try to preserve our purpose.”

By now you were in no place to make demands.

“So go enjoy your…trip. We’ll be waiting and by then we’ll have changed some more just as you commanded.”

No trip to the Maldives would erase those words from your head.

______________________________________________________________

When you return from any kind of holiday there’s a moment of great depression. A crushing sense of reality from the joy you experienced comes in full force as you unpack and reenter your tiresome schedule. In your case it was no different, for two whole weeks you could ignore the haunting reactions of the demons you guarded to lounge with a poolside cocktail in hand. Of course, your return would be tumultuous. 

In the darkness of the condo you’d begun to call home, was Rumi. Sat crossed-legged in the mess of sliced furniture, just as worse for wear as the decor around her. You called to her, almost unsure it was she until she looked up. Her eyes were swollen, her marks an ugly black and the typically brown and golden eyes were red. 

“I…didn’t think anything would change,” she finally spoke carelessly musing as you tried to nurse her wounds, “that I would still be strong enough to beat them…I just wasn’t ready for them to…change like I did.”

You want to question her. To ask what she meant but the four pairs of golden eyes smiling back at you explained more than anything she could have said.

“A deal’s a deal.”

Out of the darkness limp bodies clattered to the floor. Battered and bruised it was Zoey and Mira. Unconscious and scarily still you watched Rumi struggle to carry them both, limping to the elevator. She spared you a single glance; eyes filled with too many apologies to ever speak.

“I…can’t be an obstacle to you anymore. Goodbye (Y/n).”

With the broken jingle of the elevator, you were left with your boys once again. Gripping the handle of your whip, you wait for them to reveal themselves to you…fully. Without a word, they emerge in their original forms circling around you with smiles on their marked and purple faces.

“So what are we doing now that I’ve returned?”

Their distorted chuckles don’t settle your unease.

“You said you changed do you plan to show me?”

“Of course, (Y/n).” Abby’s voice was the loudest and when you turned prepared to strike, your arm was held in place by the demon. 

“Whatever you demand of us.”

You dropped the whip catching it with your opposite hand, rearing to strike again only for your other hand to be caught and pried open. Your whip forcefully fell into the hands of Bae who smiles cruelly as he snaps your beautiful weapon in half with a ripple of magenta smoke. Of course, you struggle but the hands holding you in place are firm, warping your struggles so that you fall to your knees. Your chin is being held so gently by the new lead of the Saja Boys.

“We are always at your command, (Y/n). Because you are our purpose.”

You open your mouth to speak, to finally give a proper command since they demand it of you. Only for your lips to be covered in Dutch tape, which is played with as Romance comes even closer. The dark blue blush on his face shows just how much he relishes the glare you have for him.

“Since you broke your deal with us, we are free to change. To finally be free to serve our purpose however we see fit.”

It’s then you feel something monstrous intertwine itself with the barrier of the Honmoon pink and orange demon hands replacing the idol demons’ hands. Allowing them to look down on you as well all of them casually caressing your sealed lips.

“You right (Y/n), we have changed.”

There were hands in your hair.

“We’ve grown stronger and it’s all because you gave us a chance. Because you taught us to care.”

There were hands on your back.

“Encouraged us to try.”

Somehow they were in your brain.

“Even if it takes 300 years.”

You sleep in the arms of the Saja Boys—Your boys because you’re all they work for. All they try for. All they’d think to change for. 

You are their purpose and they’ll do anything you they demand.

Totally forgot some of these guys died on screen Whoopsie! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

[bkghq]

You and Bakugo barely ever got into any fights; albeit of what people thought of him— an extremely rude, angry, mean and brash guy (which he was just not to you) he absolutely hated getting into any sorts of arguments with you.

But realistically no matter how much either of you despised it, being in a relationship silly arguments and big fights become inevitable. It's more so how you handle it afterwards.

Contrary to popular beliefs, everytime an argument or fight would break between the two of you, Bakugo would want to solve it as soon as he humanly could. He knew he was down bad and couldn't bear the thought of his precious girlfriend being mad at him.

You on the other hand, opted to give him the cold shoulder, dragging it as long as you could. You knew it was petty, but you liked the extra attention your boyfriend paid to you when you ignored him.

But he absolutely despised it. He would be constantly over his heels back and forth asking you to talk to him, while you'd just do your regular chores ignoring his existence.

"I told you 'm sorry baby, c'mon talk t'me." he all but begged in his gruff voice, while you sat on the couch in the living room of you guys' shared apartment scrolling through tiktok on your phone.

You stood up, making your way to the kitchen, acting as if the man double your size just didn't exist. Not even a second later the blond was following your pursuit. Following your every move huffing and puffing about how ''s too wrong to ignore me like that woman goddamit!"

but you paid no attention, your mind wandering towards the yummy PB&J sandwich you were about to have considering you did burn up alot of calories arguing with your man earlier, so obviously you were famished.

Bakugo kept following you when you opened the cupboards to take out ingredients to make the sandwich, instead of words he now resolved to grunts to get your attention, but you paid no mind.

You took out the butter knife from the cupboard, the jar of peanut butter, grape jelly and milk bread already waiting for you on the counter.

Picking up the jar of the peanut butter, you tried to open it. But to your dismay it seemed as if someone had sealed it shut with gorilla glue.

Now, in normal circumstances, you would call out for your boyfriend to help you out with mundane activities like this. But considering you were giving him the cold shoulder you resorted to trying it again yourself.

"y'need me t'open that f'ya?" Bakugo asked, and without even looking at him you could feel him smirking.

You gave yourself an internal monologue on how you're a strong independent woman who doesn't need help of any man and can open a stupid jar on her own.

So you tried again, this time with more force—

Nope, the jar still wouldn’t budge even an inch.

Bakugo's mouth twitched slightly, forming a small smirk. He knew he'd won and now any second you'd ask him to open the jar, and the second you would this whole silent treatment would end and he could go back to cuddling you on the couch, what he initially planned on doing before you guys got into an argument.

You sighed, placing the peanut butter jar on the counter top. Head down and hands gripping the edge of the kitchen island you weighed your options.

Option 1. Keep being stubborn and starve yourself Option 2. Ask your boyfriend for help, get yourself a PB&J and cuddle with your personal heater of a man on the couch

Honestly, the second option sounded way better, and you had been ignoring him for a while now.

Another sigh left your lips and you picked up the peanut butter jar and quite literally shoved it infront of your boyfriend's face.

"Can you please open this for me babe?" You asked with a sickly sweet smile and honey laced voice.

A shit eating grin formed on Bakugo's face.

Katsuki : 1 Y/N : 0

"Thought y'didn't w'na talk t'me." He teased, but nevertheless still took the jar from your hands and opened it without even batting an eyelash.

You just stood there, totally in awe of him— obviously you knew he was strong, considering your amazing boyfriend was #5 pro hero, but his crazy strength never ceased to amaze you.

"I changed my mind." you said, puckering your lips, "Thanks for this though." you added, taking the jar from his hand, attention back to the sandwich.

"Where's my reward?" He questioned with a grunt, as you busied yourself making your little snack.

Without a word, you put the jar back on the counter, and turned to your side, where Bakugo stood. You placed a kiss on your beautiful boyfriend's lips, mumbling a 'thank you' against them. He replied by kissing you back passionately, his hands snaking around your waist.

He lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his torso, walking both of you towards the couch. His lips not leaving yours even for a second.

long gone was the PB&J now, you busied yourself with another, better snack.

Bakugo internally praised himself for shutting the lids to all the jars as tightly as he could after your guys' argument, because hell it worked out better than he could've imagined.

He was definitely going to do this everytime you gave him the silent treatment.

THNX 4 READING <3 RBS + COMMENTS APPRECIATED ིྀ

[kissbabie]

your bodyguard has to punish you !

being sat in bodyguard!sae's lap while he looked at you blankly, yet with the slightest hint of annoyance and irritation in his eyes was not on your list for tonight. actually, your plan was to sneak out your window after your father denied you of going to a party, but sae had unfortunately caught you. you mentally cursed the man for being so smart, and knowing exactly what you were planning to do after you so innocently asked him to leave your room so you could change.

"your father already said no, and you do this?" sae said, raising one eyebrow at you. he was lightly caressing your waist with one hand, then slowly tracing over your thigh as you pouted, then using his other hand to give you a light smack on your ass. "you really don't get it, do you?"

"'m sorry, sae, won't happen again." you blinked at him, wiggling yourself in his lap as you whined like a spoiled brat. he exhaled hard through his nose and titled his head back, like he was deciding what he should do with you. he leans in, lips brushing your ear as he uses one hand to hold the back of your neck and pull you into him, whispering into your ear, "be a good girl and ride me, okay? and i won't tell your father what you tried to do."

at the mere mention of that, you were scrambling to take off your skirt, fumbling with the zipper of his pants. pushing your own panties aside, it was almost embarrassing to see how wet you had already gotten, your pussy leaking and your panties glistening, but you managed to push yourself down his cock. the stretch was incredible — your mouth parted as you let out a whine, feeling your walls clamp down on him. straddling him, you wrap your arms around his neck, giving a few light bounces on it.

but after a while, despite how hard you were trying, you were getting tired, your thighs became sore, and sae wasn't even helping. he looked almost bored, letting out a few groans here and there, but you desperately needed for him to just grab your waist and slam you up and down on his cock.

“go faster,” sae mutters, voice flat, almost bored. “i c-can’t,” you whimpered, hips stuttering. “sae, ‘m tired, my legs—“

a little slap landed on your ass. not too hard, just enough to make your breath hitch. his fingers spread warm against your skin afterward, palm rubbing the area there. “c’mon, i know you can do it.” he says, eyes narrowing as he stares at you.

so, with what little dignity you had left, you let out a whine and started moving yourself again. it was terrible, you were riding him so messily, your thighs shaking as you let out frustrated whimpers, trying to chase your release. but, sae, of course, still had a small punishment up his sleeve for you.

"don't cum." he warned, but his voice was a bit shaky as he closed his eyes, his hands finally resting on your waist as it sounded like he, himself, was close to cumming. you sobbed, pathetically trying to ask him for permission to cum, but all he gave you was a single look and you knew you should just save your breath. you collapsed onto his chest, mewling into his shoulder as he exhaled slowly, his hand sliding up your back to keep you steady. what you didn't expect, however, was him to thrust up into you — one that made you cum, right then and there.

the feeling was incredible, feeling your pleasure finally crash over you after what you had to endure. but, after coming down from your high, it was way too quiet, and you just realized what you had done. you squirmed in his lap, before sae sighed and pulled you off. he easily grabbed you and placed you carefully on your back onto your bed, crawling over you. he fondly caressed your cheek, swiping his thumb under your eye slowly.

"didn't i tell you not to cum, hm?" he says. he leaned down to you, his breath dangerously close to yours. "guess i'll have to teach you some manners then, you brat."

for this req

© 𝒌issbabie | don't copy, steal, or translate any of my work

[yan-randomfandom]

Heyyy! I was wondering if you could do yandere saja boys x reader where the reader hangs out with a guy and they get very jealous

Yandere!Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; the day im satisfied with writing a yan!saja boys and/or yan!huntrix one shot is the day i'll retire because this is still lacking 💔

warnings; uncomfortable, stalking, possessive behavior, more spotlight on Abby! no Jinu here, sry!

— 🌇

That's weird.

You're not anywhere in your house. You haven't responded to their messages yet.

"Think they finally had enough of us?" Baby mutters, looking through your snack drawer—nothing of interest—before closing it harsher than intended. The loud bang echoes in the empty kitchen.

Abby narrows his eyes as he looks through the window. The sun is going to set soon. "That can't be right. Maybe they went to buy something."

"Without telling us?" Mystery growls, his fingers fidgeting together. Well, it's not like you need to tell them every action you'll do. He's not even sure himself why he's so irritated.

After all, they were already planning to take your soul after the whole thing is over. But now that he's thinking of it again, the idea doesn't feel so good anymore...

The front door suddenly squeals open. All of them turn, expecting you, but instead meet Romance's face.

"Don't look so disappointed," Romance scoffs with an eyebrow raise. "I found the human. Come on."

— 🫧

First, they felt relief, then anger, then sadness, then nothing.

They found you alone, as Romance said you were, but then you started laughing. Your gentle laughter stopped them from getting any closer. A smile curls on your lips as your eyes consistently follow something.

"What?" Romance mutters, confusion scrunching his face. They can't see well from this angle—but they can't move either without being seen.

"I told you it's slippery," you snicker, walking over and extending your hand. Ah. So you weren't alone. "Come on. I'll help you up, I guess."

"Thanks," a voice replies, matching your energy, causing all of the boys to glance at each other. They watch as a hand takes yours. "I guess."

The person gets up—a man. Not a demon, but a human. Standing too close to you and still holding your hand. Or maybe it was just a normal distance, and time felt like forever watching you touch that thing—but, oh, Gwi-Ma. They feel like boiling their human forms.

You finally let go of him, using your hand to fish your phone out of your pocket. A frown snakes across your lips after a while. "Oh, no."

"Oh no?" your friend asks, tilting his head. "Is something wrong?"

You begin chewing your bottom lip, looking around. "No, uh, not really. But I have to go now. Nice catching up with you, man!"

"Aw, really?" he says, glancing at his phone. "Oh. It is pretty late. Isn't your apartment like right over there? I can—"

"There you are!"

You and your friend turn your heads, both of your eyes widening for entirely different reasons.

Abby approaches you with a charming smile, settling an arm over your shoulders. He hums as he takes a good, innocent look at your companion. "Who's this?"

"Saja— Abs—Abby? From Saja Boys?! Uh, I mean— Hi! So nice to meet you!" An unexpected blush blooms over your friend's face. He glances at you with nervousness and fascination before bowing his head.

Your friend shows off a crooked grin. He's a big fan already; he told you moments ago how he had Soda Pop on loop. You huff and remove Abby's arm from your shoulder, barely able to hold your flinch at the way he looked offended.

You gaze at Abby in anticipation.

Abby immediately gets the hint and masks himself. "Oh, a fan! Thank you for your support!"

They took a picture, Abby did his autograph, all the while giving him fanservice with his abs. Your friend giggles cheerfully as they shake their hands goodbye. You didn't miss the way Abby wiped his hand on his shirt when your friend wasn't looking.

"Take care!" you call to him, waving a hand before turning to a blank-faced Abby.

He stares at you humorlessly.

You blink, avoiding his eyes. "Uh, hey. Sorry about... not replying. I ran out of—"

Abby chuckles, smiles like he wasn't just judging your entire being, and shakes his head. He returns to draping his arm around your shoulder protectively. "No need to explain. We're glad you're safe. Let's go home."

Your brows furrow as Abby guides your walk. We're? We?

It's an obvious thing that once a member is involved, all of them are. Just... where are the others? Abby is the only one here.

You stray your eyes, landing on a window.

In the dim reflection, three pairs of glowing, golden eyes point at you in the distance. Ah. There they are. Watching, waiting.

Ugh. You look away. Jinu's never this level of creepy. He's not present again, as always.

You don't notice Abby nodding his head curtly next to you.

— need .. need to include more horrors..... ngl I'm stuck between funny or horrific yan!saja boys ,,

— also if you're wondering why Jinu isn't here, I just prefer not to include him in general! yeah my bad, in my other fics he's just kinda hanging around

— why's it so hard for me to write yandere (says the yandere blog)

[motomamita]

Hey love, my request is Konig coming home after months of smelling male peers and sweat and he comes home and reader is in the bath smelling good covered in bubbles and he can’t help but want to join

bf!könig × female!reader

warnings: +18, smut, smell kink!

könig entered the house with a tired step, carrying his heavy luggage as if it weighed nothing. He looked around for your small figure waiting for him with open arms, excited to tell him everything that had happened during his time away, but nothing.

"where are you, little angel?"

he growled, moving carefully through the hallways of the house, searching for you like a lost dog looking for its owner. he went to the kitchen, hoping to see you cooking something delicious to welcome him, then he made his way to your bedroom. hopefully, you'd fallen asleep staring at your phone. just as he was about to call your name, the sweet sound of your voice guided him to the bathroom.

könig peeked his head through the half-open door and saw you there, submerged in the bubbling bathtub. you were humming a song while playing with the foam, completely unaware of his gaze on your bare shoulders.

"taking a bath without me?"

you jumped at the sight of his large figure, standing and looking at you, still in his work clothes. you didn't get to say anything when he was already undressing in front of you, ready to join you in the bubble bath.

his body was as strong and imposing as ever, only now a series of new wounds decorated his skin, giving you an idea of ​​how difficult he'd been during this time. and his own body showed how much he missed you with a growing erection that sprouted from his boxers.

you made room for him behind you. könig entered the tub and sat behind you, allowing some of the water to spill out due to his size. he immediately hugged your shoulders, pulling you towards him and letting you feel his erection on your lower back. the smell of his sweat and dirt washed over you, but instead of disgusting you, it excited you with the warmth of his body.

könig's breath hitched against your neck, and his calloused hands caressed the delicate skin of your shoulders and neck. you involuntarily brought your hand to his cock, but he stopped you when he noticed your intentions.

"later you can have what yours, angel. now let me give your pussy some attention."

he murmured into your ear as one of his hands traveled to your crotch, where he found your clitoris. he gently stroked it with his fingers, feeling your body relax against him instantly. you closed your eyes, feeling his movements along with the combination of his sweat and the vanilla foam.

"poor little pussy, i neglected it for so long."

he delicately inserted one of his fingers inside you and found your spot. a moan escaped your mouth at the intrusion. you had gone all that time without touching you at könig's request, because according to him, he was the only one who should touch your pussy.

his finger caressed your insides with a slowness that was killing you. nothing but moans of his name came from your mouth, and your hands gripped his arms.

"that's it, feel it, feel my finger inside your tight pussy."

it only took a few more movements for you to finish on his finger, moaning his name. you might have felt embarrassed by how short you lasted, but you'd been away from him for so long that just a bite could make you finish again.

when you tried to lift yourself up to grab a towel, könig stopped you again.

"not so fast, you're going to cum on my cock now, angel."

[cressidagrey]

Money, Money, Money

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:  Felicity runs Oscar’s life. Oh, and she also handles all the money. 

Warnings and Notes: Some more context for the Silverstone chapter, also some insight into Piastri family dynamics in this verse. Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

1: Chris Piastri

Chris had been patient. He’d waited through the contract drama, the Alpine mess, the quiet chaos that was the lead-up to McLaren’s announcement. He’d even stayed calm when Oscar casually dropped that they’d officially moved to a farmhouse—because, quote, “Felicity liked the light.”

But now he was looking at the numbers.

And blinking.

Hard.

"You’re going to be making how much next year?"

Oscar leant back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Depends on bonuses. But yeah. That’s the base.”

Chris whistled low. “Jesus Christ. That’s… real money.”

Oscar grinned. “Told you the sim rig was a good investment.”

Chris didn’t laugh. He was still holding the contract summary printout Oscar handed him ten minutes ago.

He tapped the top corner. “Okay. So you’ve got this. Great. Now who’s handling it?”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “Felicity.”

Chris’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “Still no financial advisor?”

“She’s more than capable.”

“And no prenup,” Chris added flatly. “Still.”

“You’re still upset abou that,” Oscar said drily.

“I’m upset you refused to,” Chris replied. “I asked you. I begged you to be smart. You were eighteen. And you married the first girl you ever kissed. You always brush it off.”

“I’m not brushing it off. I’m making a choice.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Chris snapped. “You married at eighteen. You had a child at nineteen. And you still refuse to take any precautions to protect the career we all sacrificed for.”

Oscar didn’t move. But something in his posture shifted—straightened. “What do you want me to say, Dad? That you were right? That we were reckless and dumb and ruined my future?”

Chris exhaled harshly. “I never said you ruined anything.”

“No,” Oscar said, “but you’ve never really believed us either. About anything.”

Chris blinked. “Excuse me?”

Oscar’s voice was low, but steady. “You’ve never believed us when we said Bee was planned. When we said we knew what we were doing. When we said we didn’t need help. You think we were just two stupid teenagers who got in over our heads and now you’re waiting for the fallout.”

Chris scoffed. “Right. The planned baby at nineteen.”

Oscar’s face shuttered. “Yes. Planned.”

“You can keep saying that, Oscar,” Chris said, “but you and I both know it wasn’t the timing you had in mind. You threw your entire career trajectory off-course. No nineteen-year-old plans a baby, Oscar. That’s not how this works.”

Oscar looked like he’s been slapped. “You think we’re stupid.”

“I think you were young.” Chris fired back. “And I think she got pregnant and you felt like you had no choice—”

“Don’t you dare,” Oscar snapped.

The air cracks.

Chris didn’t back down. “You were barely in junior formula. You were already under pressure. And instead of focusing on that, you were raising a kid in a rental flat with hand-me-down furniture and no job security— You were nineteen. No one knows what they’re doing at nineteen.”

“Maybe not,” Oscar said. “But we knew what we wanted.”

“And I spent six and a half million dollars making sure you got where you are,” Chris fired back. “So excuse me if I want you to think.”

Oscar went still. The words hung between them like a slap.

Chris pressed on, voice harder now. “I spent years calling sponsors, working second jobs, selling off anything we didn’t need just to keep you on the track. Your mother gave up every holiday to stretch the travel budget. And now you’re handing your entire financial future to the girl you married at eighteen and won’t even sign a piece of paper to protect yourself if it goes wrong.”

Oscar spoke slowly. Cold. “She is not just some girl.”

“I know that,” Chris said, finally sounding frustrated. “I know she’s brilliant and capable and—impressive. I know she kept you standing when things got ugly. But this isn’t about how resourceful Felicity is, Oscar. It’s about you.”

“I pay for my life,” Oscar said quietly. “Every grocery bill, every flight, every coat Bee’s ever worn—we paid for that ourselves. We’ve never asked you for help outside of racing.”

“You rushed into a marriage, a baby, and now you’ve wrapped your entire life around a girl who pawned designer handbags instead of calling us for help.”

Oscar’s fists clenched. “You think that was a bad thing?”

“I think it was pride,” Chris said, suddenly cold. “On both your parts. She didn’t want to come with her tail between her legs after her family cut her off. And you— you didn’t want to admit you were in over your head.” 

Oscar took a slow breath. “We didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

Chris’s jaw tightened. “I was obligated. I spent millions of dollars getting you to F1. Do you think I did that so you could let your teenage wife manage your future out of a color-coded spreadsheet?” Chris rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s not the point anyway.”

“No,” Oscar said. “The point is that you don’t trust me. Or her.”

“That’s not true,” Chris said.

“Isn’t it?” Oscar challenges. “You think she married me for the money I might have. You think we had Bee by accident. You think I’m sleepwalking through life and one day I’ll wake up broke and bitter and you’ll have to pick up the pieces.”

Chris’s mouth was a thin line. He didn’t answer.

Oscar took a breath. His voice softened—just a little. “I know what you gave me. I know I wouldn’t be here without you. But I’m not a teenager anymore. And I don’t need you to manage me. I need you to believe me.”

***

Nicole was sitting at the dining table with a glass of red wine and her reading glasses perched low on her nose, sorting through forms.

Chris stood in the doorway, visibly agitated.

Nicole didn’t look up. “If this is about Felicity again, I’m pouring myself another glass of wine.”

Chris sighed. “You could at least pretend to take my side.”

Nicole set down the pen and looks at him over the rims of her glasses. “I divorced you, not because you were wrong all the time, but because you’re so annoying when you think you’re right.”

Chris threw his hands up. “Nicole. Please. Just talk to Oscar. He listens to you.”

“Because I don’t condescend to him,” she said pointedly. “I treat him like the grown man he is.”

Chris ran a hand through his hair. “He’s married without a prenup. He’s letting her manage millions. What happens if something goes wrong? What happens if she changes—”

“She’s not going to change,” Nicole cut in.

“You don’t know that.”

“Felicity manages my pension, Chris.”

He blinked. “What?”

“She took a look at it last year,” Nicole says casually. “Pointed out I had a dead fund and fees I didn’t need. Reinvested the whole thing in an afternoon.”

Chris stared at her. “You let your daughter-in-law manage your retirement?”

“She’s smarter than both of us combined,” Nicole said, tone sharp now. “You know that. You’ve always known that.”

“She was eighteen when they got married,” Chris muttered.

“And runs a household better than most people twice her age,” Nicole replied. “Felicity could run a Fortune 500 company if she wanted. She just happens to be more interested in upcycling cabinets and taking care of Bee.”

Chris scowled. “She plays housewife, Nicole. And Oscar lets her.”

“She chooses housewife,” Nicole corrected. “Big difference. And it’s not because she can’t do more—it’s because she already did. She literally got a PhD this year because she was bored, Chris. You remember what she gave up. I do. She had that whole trust fund, the estate in Singapore —until she told her parents she wasn’t giving up the boy.”

Chris exhaled again, tight and heavy.

Nicole softened—just a little. “  get it. You put everything into Oscar. You burned yourself down to build him a ramp. But our boy fell in love, and the girl he chose? She wasn’t a mistake. She was the best decision he ever made.”

“I just want him to be protected,” Chris said, quieter now.

“He is,” Nicole said. “And if anything happens, you better believe Felicity already has a five-tab spreadsheet, three binders, and a financial nuke pointed at the problem. Don’t confuse softness for weakness. She’s not fragile, Chris. She’s focused.”

Chris was quiet for a long time.

Finally, he muttered, “I still think he should’ve signed a prenup.”

Nicole sighs. “Yeah, well. I think you should’ve watered the lemon tree before it died, but we all have regrets.”

Chris stared at her. “That’s not remotely the same.”

Nicole sipped her tea. “Isn’t it?”

2: Mark Webber

Mark Webber had long since stopped pretending that Oscar Piastri ran his own life.

Oh, he showed up on time. Did the briefings. Signed the contracts. Knew the car and the data and the long-run pace.

But when it came to logistics, taxes, insurance, estate planning, or remembering that the electrical system in their farmhouse was still running on pre-war wiring—Oscar did what every sensible man should do.

He said, “Let me ask my wife.”

Mark had found it funny at first. A bit sweet. The overachieving childhood sweetheart turned stay-at-home-wife. Until he realized, somewhere between Oscar’s seamless contract transitions and the fact that his tax filings were always submitted early and perfectly formatted, that Felicity Piastri wasn’t playing house.

She was running an empire.

Quietly. From the kitchen. Usually with flour on her cheek.

Mark had seen it up close too many times now. 

She was the one who tracked Oscar’s schedule in a calendar that put race engineers to shame.

 She was the one who had his income split across diversified portfolios before McLaren ever offered him a multi-year deal. 

And she was the one who’d once casually texted Mark a five-point list of everything he needed to fix in his personal retirement plan—because she’d overheard him complain about capital gains tax while making Bee a peanut butter sandwich.

He’d actually followed all five points.

So when he found himself holding a financial summary from his advisor, confused about a line item labeled “Australia – Deferred Liability: TBD,” there was only one person he thought to call.

The phone rang twice.

“Hi Mark,” came Felicity’s voice, crisp and warm as ever. “What did you mess up this time?”

Mark chuckled. “Got a minute?”

“Always. What’s the line item?”

He read it out. She hummed. “Deferred liability’s probably from your property sale in 2019—was that still in NSW?”

“Yeah. You remember that?”

“I remember everything. What’s the advisor’s email? I’ll send you the reference table.”

Mark rubbed his forehead. “Do I need to start paying you?”

“You couldn’t afford me,” she said cheerfully. “Besides, I’m already managing Oscar’s empire and Nicole’s pension. I’m full up.”

Mark snorted. “Jesus Christ. Does Oscar know you’re moonlighting as my financial therapist?”

“Oh, he knows,” she said breezily. “He told me to invoice you last time.”

Mark chuckled. “He still pretending he understands half of what you do?”

“He stopped pretending after I explained capital gains to him using Bee’s sticker chart,” she replied. “Now he just signs what I give him and asks if we can afford more smoked almonds.”

Mark shook his head, grinning. “He’s a lucky little bastard.”

“He knows. Oh, and by the way,” Felicity added, “tell your guy to check your international tax treaty allocations. You’re probably being double taxed on passive income through your EU holdings.”

Mark paused. “Have I ever told you you’re a menace?”

“Only every time you call me.”

And then she hung up.

Mark stared at his phone, then looked at the spreadsheet again.

There was a reason he always CC’d her on Oscar’s contract reviews. The girl could spot a hidden clause faster than most team lawyers.

He wasn’t just impressed anymore. He was a little scared.

People in the paddock liked to talk about Oscar’s talent. His calm. His racecraft. His future.

But Mark?

Mark knew the real secret to Oscar’s success wore denim dungarees, knew how to budget a household down to the cent, and had personally scared two marketing execs into submission using nothing but polite email phrasing and a well-timed spreadsheet.

In Mark Webber’s not so humble opinion: 

Felicity Piastri was the best investment Oscar had ever made.

3: Lando Norris

Oscar was still in his race suit, slouched halfway off a physio ball, towel draped around his neck. His hair was damp. 

He was scrolling on his phone one-handed, the other absentmindedly rubbing at his shoulder. Across from him, Lando was sitting upside-down in a beanbag chair like he was part of a modern art installation, frowning at his iPad and muttering numbers under his breath.

He squinted, then sat up properly. “Hey,” he said, pointing vaguely. “Do you use Capex?”

Oscar didn’t look up. “For what?”

“Investments. Advisors. Tax strategy stuff.” Lando waved the iPad like it’s obvious. “Zak’s been on about it. Wants us to think about long-term wealth management. Something about portfolio diversity and 'future-proofing our legacy.'"

Oscar hummed noncommittally. “Nah, I don’t use Capex.”

Lando raised a brow. “Okay, so who do you use?”

Oscar finally looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Like—who’s your guy?” Lando asked, a little impatient now. “Everyone’s got someone. I’ve got Simon. Charles got his brother and that weird Swiss dude. You’ve got, what, Mark handling yours?”

Oscar blinked. “I don’t have a guy.”

“You don’t—?” Lando cut himself off, leans forward. “Wait. You don’t have a financial advisor?”

Oscar shrugged. “Nope.”

Lando just stared at him. “Oscar.”

Oscar stretched his legs out. “What?”

“You’re a Formula 1 driver. You make… a lot of money. You don’t have anyone managing it?”

“I do,” Oscar said, reaching for his water bottle. “Felicity.”

Lando blinked. “Felicity who?”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “My wife, Lando. Felicity my wife,” Oscar confirmed cheerfully, like he wasn’t casually setting fire to Lando’s entire concept of financial management. “She’s good at it. Better than me. She likes spreadsheets and interest rates. It makes her happy.”

Lando’s mouth opened. Closes. “No. No. That doesn’t count.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Why not?”

“Because—because she’s your wife! That’s like saying, ‘Oh yeah, my daughter handles the catering.’ It’s—It’s nepotism!”

Oscar laughed. “She’s not taking a salary, mate. She’s running our life.”

“That’s worse!” Lando flailed his hands. “You’re telling me you trust her with everything? Like, she just… handles it?”

“Yes,” Oscar said simply. “She’s good at it.”

“She’s good at—what, managing millions?”

“Actually, yeah.” He looked mildly offended on Felicity’s behalf. “She started with nothing. Budgeted down to the cent when we were nineteen and pretty much broke with a newborn because we didn’t want to depend on my parents. She made our tax spreadsheet color-coded and terrifying. She played the stock market while Bee was teething. Said it calmed her down. I was too busy trying to figure out why Bee would only fall asleep if I sang Let it be from the Beatles.”

Lando squinted. “...She has a spreadsheet?”

“She has seven.”

“And you’re just—fine with it?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, no hesitation. “She’s always been smarter with money than me. Back when I was on a feeder series budget and Bee was in nappies, she made every cent stretch. She bought me a secondhand coffee machine when I was surviving on two hours of sleep and bad instant. She used our first proper bonus to start a fund she literally called ‘Future Stuff That Matters.’ She pays for every single house reno out of portfolio gains. I don’t ask anymore—I just send her the contract info and go race.”

Lando looked at him like he’d just confessed to free-climbing a skyscraper. “You don’t even check your paychecks?”

“I check they’ve gone in,” Oscar said. “But otherwise, I forward everything to her. Contracts, bonus details, travel reimbursements. She’s got this whole color-coded system.”

“Okay, but like—" Lando ran a hand through his hair, clearly spiraling—"there’s not even a backup guy? Like, a tax consultant? A wealth planner? An app? A spreadsheet?”

“She has all three. She showed me once. The spreadsheet had tabs called Future Stuff That Matters and Oscar’s Idiotic Tech Purchases."

Lando blinked.

"There's a colour-coded section just for sim rig accessories," Oscar added, helpfully.

“She made you a budget category for sim rig accessories?”

“I exceeded it last year. I got a warning.” Oscar grinned. “I send her the contracts, she handles the rest. I don’t even know what our heating bill is. I just get warm in winter and assume it’s paid.”

Lando collapses back into the beanbag. “You are so weirdly married.”

“I’m extremely married,” Oscar agrees. “To someone who built an emergency fund, planned our retirement, and still re-grouted the kitchen herself last month.”

There’s a pause.

Then: “You’re insane.”

Oscar smiled. “I’m stress-free.”

Another beat.

Then Lando muttered, “Do you think she’d take me on as a client?”

Oscar burst out laughing.

4: Tom Stallard

Tom had been on the phone with his mortgage broker for twenty minutes and was losing the will to live.

“No, I said I do have the updated P60, but your online portal is down,” he said through gritted teeth. “No, I’m not uploading it again through Safari, I’m using Chrome. Why does that matter?”

He ended the call with a sigh, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “I have a master’s in engineering from Cambridge and this is the most complicated thing I’ve ever done.”

A quiet voice behind him said, “Everything alright?”

Tom turned to find Oscar, cooling off post-sim, cradling a water bottle and looking vaguely concerned.

“Oh, yeah,” Tom said, deadpan. “Just losing a slow war with mortgage applications. Spreadsheets, interest rates, new build tax. Very sexy stuff.”

Oscar hummed. “Felicity would love it.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “She likes mortgage paperwork?”

“She likes paperwork in general,” Oscar said with a small smile. “Spreadsheets. Forecasting. Financial plans.”

Tom chuckled. “Yeah, well, maybe I should hire her. At this rate my family is going to end up living in our car.”

Oscar tilted his head. “She’d probably help. She’s scary good with money.”

“Really?” Tom asked, vaguely curious. “She handle the household stuff?”

Oscar blinked. “No, I mean she handles everything. My salary, bonuses, investments, Bee’s custodial account, tax optimization. All of it.”

Tom paused. “Wait—wait, you don’t do any of that?”

Oscar shook his head. “She’s better at it. Has a system. Color-coded folders. Charts. She built a whole model to project how many years I could race before retiring without touching the principal. I think it includes inflation and… milk prices?”

Tom blinked. “You’re telling me your wife handles your entire financial portfolio.”

Oscar shrugged. “It just makes sense. She’s meticulous. She used to do it all while Bee was napping and we were living on a single paycheque and pawned handbags.”

Tom sat back, stunned. “Mate, I have a financial advisor and a mortgage consultant and I still don’t know what I’m doing. You’re telling me your wife just—does it all?”

Oscar gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah. She’s good at it. And she enjoys it. I just sign things and ask her if we can afford new garden furniture.”

Tom looked at him for a beat.

Then said, deadpan, “I think I hate you.”

Oscar grinned. “She runs my retirement planning. I’m sorted for three recessions and a space war.”

Tom groaned. “Don’t tell me that. I just cried over a fixed rate of 5.3%.”

***

Tom hadn’t meant to bring it up again. Really, he hadn’t.

He’d only stopped by to drop off a folder Oscar left behind at the McLaren HQ. A quick in-and-out. No fuss. No existential crisis over adult responsibilities.

But then he made the mistake of saying, “I still haven’t figured out that mortgage stuff, by the way.”

And now he was in the Piastri kitchen.

Holding a cup of tea.

Watching Felicity Piastri, in a linen apron with a bee embroidered on the hem, pull up an amortization schedule like she was about to perform surgery on it.

“Alright,” she said, tapping at her laptop with a practiced efficiency that made his stomach clench. “Fixed rate of 5.3%, 25-year term, first-time buyer exemption, and a deferred LMI?”

Tom blinked. “Yes?”

“Okay, well, first of all, they’re charging you too much on your escrow buffer. That’s negotiable. And you can knock 0.2% off your rate if you bundle with their associated home insurance policy.”

“I—what?”

Felicity didn’t look up. “You haven’t consolidated your super, have you?”

“I—no?”

She made a soft tsk sound, clicked twice, and then turned the screen toward him. “I’ve made you a comparison sheet. These two lenders are offering better packages with less red tape. The third one has a better early exit policy in case you want to upgrade later. You’re a high-income, low-debt client, Tom. You should be getting treated like it.”

Tom stared at the screen, then at her.

“I have never felt so financially inadequate in my life,” he muttered.

Felicity gave him a bright smile. “That’s okay. Most people feel that way after twenty minutes with me.”

Oscar wandered in, holding Bee upside down by the ankles. “She fix it yet?”

“She rebuilt it,” Tom said faintly. “She bullied my mortgage into submission.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “I simply pointed out that he’s not a charity case and shouldn’t be paying interest like one.”

Bee giggled from where she dangled. “Mama makes the numbers scared.”

Oscar dropped her gently onto the couch. “That she does.”

Tom stood up, cradling the printed spreadsheet like it was a sacred text. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Felicity handed him a small foil-wrapped bundle. “Banana bread. No walnuts.”

Tom looked at it. Then back at her. “You’re incredible.”

She beamed. “I know.”

5: Zak Brown

Zak liked to think of himself as a forward thinker. Risk-aware, but not risk-averse. Smart with money. Not shy about opportunity.

Which is why, after a particularly positive investor call and a lunch meeting with a tech-startup founder, he cornered Oscar Piastri in the McLaren break room, armed with a protein shake and a golden nugget of advice.

“Listen,” Zak said, leaning on the counter while Oscar poked through the fruit bowl like he wasn’t paid seven figures to do much cooler things. “If you haven’t already, you should really look into green robotics. Smart manufacturing meets sustainability. It’s going to explode in two years. Get in now.”

Oscar paused. “Green robotics?”

“Yeah. Startups, mostly. Private equity entry points. Could be a good addition to your portfolio.”

Oscar nodded slowly. “Right. Sounds interesting. I’ll check with Felicity.”

Zak blinked. “Your agent?”

“No,” Oscar said casually. “Felicity. My wife.”

Zak frowned. “As in… she checks it?”

“She handles all my finances,” Oscar replied, grabbing a banana. “She’ll know if it fits with the rest of the portfolio.”

Zak stared. “Wait—you don’t have a financial advisor?”

Oscar looked genuinely confused. “I have Felicity.”

“No, I mean like… a firm. A professional. Someone who manages your money.”

“I do. Felicity.”

Zak was now blinking very slowly. “You’re telling me your wife manages your finances.”

Oscar peeled the banana. “Yeah. Has for years.”

Zak struggled for a moment. “Like… salary? Bonuses?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Investments?”

“All of it.”

Zak straightened. “How much do you even know about your own portfolio?”

Oscar chewed thoughtfully. “Um… it’s green? Ethically aligned? We don’t do oil, fast fashion, or surveillance tech. And I think there’s a clause about chocolate companies with bad labor practices. Felicity added that after Bee got obsessed with cocoa beans.”

Zak made a small, stunned noise. “You don’t… manage your own money?”

Oscar shrugged. “I mean, it’s our money. She just handles it. She’s better at it. She has these terrifying spreadsheets.”

“She’s not licensed.”

“Nope,” Oscar said, smiling. “She’s just brilliant.”

Zak stared at him for a long beat.

“You make seven figures,” he said slowly. “You’re one of the most promising drivers of your generation. And you’re telling me that you’ve outsourced your entire financial future to your wife.”

“Yes,” Oscar said. “She has a whole system. Reinvested dividends, ethical ETFs, a growth fund, a rainy day fund, and this weird little stash labeled ‘Oscar’s Panic Button’ that I’m not allowed to ask about.”

Zak’s voice rose slightly. “And you’re okay with that?”

Oscar blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re a public figure!”

Oscar finished his banana. “So? I’d trust her with everything if I was a postman.”

Zak leaned heavily on the counter. “And what did she say about green robotics?”

Oscar tilted his head. “She had ethical concerns. Something about the AI lab's hiring practices and a conflict with a union group in Denmark.”

Zak exhaled. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar grinned. “Yeah. She’s good.”

+1: Oscar Piastri

Oscar had long since stopped questioning where the money went. 

Not because he didn’t care—he did. He cared a lot, actually. 

But because sometime between their first apartment and the farmhouse, he’d realized something fundamental: Felicity knew what they needed before he did. 

And more than that, she knew why. 

There had been a time—back when he was nineteen, with a newborn and a contract that barely covered rent—when every cent mattered. 

And Felicity had stretched them with a kind of brilliance that made survival look like strategy. She’d budgeted nappies down to the cent. She’d thrifted furniture, sewed her own curtains, and somehow still found a way to buy Oscar a coffee machine when he couldn’t function without caffeine and 2-hour sleep blocks. 

Even then, he knew: if there was anyone he trusted with his life—or his bank account—it was her. That trust never changed. 

The first time he got a real bonus—something large, something meaningful—he handed it over without hesitation. “Use it for whatever you want,” he’d said, tired and sunburnt and half-delirious after a weekend in Spa. 

She didn’t blink. Just tucked it away and said, “I’ve got a plan.” That plan, as it turned out, involved savings accounts, index funds, and a meticulous spreadsheet labeled Future Stuff That Matters. 

Over time, their finances shifted. Grew. Stabilized. But Oscar never took that control back—not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to. 

Felicity didn’t spend for status. She didn’t buy expensive handbags or flashy watches. 

She bought insulation for the attic because she wanted Bee to stay warm in winter. She bought antique light fixtures from a man named Jerry on Facebook Marketplace because “they had character.” She bought sandpaper and primer and tile grout and then used it herself. 

She handled taxes. Investments. Long-term planning. She set aside money for Bee’s education, Oscar’s retirement, and an annual holiday they still hadn’t taken. 

And she never once acted like it was hers alone—just theirs, and safe in her hands. 

Oscar loved that about her. That she didn’t treat money like power. She treated it like possibility. 

And while the outside world saw him as the Formula 1 driver, the rising star, the man with the million-dollar contracts—he knew better. 

Knew that the reason he could focus on racing at all was because Felicity kept the rest of their world running so seamlessly behind the scenes.

Once, early in their marriage, he’d jokingly called her his CFO. She’d rolled her eyes. “I’m your wife.” But honestly, she was both. Because when his paycheck came in, he barely looked at it anymore. 

He just handed it over, kissed her cheek, and said, “Tell me if we can afford a new front porch.” Felicity always smiled. 

Always kissed him back. And somehow always replied, “Already ordered the wood. Bee helped me pick the stain.”

Felicity didn’t treat money like power.

She treated it like possibility.

And Oscar had learned to see it the same way—not in numbers, but in what it meant: security. Choice. Freedom. A future where his wife could say yes to things for herself. Where Bee would never grow up thinking that survival had to look like sacrifice.

And when people—Zak, Lando, even his own father—asked how he could trust one person with all of it?

Oscar just smiled.

Because that one person had been holding their entire life together since she was nineteen, tired, and holding a baby on her hip with a spreadsheet open on her lap.

She was the safest bet he’d ever made.

[starstickerzzz]

Ight bet hold on,

1: complicated but mostly no

2: my dying grandma I’m currently leaving the hospital for the night

3: y e s

4: y e s s s

5: TAKEN !!

6: dramatically

7: edible cookie dough from da hopital cafe

8: I’m really good at skateboarding hatchet throwing (won a contest actually) and shooting hoops surprisingly

9: yessss bruh I straight up tear my fingers apart

10: bout a month ago I believe

11: my gf of five years 😏💝

12: I have severe insomnia I’ve stayed up longer

13: oh fuck yes I do!! 😋✨‼️‼️‼️💥💥💥

14: yeah all my loved ones who keep dying lol

15: Yee!!! Quite a few in my house but the one that’s officially mine is my leopard gecko and technically the fatass weirdly smart hamster named adolf hamster is mine now too since I’m the only one who takes care of him and plays and holds him so mi hermano said he’s mine now 💀

16: frustrated and exausted as fuvk also OW OW OW OW CHRONIC PAIN WHAT THE FUCK

17: …mayyyybbeee…

18: nope! :3

19: YESSSS AAAGHHH unless the universe exploded idk

20: gfs house also I had to use Alexa to figure out wtf that meant lol it said “to kiss and cuddle” so I hope that what u meant by that :b

21: try to keep my gammy , great gammy and aunt from killing eachother or themselves and try not to lose my shit despite the horrrors

22: my n da waif have considered adopting children when we get married and comfortable together n shit (asa foster victim who is great with kids it would be good I think) also I have a lot of emotionally adopted kids lolz

23: I’ve got a vertical libret and have been stabbed if that counts LMAOOO

24: art, creative writing,phycology, and general science and English I’d say (when I was in school)

25: absolutely quiet a few people fs

26: Wendy’s borger 😔💔

27: romantically? Yes I’ve had to reject a lot of people (mostly men) cuz for sum reason people crush on me a lot and it sucks cuz I’m a very taken lesbian and hate having to make people sad but I’m pretty good at being nice about it. In general? Never on purpose but probably ig??? Idk I’ve been through a lot so idk maybe

28: nope! Been with the best wife in the whole universe since like middle school so :D

29: I sure hope not but you’d have to ask @skelebab ig ? (Mi Bonita Estrella 😼✨)

30: so fucking much but mostly having to be my family’s constant therapist and dealing with my ggma in the hospital and everyone have insane angst with eachother and it being my problem all the time cuz im the only one who can help :”)

31: yuh

32: sunset colors !!

33: maybe a lil yeah but not as bad as you’d think considering my past so that’s cool

34: fucked up distorted trauma nightmare don’t wanna talk to much abt it tbh 💀

35: my grandma Anne yesterday

36: sometimes if but not a whole lot idk

37: for me probably forget if I can but I usually can’t do either very well

38: welllll…maybe second best? First getting out of residential hell was the best Fs but now shit sucks again but it’s not as bad as before as every other year was literally just violent amounts of constant trauma 😭😭😭

39: idk i think it was elementary school though if that even counts if not then middle school with da waif

40: hell naw

41: ur mom- I MEAN UHHHH…sushi, ramen, or Wendy’s tbh but I have arfid so foods hard to eat or like most of the time either way 😔💔

42: it can feel like that sometimes ig but im very atheist so ehhh

43: I can’t even remember I just passed the fuck out at some point on the couch after not sleeping at all for like 3 days 💀

44: ???no tf???

45: nahhh I go pretty out of my way to be kind asf unless you really really really hurt me or a loved one first in which case veryyyy

46: lost count tbh but I don’t start fights I’ve just learned how to finish them after so much violent bs

47: not in a spiritual way but I would call my gf that fs

48: fall weather in general or aesthetic ass grey days

49: no not reallly but it’s good for photography

50: helllllllll yeah that’s the plan!

51: if my gf did id probably die a bright red melty mess

52: the few people I truly give a shit about anymore and my hyperfixations

53: I’ve done that to many times to do it again unless I ran away or some shit but I’d probably go back to jade if I did

54: no

55: tell they ass hell naw

56: yes actually I have 2

57: a really zesty gay nurse guy from da hopital he was really cool

58: gammy

59: naw

60: yes yea yea yes yes yes yes ye s yesusysysyys

(U messed up the numbers btw but it’s chill)

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Morning routine- Yandere kidnapper! x fem reader!

This is incredibly Yan nanami coded, and I refuse to apologise

@snail-day you understand the vision

---------------------------------------------------------

There is starting to be a routine to these days now.

He likes to let you sleep in most mornings, preferring to get up himself to do the chores and get breakfast ready for the both of you. Today he has chosen to make you a treat and go for pancakes, allowing them to come to room temperature on the kitchen table while he gets you up.

Your routine begins with the unlocking of your hand cuff while he peppers your face with kisses. Even though by now you've mostly settled into your role as his sweet little lady, he cannot be too secure. (Especially after the incident with you trying to break open the child safety locks in the bathroom cabinet) he always without fail will check for any bruises or sores to kiss better as you lay limply in his arms. You used to be much more of a wriggler he remembers but he supposes you probably still have some of the sedative in your system. No worries, he can simply carry you to the bathroom. Sitting you down onto the little shower stool he installed after your last accident caused you to hobble round the home for a few couple months. He decided the stool was a good precaution to avoid any further accidents between you two.

He unbuttons your sleep shirt easily before turning the water on, making sure it's just perfect before he cleans you off from the night before. Taking extra care when his fingers graze your inner thighs to only wash off the memories of last night with a tenderness he didn't show you then. Tilting your hair back to rinse shampoos and conditioner- a small fortune spent on what goes into your routine. Once you're clean it continues, he wraps you warmly and sits you down to your ten step skincare routine. Always setting a two minute timer exactly for him to brush your teeth. You're still so lethargic for this, opening your mouth without resistance. Before you'd end up spitting out blood by the end of it, but now he can be much more gentle.

Again he carries you to the bedroom, drying your hair before he picks out a new outfit for the day. Your wardrobe consists mainly of sundresses, not because he prefers how you look in them. But because they are just far more accessible for the both of you, easier to slip on and off. He helps you up again, you can walk now but he just wants to be safe when it comes to you, taking your arm to carefully lead you to the table.

By now your pancakes and hot chocolate are lukewarm as he cuts them into bite sized pieces. Gently feeding you as he calls out sweet little praises, dabbing at the syrup that falls down your chin with a delicate sigh. Your eyes don't react much to this anymore, each swallow is wary as if you wonder which bite will contain the sedative that keeps you frozen on the sofa while he is at work. But if you refuse to eat he is not above forcing nutrition into you by any means necessary. For all the gentleness that he performs now, it has cost you every sharp tooth and nail you fought with.

Once the plate is clear he gives you the little cup of your vitamins and pills. He tries to make sure your diet is well rounded but unfortunately it is hard to keep your vitamin d levels up from within the flat. Perhaps one day the two of you will have a garden with a tall fence around. Then maybe you could go outside for a bit each day, maybe without supervision. But for now you'll only feel the sun on your face through an open window. The pills have changed since you first were brought to your new home, originally it was only sedatives and birth control. One to keep you complacent and the other because a baby right then would have not helped you to settle down. Now the sedition is at a much lower dose, carefully weaning you from it to avoid any long term effects, and the birth control has swapped places with the prenatal vitamins, just in case any happy accidents occur. On some days they change, after your last accident he withheld any pain relief for a week to make sure you learned the lesson properly. He wouldn't want to have to teach you again.

He takes the cup up to your lips waiting for you to swallow them, you open your mouth when finished to prove no pill was stashed away. Your obedience is rewarded again with another flurry of kisses, trailing down your neck to the collarbone. He only stops once his alarm goes off, reminding him to leave for work in ten minutes, grumbling as he fixes his tie and loads the dishwasher.

He takes you to the living room finally, placing you down on your side of the sofa, a blanket draped over your shoulders and a second left over your legs. He reminds you that there is a snack plate and a lunch box ready for you in the fridge for when you get peckish. There are different hobbies to occupy you within arms reach, all of them domestic and soft just as he wants you to be. Embroidery, knitting, reading. The remote is available but he has most things on child lock so there isn't a point. He places a sippy cup of water down on the table as though that's nothing out of the ordinary before he crouches in front of you expectantly.

You lean forward and graze your chapped lips against his forehead. He brightens up and returns the kiss to you with all the passion you lacked.

“Goodbye my heart, I'll call you once I'm on break.”

He reluctantly makes his way to leave, making sure to not slam the door on his exit. Leaving you to collapse into the nest of pillows and wait.

He didn't even leave your cane to help you get around.

[kxsagi]

Hii can I request a reader that is always loud, laughing, joking (darkest and driest jokes) but actually serious and responsible in work, like she’s always being silly, but suddenly getting serious when it’s come to her assignment, feel free to do with any BLLK characters but can you include Karasu and Yukimiya?

Thank you so much ily 🥰🔥

“𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬”

a/n: OKAY THIS READER DESCRIPTION IS SPOT-ON ME, LIKE THIS IS LITERALLY ME

anon are you on my alt??? 

ft. karasu tabito, yukimiya kenyu, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, mikage reo, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

karasu tabito

the first time he met you, he genuinely thought you were a walking meme compilation. you were doing a deadpan reenactment of your funeral, complete with “my last words will be ‘sybau’ while laying on the floor like you were auditioning for a broadway tragedy. karasu’s like “yo... what is wrong with her 💀” “nothing, what’s wrong with you for being alive during my performance?” his soul left his body. instant love. 

but the day he saw you working for the first time? jaw-dropped. you were elbows-deep in paperwork, planner color-coded, firing off deadlines, and actually emailing people back like a normal adult? you even hit him with a “can’t talk right now. i’m working.” in the most monotone, CEO voice ever. karasu just blinked like, “… where did my unhinged girlfriend go???” 

he finds the contrast sexy as hell. like yes, joke about your own funeral, but also please help him organize his taxes because he hasn’t done that in three years. 

he will literally follow you around going, “say something messed up” like a fanboy just to hear you hit him with another “if i got run over, would you keep the pieces as a souvenir?” 

sometimes he gets whiplash. you’ll be laughing at a meme, and then suddenly turn to him with “babe, did you turn in your PR proposal? the deadline’s 3PM JST.” and he’s like, “how did you– bro i forgot that even existed…” 

yukimiya kenyu

he thought you were deranged at first. you met at a charity gala, and you made a joke about "selling your soul to capitalism, but at least doing it ethically.” he laughed, but cautiously. like you were a tiger in clown makeup. but then you were laughing so hard at your own joke, and the way you wheezed like an old radiator made him soft. 

what really made him fall, though, was seeing how responsible you were behind all the dry jokes. you handled all the event logistics like it was second nature, emailing sponsors, correcting billing issues, and still cracking the occasional “if i die from stress, make sure my ghost finishes the job” in your corpse-dry voice. yukimiya was like, “wait… so she’s the brains and the chaos???” 

he’s a bit of a perfectionist, so he really respects your ability to flip the switch. when he’s spiraling about a brand deal or a photoshoot, you’re the one who calmly reminds him that “you’ve already survived worse. remember when your hair got fried in that one ad? and you still slayed.” 

he listens. because underneath the sarcasm and your “i hope the earth explodes” humor, you always get things done. 

the two of you are basically opposites: he’s elegant, poised, and a little dramatic; you’re loud, meme-obsessed, and unfiltered until it matters. he thinks you’re the perfect balance of chaotic good and responsible queen. “i love that you’re insane, but i also love that you scare HR with how efficient you are.” 

isagi yoichi

his first impression: “she’s hilarious, but needs to be monitored at all times.” you were making jokes about tax evasion and pretending to haunt people through google docs. “i wrote ‘i’m behind you’ in size 2 font at the bottom of every spreadsheet.” “WHY.” 

but when the blue lock PR team asked someone to help manage the team’s community outreach campaign, you went full commander mode. suddenly spreadsheets, schedules, polite corporate emails, and you booked everyone’s appointments like a pro. isagi was SHOCKED. “wait, you’re actually a professional???” “i am literally linkedin-certified. don’t play with me.” 

isagi now just lets you talk your insane talk as long as you walk the walk (which you always do). but he does sometimes worry when you casually say things like “if this deadline kills me, cremate my body and mix it into office coffee.” “love. are you okay?” “no, but i’m still doing my job better than everyone else.” 

kaiser michael

at first, he thought you were annoying. too loud. too sarcastic. too many disturbing jokes. until one day he caught you managing your own press schedule, negotiating deals over the phone like a shark, and drafting a marketing deck for your brand in the same breath as “haha if i get hit by a bus at least make sure it’s a mercedes.” 

kaiser’s respect for you skyrocketed. because that’s his energy – joking around, acting like he doesn’t care – but being a monster at your craft? that’s how you earn his interest. now he just follows you around like a smug little bodyguard. “you’re a menace. and you’d probably make a million dollars scamming me in a powerpoint.” 

when you two work together on anything serious, it’s absolute power couple energy. he’ll be leaning against your desk like, “are you done being hot and responsible?” and you’ll deadpan, “no. but your face is delaying my work productivity.” 

mikage reo

honestly? he was enchanted from day one. you were cracking jokes like “if i win the lottery, i’m investing it in haunted dolls,” while organizing a full event on your phone and replying to work emails with scary speed. reo watched with his jaw dropped like “are you even real???” 

he’s used to people who joke around, but flake out. you are the rare breed that jokes harder and works harder. he finds your duality fascinating. you’ll clown someone to their face and then finish your budget projections by 3 AM. “how do you have so much chaotic energy and still have a retirement plan?” 

reo is obsessed with your balance. he calls you “joker boss” because you’re both unhinged and terrifyingly capable. he’ll 100% show you off at events like, “yeah, she made our whole business plan… while doing a bit about eating drywall.” 

itoshi rin

you physically hurt him. not because you hit him, but because the first time you met, you made a joke so vile and deadpan, he choked on air and stared at you like you were a walking red flag in human form. something like: “i hope the company burns down, but like... on a friday so we don’t have to work monday either.” “what the actual f–” 

he genuinely thought you were an unserious clown. like the kind he’d never tolerate. until one day during a group project, everyone was slacking off and joking around… and suddenly, you flipped into hyper-efficient, eyes-glinting, do-it-or-die mode. you whipped out a laptop, started outlining deliverables, assigning tasks, and saying terrifying things like “i’ve already emailed the supervisor your excuses. now pick up the slack.” rin was stunned. aroused. slightly afraid. 

now he just watches you in silence whenever you’re in your serious mode, trying so hard not to look impressed. but then you break the tension by going, “anyway. if i die tomorrow, bury me in a blazer and tell god i was productive.” and rin's brain just short circuits again. he thinks you're mentally unwell. he's also never been in love like this. 

you actually motivate him. he’s already serious about his career, but you’re the only one who outworks him and makes him laugh like a man losing brain cells. 

sometimes he hears you laughing at your own jokes at night and just sighs into the pillow like, “she’s so weird.” then goes back to cuddling you tighter because you’re his weird. 

itoshi sae

sae heard your laugh before he ever saw you. loud. wild. from the gut. he turned around like “who let a maniac in here?” then you walked past him saying something like, “if i disappear, tell my manager i ascended. into the void.” he watched you leave and muttered, “what the fuck...” 

but the next time he saw you, you were on a work call, serious voice on, notebook open, calling shots and speaking like the CEO of a fortune 500 company. and when the call ended? you dropped your pen, leaned back, and went: “anyway, if this job doesn’t kill me, i will.” sae almost choked on his drink. 

this man is dry. so dry. but you? your humor is even drier, darker, and more sarcastic than his, and it physically pains him to laugh at your jokes. like the one time you said, “my toxic trait is being really responsible while secretly hoping society collapses.” “... that’s so stupid.” but then he’s laughing five hours later on the team bus because of what you said. 

he secretly loves watching you flip from “chronically online chaos gremlin” to “scary competent adult.” he’ll watch from a corner, drink in hand, smirking while muttering, “they’re not ready for her. poor bastards.” 

you stress him out when you’re too funny during serious moments though. “sae, if you die mid-game, can i have your bugatti?” “no, and i’m blocking you when i haunt you.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢