#and they are anything but normal. anything anything anything but normal. none of this normal

[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.

[distuff]

Demon Boys' and Sharing

Featuring: : Jinu Saja, Abs Saja, Mystery Saja, Romance Saja, Baby Saja Reader: gender neutral

📍Requests Please, check my Bio.

_ _ _ _ _

Jinu Saja

🐦‍⬛ Jinu would argue to the demon realm and back that he was not possessive of what was his... maybe just a bit. But no one, and he means no one, had the proof of this besides the Magpie and the Tiger - and both swore to secrecy. He even made them sign non-disclosure agreements, since he didn't trust the damn bird.

🐦‍⬛ However, hypothetically, if someone from the guys were to, let's say, try and pet his Tiger... Jinu really didn't know where the demonic flame came from: "You know how moody Gwi-Ma can be," he would say with an 'innocent' smile, which was always met with unimpressed expressions from the guys.

🐦‍⬛ Safe to say, when Jinu introduced you to the others with a subtle threat that regarded your safety, the guys watched with unimpressed gazes as Jinu steered you to his room - neither feeling the need to warn you about Jinu's possessive nature. Too curious to see what their 'leader' would do once you touched the Tiger.

It was late afternoon when you and Jinu were resting on the couch in the guys' living room - you against Jinu's chest as he went through the latest notes of their song belonging to their newer album, Abby, Romance, and Baby all playing UNO on the kitchen counter - when it happened. You’d dated Jinu over a month now, taking the news of him and the others being demons as well as any human - by trying to run away, no matter how good-looking he was; self-preservation was strong. You got over it like any healthy couple would, calling it a bumpy road in your relationship that strengthened it more. So, seeing the neon-blue Tiger with large eyes that seemed to stare endlessly at you - and looked about ready for the eyes to bulge out - step, or rather prowl, very slowly towards you, you both felt a bit of the natural fear, but also— "Awwweee!!" You immediately sat up with glittering eyes - ignoring the way the trio at the counter snapped their heads towards you, eagerly awaiting Jinu's reaction - as you went and let the Tiger smell your hand. The Tiger, however, just slowly moved its head down, staring at the hand unblinkingly before it slowly bumped it and, after a second, started to purr without moving its head. Feeling a little creeped out but still filled with the cuteness, you started carefully petting it, marvelling at the softness. The trio's mouths dropped as they stared at how the Tiger was now attempting to crawl onto you, with Jinu just continuing to read through his notebook with laser focus, not minding that you - and now the large cat - were occupying his lap. "Fucking bullshit," Baby muttered before putting his lollipop back into his mouth and turning to the game.

Abs Saja

💪 Abby was the least possessive out of the five of them. Unlike the others, he reacted to none of your advances. You took a piece of the street food he bought? Go at it! You want more? You took his clothes? It's fine - he has more! You snatched his phone? He doesn't even know how to work with it! Want to teach him? Abby was attached to nothing you asked for and didn't consider anything that you took from him his.

💪 At least, that’s what it looks like until you decided to do laundry day. Having been dating for a month, you basically lived with the others in their shared apartment, where it was normal for yours and Abby's clothes to be just dumped together in one laundry basket and be done with - besides the underwear, of course. You were not that close... yet.

💪 So, imagine Abby’s surprise when he walked into his room and saw you holding what once was a gently woven bracelet that he had kept with him from his era before he was taken to the demon realm and chained by Gwi-Ma, now innocently being held in your hands - all destroyed.

💪 You looked confused when you glanced at him before your eyes widened. Abby didn’t know what he looked like as he silently walked towards you. He could only focus on holding onto the boiling anger that was fighting to seep through.

💪 Abby was silent when you gently handed him what once was his bracelet, gifted to him for 'luck'. He stayed silent when you walked past him, having to feel the tension seeping from him. He stayed silent once you gently shut the door behind yourself.

💪 Only then did Abby allow himself to let his demonic form take over, as his hands burned - setting the useless piece of strings on fire, leaving only a few ashes in his hands that easily fell down as he opened his palm, eyes cold as he watched it fall on the carpet below.

A few days had passed with radio silence between you and him. Abby didn’t know what to text you, what to tell you, what to do if he saw you - so, guessed it was a good thing you two had some space between each other. At least that was what Mystery was telling him while Abby was being held by the other three as he was currently trying to crawl towards the entrance door to go and track you. Demon senses be finally useful for other shit than smelling the lust on his fans or feeling itchy when wearing nothing but silk. "For the love of - stop squirming!" Jinu bit at him as he sat on his back together with Romance, while Baby was trying - and failing - dragging him back by his legs. "The pain, the sorrow, the tragedy!" Romance wailed as he placed his hand on his forehead dramatically, leaning back before he blinked and looked at Mystery with a deadpan expression, "What happened again?" he asked, all but disinterested. Before Mystery could answer, the entrance door clicked open, freezing the five of them in place and making the Tiger slowly tilt his head, causing the Magpie to squawk from nearly falling. When Abby saw you walking in with hesitation but a sense of determination - as you seemed to be clutching something to your chest - Abby all but easily got up, throwing down Romance and Jinu who flailed as they fell on the floor, glaring nastily at Abby, who ignored all of them as he all but sprinted towards you. Before you could react, you were suspended in the air as Abby twirled you with a large grin before gently setting you down and hugging you to his chest, nuzzling into your hair and taking in your sweet and savoury scent. The two of you ignored the guys shuffling and Baby’s gagging noise as they walked further into the apartment, leaving the two of you. After a moment, though, you tried to get out - which Abby was not making easier. "Abby, hold up—I... I have something for you..." you said, trailing off a bit, but it was enough to pique Abby's curiosity. Letting you go, Abby blinked down at you as you seemed to be gathering courage before you finally presented to him what you were holding to your chest. It was a messy replica of the bracelet you’d destroyed. With steady hands, Abby took it, inspecting it as you went on about how it took longer than you thought, how you paid for a course that taught this, and how you didn’t know it was from such a late era. "I mean, I just thought it was something you’d made when you were little," you chuckled sheepishly, "I didn’t know it was this old way of tying knots that was for protection—huh?" You stopped talking - cut off by the sudden hug from Abby. After a moment, you hugged him back as he nuzzled into your neck. Putting his hand on the back of your head, he pressed you further as he stared boredly at the bracelet in his hand with eyes seeping with glowing yellow and slitting a bit. A sharp grin made its way onto his face as he clutched the useless jewellery. Who cares about that shit anyway? With the painful distance you put him through, Abby realised he had something better than some bracelet. You. You were his - and he would die before he let someone destroy you, accidentally or not. You were Abby’s new ‘lucky charm’.

Mystery Saja

🐶 For such a silent being, Mystery wasn't surprised when the others thought he was... calm. Or rather, that he was reasonable. Human language was so complicated...

🐶 Mystery just chose to use his energy wisely. Teasing? Celebrating? The chaotic laughter the guys sometimes broke into in the middle of planning HUNTER/X's downfall? His desperate... puppies? What was the word Jinu said to call them— Ah... "Fans." All these, Mystery labelled as "Waste of energy," while everyone else labelled him as "Cool and Collected." ...Haaah.

🐶 It was Baby who first saw him snap. Mystery thought it was useful that the youngest of the demons saw him, as Baby was blunt to his very core and wouldn't make stuff up, unlike Romance or Abs. But he was gossipy enough to say it to others, unlike Jinu, who would keep it to himself.

🐶 It was only the two of them, as the other three were asked to join some body contest among other boybands, not needing all five of them. Baby was openly bored, and Mystery was openly ignoring him. That is, until Baby dragged himself to his bookshelf - neatly organised by genre and book title - and was about to pluck one from the Dark Noir section.

🐶 The only thing that saved the other one from having his fingers bitten off was his abnormal reflexes, as he sidestepped with bulging eyes, hand moving up and fingers twisting into sharp claws aimed at the danger - before Baby jerked, locking his demonic eyes with Mystery’s glowing ones peering up at him over his fringe. They were slitted horizontally, unlike the other demons, whose eyes slit vertically.

🐶 Mystery was crouched, a low growl vibrating from his chest as Baby watched the two upper canines grow, twisting out from his lips. There was a silence before Baby took a step back and relaxed his hand, his eyes seeping into dark steel blue as he scoffed - making Mystery ease and let his human form take over once more as he slowly rose.

🐶 Baby gave him a once-over before he huffed, turning to leave and flipping him off with his back to him. Mystery watched over his bangs before calmly returning to the couch to continue reading.

Baby, being the unfortunate victim, the young demon was all but traumatised by his senior, staying clear of that bookshelf from that day onwards. So... imagine the younger’s surprise as he slowly ate the disgusting cereal that tasted like wheat with milk he wanted to throw out - but couldn’t, because you, a human Mystery had taken as a pet, were here. Baby couldn’t even turn and glare at you as you were doing Gwi-Ma knows what, while Mystery sat near you reading - releasing the oppressive aura the guys found he had been holding back when you first showed up. Everything was relatively peaceful until you started to whine about having nothing to read. Mystery tilted his head, attention focused on you with piercing eyes through the thick fringe that Jinu said should be kept hidden for their bright intensity. He may have messed up a bit on the transformation he guessed. Mystery rested his hand with the book on his lap so you would see he was attentive to you, listening as you explained how you’d tried reading all sorts of books - even fics! - but none had caught your interest. He listened further as you described what sort of book you felt like reading and, without hesitation, he answered in a steady voice, "The twelfth row from the top - use the stepping stairs over there," he pointed first at his bookshelf, then at the hidden wooden stairs at the very end, before continuing - neither of you paying attention to the choking noises coming from Baby in the kitchen - "In the ‘O’ section, the book with the deep blue spine and silver letters. That one should be good for you." Mystery felt his hand twitch as you beamed at him, brushing his side strands - and thus brushing his cheek - with your gentle hand. You thanked him as you stood up and went to search for his book he’d described, all the while watching you sort through his bookshelf. Seeing all that belonged to him so close to one another made him roll his shoulders, and he straightened - releasing more of his demonic energy from how pleased he felt - followed by the sound of something, or someone, hitting the floor in the background. Your head finally snapped towards the sound, and with widened eyes you called out, "Oh my God, Baby!" All the while, Mystery only kept his eyes on you - his hair parting as he followed your hurried footsteps to look at the younger, revealing one of his eyes with a horizontal slit that expanded into a black moon.

Romance Saja

🌹 Romance was openly possessive. He saw no shame in protecting what was his. This also kept him away from the unnecessary stressful experiences where he would have to threaten one of the guys if they tried taking something of his.

🌹 It was just that easy! Romance always shook his head at the others' antics when one took or touched something of another, leaning away when he saw a wrinkle appear on one of their foreheads - prepping himself that day for some ‘spa time’ for himself and whichever member had such an imperfection on his face.

🌹 So, when you caught his attention and began to... date him - was that the new term that humans called the betrothal phase in the modern world? Jinu did say something on this topic, but Romance only remembers fixing his hair so it wouldn’t lose volume. ...Where was he...

🌹 Ah! Him, with you.

So when you started to become part of his routine and thus his life, you really believed you were getting any ‘special treatment,’ darling?

Flushed skin was one of Romance’s favourite sights, he thought, as he trailed a clawed finger over the bite marks on the back of your shoulder and arm, until he laced your fingers together and brought them to his lips - nibbling carefully with the set of sharp teeth that were a far cry from those in his full demon form. What was the point of hiding his true nature from you when you began dating, when he knew showing it would lead him exactly where the two of you were now? The two of you snuggling, your back against his chest, and coming down from such a satisfying moment. That is, until you began to stir - and Romance saw no reason not to let you go, curious to see what you were trying to do. Kiss him? Be the one to hold him? Another round, perhaps? Seems like neither, as he watched you, like a curious cat, rise. Still on his bed, you moved to the edge, with Romance following to see what you wanted to— A deep growl resonated through his room, freezing you as you reached down to take the shirt he wore today - the one you took off him before falling under his masterful hands that reshaped you each time. With owlishly wide eyes, you turned to him as he watched you with narrowed ones, no doubt dark carmine now overtaken by glowing gold and slitted pupils. His mouth was partly open, flashing his sharper teeth as his clawed hands dug into the duvet. He only stopped growling when you finally got the message and moved away. He huffed, watching as fear gave way to what could only be described as a mix of disappointment and hesitation on your face. Your eyes were turned downward, which Romance did not like. Gently, he placed a clawed finger under your chin and brought it up, his nose barely brushing yours as his golden eyes glowed, the slits expanding a bit as you locked eyes with him - his grin sharpening dangerously. “Silly human~” he cooed, brushing your cheek and placing his hand below your ear as he leaned forward, lips brushing yours as he spoke, "Can’t remember me telling you not to touch what is mine?" he all but growled the last word before devouring you that night once more. A few weeks after, Romance could still sense some longing from you. He didn’t understand the need for humans these days to share their clothes with their other half, but oh well… so be it. On that day, he went and bought you two matching sets of clothes. Teasingly dangling them in front of you, Romance told himself this set would be the first and the last. However, when you squealed and all but jumped on him - hooking your legs around his midsection before jumping off, grabbing your part of the set, and running into his room to change - only to come back in the colours he chose for you, Romance all but started cataloguing all the types of clothing you’d need. Romance still didn’t understand the notion of sharing clothes with your partner - dare he say humans were foolish in this day and age - as seeing you in the clothes he picked for you made him feel more like he claimed you than you wearing what was his.

Baby Saja

🍼 Baby could give two shits about the guys taking something of his. Jinu wanted to use his hairbrush? Go wild. Jinu should make sure he wouldn’t find a strand of black hair on it, though. Otherwise, Baby would plug the iron-pointed teeth of the brush and perfectly align it on Jinu’s mattress in a way he wouldn’t notice until bedtime.

🍼 Romance dressing him up and throwing out the clothes he bought for him? Hands raised - Baby would listen, not really caring as long as Romance left him alone for the rest of the day.

🍼 Abs lost another toothbrush? Here. But Baby wasn’t responsible for the spicy taste it had when he handed it to the tall demon. And Mystery wanting the cookie one of the braindead humans… cough, fans, gifted him with yet another baby bottle? ...Here. He’d give it, as long as Mystery got rid of that cursed bottle.

🍼 So no. Baby was not possessive, materialistic, territorial, or whatever other fancy word humans decided to use to describe the simple need to keep their deluded autonomy. Baby had none of that. He knew who and what he was - he didn’t need anything to prove it.

🍼 That was until you came into the picture. You were no different from the other humans - just another soul for Gwi-Ma to consume... or at least in the beginning. The closer you got, the more Baby wanted to keep your vibrant soul all for himself. They were allowed by their King to eat a few of the souls themselves, after all... not that you needed to know. Knowing he was a demon was enough for you - a selfish decision that allowed him to ease up some of the illusion and harness more energy, as well as be with you.

🍼 However, as a human once himself - and not that long ago turned demon too - Baby should have remembered humans were far too greedy~

It was just the two of you, the others having gone out, and since you refused to tag along, why should Baby bother? He was resting between your legs, sucking on a lollipop, watching some shitty story on that slim box Jinu called the “TV” - and the story a “movie with actors” - while you were doing your own thing. Baby didn’t move much when you stood up, telling him you needed some sugar to keep going. He hummed as he sucked on the lollipop, imagining it was the bitter-sweet taste of a human soul instead of the pungent medicine - sweet devotion and bitter fear - just like he liked it. He busied himself by commenting on the movie and how badly the humans played their part - until he suddenly stopped, mouth parted, the lollipop hanging loosely from his lips. His eyes widened in sharp alertness as his canines lengthened, easily cracking the candy between his teeth as his jaw snapped shut. His ears strained as he heard the faint sound of the glass cap being moved. Within seconds, Baby had your chest pressed against the kitchen counter, his own chest firm against your back, one hand gripping your wrist - the one holding the glass lid from the jar that held multiple lollipops. Even if Baby’s grip bruised, your fear of what he might do if the glass cap broke was stronger, and you didn’t let go. You saw Baby’s other hand - claws extended - near your face, as he leaned over, growling warningly into your ear, the vibration in his chest trailing down your spine. “Drop… it,” Baby growled, his already deep voice dipping lower, causing you to shut your eyes and obey. But instead of a shattering sound, your wrist was released. Cold air hit your flushed skin, and the second Baby’s chest moved away from your back, you immediately straightened and backed away - putting distance between yourself and the man- demon. You held your slightly burned wrist in your other hand, chest rising and falling, watching as Baby carefully placed the cap back onto the jar. Before he could turn, you followed your instincts and sprinted out of the guys’ apartment, praying he wouldn’t follow - needing time to process what had happened. Baby was not impressed. Three whole days without your attention. Instead, it was Romance, Abs, Mystery, Jinu - damn, even the stupid-looking chicken with that cat got your affection. All but him. He was not pouting, fuck you. How dare you still come to their apartment and ignore him - and for what? For him telling you - politely, mind you - to keep your hands off what was his? Baby’s glare hardened as he stood in the kitchen behind the bar counter, but you were too busy petting Jinu’s creepy cat that he’d somehow found down in the demon realm. Baby huffed when, instead of your gaze, he met the tiger’s unblinking stare - one that seemed to pierce through his hollowed chest. He looked away, eyes landing on the stupid jar that caused all of this. Fucking petty human, he growled internally, stepping forward and ignoring the hollow ache tugging him towards you - the urge to jump on you and demand why, why, whywhywhy! Instead, Baby grumbled as he walked over and snatched the cursed glass jar from its place, turning towards the living room.

Once his shadow fell over you, you froze - which made Baby frown. It was becoming painfully clear you weren’t ignoring him because of the jar - and that made him want to both shatter the jar in his hands and fall to his knees to rip his hair out, trying to understand what he did wrong when nothing he did had felt wrong to him. But instead, Baby slowly crouched down, head bowed, eyes staring at the lollipops in the jar. With a steady voice, he spoke. “Here,” he said simply, holding the jar out to your back. He didn’t know what expression you wore, but he knew you hadn’t moved. Still, he remained in place, having no other idea how to show that he meant no harm - that he was… “Mianhae…” he said, instead of just thinking it, his voice quiet. Baby started to grit his teeth, embarrassed at the slip, until he felt your fingers - warm and gentle - wrap around his where they held the jar. His head snapped up, eyes wide and doe-like, meeting your soft gaze - and in that moment, he straightened a little, like a sunflower stretching toward the sun’s first beam of light after a long, cold night. Baby was not possessive, materialistic, or territorial - or any other fancy term. But… He recognised attachment. The kind he felt towards the others, towards the sweets on sticks he enjoyed from the human world - even if they did taste awful - and most of all, towards you. So, when you suddenly withdrew from him, it felt like a piece of himself had gone with you. As you happily enjoyed one of his lollipops - after agreeing that you could take one only after asking - Baby rested his head on your shoulder like a pillow, while the others were in their rooms or out - alive, judging from the demonic waves subtly wafting in between the honmoon. Baby nuzzled deeper into your neck, feeling your soul’s steady thrum, and comfortably sank into the realisation that- You were now part of him, too.

[lucenra]

The Favorite

𝓟airing ↳ Saja Boys X Manager!F!Reader

𝓘𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 .. you’re their favorite human. (HEADCANNONS)

𝓦arnings .. no warnings !

𝓐uthor's note .. Hello i love da saja boys 🤤🤤

— You were in their dressing room, writing stuff down on your clipboard as they were getting touch ups.

“Urgh– N/N, can you help me please?” You heard Baby struggle. You subtly rolled your eyes and walked over to him. He was tugging at his collar like it was choking him, fidgeting with the top button. You waited patiently until he stopped, then reached out and unbuttoned it for him. He then smiled at you and said thank you. You just gave him a look and walked away.

— Another time was when they were at their building late at night. They had just gone on break, so they were taking every opportunity they could get.

Mystery decided to cook ramen noodles as an offering to you—since you were always the one offering to cook for them. He didn’t realize how hot the pot was and ended up touching the outside of it. He hissed in pain and quickly called you over. You sighed and inspected his hands, trying to find the burn. You literally didn’t see anything, but he pointed to where it hurt, so you kissed it and gently rubbed the spot.

“Is that better?”

He stopped pouting and smiled. “Thank you, N/N.”

All the other members were jealous that he basically got kissed by you. Romance then walked over to the pot and pretended to burn his finger too, hoping for a kiss as well. But you knew exactly what he was doing, so you just went back to the couch to finish your movie.

— They loved teasing you. Especially Romance. He knew how good he can flirt with all the girls, so he takes advantage of it and tries to make you fold. ( Spoiler alert, you never give in. )

— Jinu might just be the most normal one in the group. He’s quiet, charming, nice to you sometimes, and he acts like a real human.

— They might annoy you all the time, but they’re quick to defend or protect you.

One time, they were on VLive when someone left a comment about you, calling you a “pick me” and saying you needed to quit.

Mind you, the VLive was being managed from your phone– because none of the boys knew how a phone actually worked, or even had one anymore, since they kept managing to break theirs.

As soon as they saw the comment, they jumped to your defense. Mystery shot a dirty look at the camera after reading it. “What even is a pick me? Whatever it is, you’re probably one,” Abby said. “Yeah, don’t come into our live just to talk shit about our perfect manager,” Baby added. “Who was talking shit about our manager?” Romance asked, snapping back to reality. “Stop with these negative comments. That’s not nice,” Jinu chimed in.

You had to quickly end the live and remind them that they can’t curse, it could cause a scandal.

They ended up apologizing afterward.

— They hated how their group was portrayed, they were demons for fucks sake, why were they singing about a drink and doing ‘aeygo’?

“What are these bright colors?”

“Aegyo? What’s that?”

“I can’t learn this dance.”

“What are these stage names? Wha– mine is Baby?!”

“You’re telling me I have to do cute poses..”

“Yeah, I'm not doing that.”

[weaselle]

you can include this on the list of shit i've been yelling about Elon Musk to anyone who would listen since 2018. The guy is a fucking menace, and it's because he's stupider than a bag of hammers, thinks he's a genius, and had the money to make it everyone's problem.

He's mean, pro fascist ethno state, a bioessentialist, and all around terrible person.

He's never invented anything or done anything successful except pay other people for their ideas. He bought Tesla and part of the contract was the founders couldn't tell anyone musk wasn't the one who invented the tesla electric motors. Like part of what he paid for was the legal right to pretend he was the genius behind successfully innovating electric cars.

When those kids were stuck in the underwater cave in Thailand, he had the stupidest idea of how to save them, and then when the professional underwater cave rescue guy told him the idea was stupid and he wasn't going to halt his rescue attempts for several days so elon could finish building his unusable rescue device, elon musk called him a pedophile on twitter (and then doubled down on it later, in fact the guy had to take him to court to get him to stop saying it). The idea was LAUGHABLY STUPID. Most 7 year olds could have looked at what he was proposing and seen that it wouldn't work

And of course the take-backsies on solving world hunger.

the cyber truck SUCKS ASS but also, he misused the testing license (which is meant to allow designers to test drive their vehicles when they are at a stage before normal licensing is possible) as a private license to drive his prototype unsafe truck to nightclubs and restaurants (it didn't even have side mirrors or anything, like none of the things a vehicle needs to be on the road - and, predictably, he damaged public property with it because It WASN'T ROAD SAFE YET)

just out driving around his dangerous dumbass vanity truck thing to nightclubs and shit, endangering everyone around him in an attempt to prove to himself that he's awesome -- which is EXACTLY his M.O.

he is a shit-stain of a human being

i hate him so much

You know what I know I'm usually pretty silent but I need you all to understand the horrible impact SpaceX and Starship has had on South Texas.

Yes, fuck those ugly ass cyber trucks but FUCK that Space Center.

Starship genuine danger to the people who live here. It's to the point many of the people here when they heard the explosion joked that it was probably another one of Elon's rockets.

This is a horrifying pattern we are becoming numb to, we hear about a planned test launch and brace ourselves for more debris.

Several of Musk's attempts at rockets, especially after the deregulation, have resulted in catastrophic explosions. Want the list? Here are a few!!

December 9th, 2020- Starship serial No. 8, or SN8. Exploded upon landing.

February 2, 2021- Starship SN9. Exploded upon landing.

March 3rd. 2021- Starship SN10. Landed in one piece. Fire at the skirt caused an explosion.

April 20, 2023- Starship. Exploded once more. Debris scattered in Port Isabell.

March 6, 2025- Flight 8. Spun out of control and exploded in a mass of fireballs. Planes had to be grounded due to the mass explosion and the debris are stills scattered in the ocean.

And now we have the most recent and the worse one yet.

June 18-19, 2025- Starship 36 during a GROUND test caused a mass explosion, the looming mushroom cloud causing locals in Cameron to believed they had been bombed.

The loser describes this it as a "rapid unscheduled disassembly" instead of what they are: fiery failures locals have to deal with as a result.

Pretty much everyone locally knows Elon Musk and his negative impact on our home, people who have had the unfortunate curse to have worked with him and the center call it Cultish, 8 members of his staff who spoke out against his behavior and sexual harassment were all fired.

Its a well known fact he hates the people here, and he goes out of his way to find employees who are not from this area and move them down here.

Musk has tried to encourage even more white people to come down to South Texas and live in his "Starship City". An attempt to gentrify and push out local citizens.

Rebekah Hinojosa, a local Activist with Another Gulf Is Possible, even had her home unlawfully entered by police after an alleged graffiti on a mural he commisioned (which didn't even obscure the mural).

This article is a good read on everything Musk has done to South Texas

I am TIRED of this going unnoticed and unheard of the People of The Valley. I need you to stop laughing and start taking this seriously.

If you want to read more on all the insane shit this man has done to South Texas here are a few more Articles I would Recommend

South Texas groups sue Texas for letting Elon Musk's SpaceX dump wastewater without permit, SpaceX's Starship explodes in space, which Musk calls a 'minor setback', What Is Starbase? Elon Musk Builds a SpaceX City With Shops, Worker Housing and Its Own Mayor — But Texas Locals Aren't Happy

[sweetshuga]

𝑾𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓?

𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒕

ⓘ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕! ⋆ pure filth ⋆ best friends ⋆ sexual tension ⋆ pet names ⋆ sleepover gone wrong (or right) ⋆ threesome (no incest—and please sybau if you think ts is incest) ⋆ eiffel tower ⋆ dacryphilia ⋆ blowjob ⋆ face fucking ⋆ raw doggin’ ⋆ backshots ⋆ spanking ⋆ degradation & praise kink + more.

"Would you rather sleep with me or Matt?" Chris asked, grinning from ear to ear, probably finding his own question to be quite amusing.

Well. It was funny. Hilarious even.

The fact that you’d choose both without hesitation was what made it hilarious. But you couldn’t say that out loud of course.

You blinked at him, then looked at Matt, before looking back at Chris—your eyes flickering between the two brothers. You let out a small laugh, too shaky to be one of amusement. More nervous than anything.

"Don’t joke about shit like that–"

You tried to dismiss it. But Matt spoke before you could say anything else.

"We’re serious," he said. "Me or Chris?"

You shifted in your seat, torn between telling them the truth and making it awkward or keeping it to yourself and laughing it off.

After some inner debate, you finally answered the question. "Both."

Matt and Chris barely heard what you said because of how quiet you were. A "huh?" leaving them both as they stared at you with confused expressions.

You looked down at your lap, face burning as you repeated yourself. Louder this time. "Both. I’d choose both."

Their teasing smirks faltered, replaced by genuine surprise, as if they couldn’t believe you actually answered sincerely. They probably thought you’d tell them to fuck off.

Chris cleared his throat and mumbled under his breath. "Well, that’s..." he trailed off, sharing a look with Matt before looking back at you with an unreadable expression. "You serious?"

You stood up suddenly, unable to handle the inevitable confrontation and the aftermath of your words. "I’m going to the bathroom." You mumbled and quickly walked out of the room before they could stop you.

A few minutes later, you walked back into Matt’s room, steeling yourself for the questions.

But none of them spoke when you entered. Their blue orbs bore into you with an intensity that had you feeling like you couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, Matt spoke, his voice coming out huskier and deeper than usual. "Were you being serious when you said you’d do both of us?"

The seriousness in his voice made all the jokes you could’ve used die in your throat, causing you to go speechless for a second. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of the water, no sound coming out despite your best efforts.

You closed your mouth, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. You didn’t know what to say. Were you supposed to say yes? Or no? You couldn’t tell what they were thinking—their expressions were too complicated to read.

"Yeah." You whispered, opting to be truthful.

Although you finally found your voice it was too quiet for them to take as a proper answer.

"Hm..." Chris murmured, his eyes searching your face.

A slow smirk crept onto his face, his eyes darkening with something that resembled... desire?

No. You’re probably just imagining it. There’s no way–

"Why are you just standing there? Aren’t you gonna sit?"

Chris’s teasing words made your mind go blank. You cursed internally, only now realizing how stupid you looked standing by the door and fidgeting like an idiot.

"Ye-yeah, I was about to sit." You wanted to jump into a rabbit hole like Alice and disappear into the wonderland the moment that stutter left your lips.

God, you probably sounded so nervous.

"You sound nervous. Why is that?" Matt questioned, nailing the hammer to the head. His eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the corners as he smirked, mirroring Chris’s expression.

You could almost hear the laughter in Matt’s voice, causing you to cringe, knowing how you’re acting but unable to be normal after that.

"It’s nothing. Let’s continue playing." You tried to lighten the tension in the room, but Matt and Chris didn’t let you.

"You sure?" Chris chuckled.

What did he mean by that?

"What? I am sure." You blinked, trying to gulp down the words that would ruin your friendship for sure.

You wanted them both. You always have. You imagined their hands on you, their lips brushing your skin, their intoxicating scents taking over your senses as they use you–

Stop it. What the fuck are you thinking?

You wanted to bang your head against the wall until it knocked some sense into you. You couldn’t be thinking such things about them. You’ve been friends forever. What you had was too precious to trade for something as stupid as lust.

But the room felt hotter the more you played. The questions got more and more explicit. Each one so close to breaking the fragile wall you had built to keep the friendship from turning into something else.

Maybe it was just your imagination but the brothers seemed to be sitting a lot closer to you than they were before. Their arms brushed against yours each time they moved. Their bodies were so close—enough for your head to fog from the smell of their colognes mixing together.

"Hey." Chris whispered, putting his hand on your shoulder to get your attention. His voice was too close to your ear for comfort, causing a shudder to run down your spine. The hand on your shoulder made the skin there burn hot.

"Yeah?" You said, trying your best to keep your voice steady as you turned your head towards Chris.

You hoped he didn’t notice the slight hitch in your breath when you spoke. But unfortunately for you, the smirk on his face told you everything you didn’t want to hear.

"You’re acting weird. All stiff and shit. You sure you’re okay?" He chuckled, slowly sliding his hand down your arm before dropping it back to his lap.

You didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose or not. But one thing was for sure—you were getting turned on.

Matt noticed the exchange and let out a short snort.

"You do look stiff. Almost like you’re..." Matt trailed off, obviously on purpose. He was teasing you, leaving your head swirling with thoughts on what he was implying. And he liked the way your eyes widened by a fraction, panic crossing your face.

After an hour full of subtle teasing remarks and suffocating tension, you couldn’t take it anymore. You realized they wanted you to word it out. Otherwise, you’d be forever sandwiched between the two brunettes who obviously had no intention of making the first move.

With a slow sigh, you began. "Why are you two acting like this?"

They tensed briefly at your sudden question, but they didn’t look the least bit nervous at you calling them out. Instead, it felt as if they were waiting for you to speak up on their childish game.

"What are you talking about?" Matt laughed softly.

Which was followed by Chris’s amused words. "We’re acting like what?"

They were playing you like an idiot. Unraveling you bit by bit until you were on the verge of insanity from the amount of tension coiling around you.

"You’re acting like, like, you’re making fun of me." You mumbled, your voice quieter than you wanted it to be as you looked down at your lap.

You sighed internally. They’re for sure going to think you’re upset.

But you couldn't help it. Doubt had begun to spread through your head like a wildfire. What if they were teasing you because you looked stupid? God, you probably did look stupid. And maybe you were stupid. Stupid to think they’d ever feel anything more.

Chris and Matt noticed as you got more and more lost in thought. And they knew you were overthinking it. You always did.

The spark in the room dimmed and the tension vaporized. Their teasing smirks and the crinkle of amusement in the corners of their eyes disappeared, replaced with much softer, tender expressions.

You misunderstood them and they couldn’t let you do that.

"Hey," Chris’s voice was a lot softer than before, gently holding your arm and leaning his head down to get you to look at him.

"We weren’t making fun of you." Matt said sincerely, his soft gaze set on yours. "Look at me. You trust us right? We’d never make fun of you."

You sighed softly. "I know. I dunno why I thought that."

You felt even more stupid. You just made the atmosphere depressing and the knowledge made you want to throttle your own self.

"It’s fine-"

"Don’t lie." Chris cut you off. "We’ll make it up for you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Make up for what? You didn’t do anything wrong. Even if you did, how are you gonna make up for it?"

They exchanged a look, something unreadable passing between them before they both looked at you.

"You’ll see."

The back of Matt’s fingers caressed your rosy cheek, wiping away the fat tear rolling down it. Your lips were red and parted, a thick and sticky string of saliva connecting your front teeth to your bottom lip.

"Feels too good?" He asked, knowing the pleasure was messing with your head, causing you to lose coherency and the ability to talk without your words morphing into moans.

Your eyes glazed over and you barely kept them from rolling back. The feeling of Chris’s thick tip dragging across that spongy spot inside your walls had you gripping him like a vice, eliciting muttered curses from him.

A slap, sharp and loud, came on your already flushed ass, the skin reddening even more. A soft groan left Chris when he saw the way your ass recoiled and bounced against his hips, the wet smacking sounds going straight to his dick.

"You look so pretty." Matt murmured, wiping the drool that was beginning to leak down the side of your lips with his thumb, smudging it across your bottom lip instead.

"And y’feel so fucking good." Chris added, grunting in between.

Matt straightened up, his knees digging into the mattress in front of your hands as he gripped the base of his fat cock. The tip was red and swollen, veins bulging and throbbing along the shaft.

He brushed the tip of his cock across your lips, making them glisten with precum. He could feel his dick twitch in his hand at the sight and proximity of your face.

"Open up, sweetheart. Let me feel you wrapped around me."

You complied without another word from Matt, opening your mouth wide to accommodate his thick head. Your lips stretched around his girth and the sweet, musky scent of him filled your nostrils.

Chris’s fingers dug into your hips, enough to leave marks, as he picked up pace. His hips slapped against your ass with loud smacks and the wet squelches of his hefty length plowing in and out of you filled the room alongside the creaking of the bed and your muffled moans.

Matt’s eyelids fluttered, his eyes closing in pleasure as you began to move your lips along his shaft, taking him deep enough for the tip to repeatedly hit the back of your throat.

Your eyes watered from the pleasure Chris was giving you and the feeling of Matt’s cock stuffing your mouth full. Your moans vibrated around Matt’s length—causing him to throw his head back in pleasure—as Chris fucked you harder and faster.

"Fuuuck-- take it... Take us both like the good fucking girl you are."

Matt’s breathless, husky voice calling you a good girl had you clenching hard around Chris, making the brunette groan behind you. His hand came down on your ass, the sudden sharp sting causing you to jolt forward and take more of Matt, resulting in you gagging.

A taunting chuckle came from behind you. "Look at you gagging on his dick like a whore."

The difference between Matt’s sweet praises and Chris’s degrading words had your head spinning. Your stomach muscles contracted, thighs trembling and body shuddering, as the coils in your abdomen drew tighter with each snap of Chris’s hips.

"Close?" Chris taunted, feeling your pussy flutter around his pistoning length. "God... you’ve such a greedy fucking pussy." He let out a breathy chuckle. "Look at her wrapped around me all snug and tight like she don’t want me out."

Matt groaned lowly, his hips beginning to move. He ground his pelvis against your face each time, shoving his cock down your throat, making sure you feel every thick inch of him.

You choked and gagged, getting used as if you were his own personal fleshlight. All while Chris was fucking you so hard you were being jolted forward repeatedly. Each time Chris’s hips connected with your ass, you deep throated Matt.

This was not how you thought they would "make it up" to you.

Your whole body jolted when you felt Chris’s fingers rub your clit in quick circles, making you moan loudly around Matt’s shaft. The vibrations were fucking exquisite. Enough to have Matt biting his lips to keep himself from moaning loudly in pleasure.

It wasn’t long before you felt your body unravel and pleasure shot through you, making your pussy clench and unclench rhythmically around Chris.

Heavy breathing filled the room. The earlier creaking of the bed and noises of pleasure were replaced with sounds of exhaustion and exertion.

You were all sprawled on the bed, completely drained after who knows how many rounds. Hell, the sky was already beginning to turn a few shades lighter.

Panting softly, Chris wrapped an arm around your middle, spooning you from behind. "We should do that again." Chris murmured softly.

"That line is giving me flashbacks I don’t wanna have." Matt mumbled, his arm covering his eyes as his chest heaved with deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

Chris burst out laughing, burying his face in your nape as he giggled. "Matt, shut uup..."

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆.ᐟ | 𝒘𝒄 – 𝟐.𝟐 𝒌 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

Isa’s rambling ۶ৎ Chat, I guess I’m back...? I dunno if I am. See, I had to add that line. Also, it’s been sooo long since I wrote a chratt fic I almost forgot how to write a threesome. (I feel like I lowkey failed but it’s whatever). And I also cut the smut short ’cause I was starting to get laaazy.

Anyway, the amount of different fic layouts I have is overwhelming me but yeah... I can’t part with any of them.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[mona-risms]

hear me out.. polytrix x reader where fem!reader doesn't know about the whole demon hunter thing and is still under the hypnosis from the saja boys and the girls try their hardest to snap her out of it. 🫦

◆ MAIN COURSE: poly!HUNTR/X x fem!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None

◆ NOTES: This might've SLIGHTLY teeny tinily missed the point but I hope you still like it!! I can't make a full-blown fic without getting paid bc I'm broke as hell and I'm lazy so the most you're getting is the usual hcs and snippets I fear 💔. But anyway I LOVELOVELOVE POLYTRIX 😩😩😩😩😩 I think they should all kiss together and kiss me too

This is the funniest shit ever and no one can tell me otherwise bc you've got three ninja popstars and one perfectly normal human being who just really really loves K-Pop. And you all LOVE each other????? #holyfcknairball no one would believe you until you show full proof that yes you do in fact kiss those celebrities on the mouth! Every day actually! Unless they're on tour but still! Yes you are a girls only poly couple! You couldn't be happier!

Unfortunately bc of the fact that you're normal, you won't even know that the hot new boy band, Saja Boys, are all drawing people in via brainwashing to sacrifice your souls to a Demon King named Gwi-Ma that looks like an oversized wildfire. Said people includes you I fear 💔💔. Imagine you were out coincidentally and you got to witness their debut performance and you were so drawn to them!! Why wouldn't you be??

They hear your voice before they see you—right there, right near the front row, right in front of them.

"What's she doing here?" Mira hissed, though despite her tone, the concern was glaringly obvious.

"I think she wanted to buy something? She said about baking," Zoey answered, her own concern matching up with Mira as she bounced on the balls of her feet in an attempt to both alleviate her sudden restlessness and to see you from the crowd. "But-- But what if they try to grab her? [Y/N]'s at a very grabbable distance! And the worst thing is I won't even blame them—she's really grabbable in general!"

Zoey doesn't even finish before Rumi's weaving through the crowd in an attempt to reach you, "Either way, no one is getting grabbed, least of all our girlfriend."

When Rumi does reach you, she taps your shoulder to gain your attention. Without fail, you turn around and smile widely in recognition, "Ru-- Ahem, babe! Did you see how good this new band was? They're called the Saja Boys!"

"Yeah. I heard."

Usually, you would've noticed her sudden deadpan, but you were buzzing too much under your skin from the sudden excitement of this new debut so you barrelled on, "Maybe you and them'll even collab one day! Wouldn't that be awesome?!"

"Yeah, awesome, now c'mon, we need to get out of the crowd," she effortlessly twines her fingers in yours, which you reciprocate happily as you follow her while still going on about the Saja Boys. But when she dares to look back at the boy band, she noticed the black-haired demon in disguise's eyes on you.. and then on her, as if he knew very well what was going on.

When you finally get out of the crowd, you rejoin your other two loves of your life with a cheek kiss for Mira and then a squealing hug with Zoey.

Mira doesn't hesitate to ask as you and the shortest HUNTR/X member basically wrapped yourselves on each other, "Are you okay? They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

"Yeah, like, did they ever, I dunno.. suck your soul out or something?" Zoey asked, and then quietly winced as Mira and Rumi both signalled not to say anything with exaggerated expressions and hand gestures behind you.

You giggled at the line of questioning, "What? No? My soul definitely felt like it ascended while watching them, though! You guys are funny."

While you and Zoey were busy clinging onto each other, Rumi pulled Mira in to whisper to her, "They know."

"Know what?"

"That we're linked together in some way? That she's a normal human? I don't know, but they know and I don't want to risk her to find out. Do you?"

And their gazes drift to you as you spoke animatedly with Zoey, equally rambling to you and matching your energy in turn—probably both invested in the situation and also well-aware of the much-needed secret debriefing.

And Mira shook her head with furrowed brows, "Absolutely not."

"Good."

Whenever the girls are all "DON'T FALL FOR THEM" you're so confused bc like. Why?? What's up with them recently???? Ever since the Saja Boys popped up, they've been so weirdly pressed about them every time you brought them up. Like, sure, rivalry's one thing, but you've seen them with rivalries before!!!!! It's not like the Saja Boys have like killed people or smth lmfao it's okay the world's not gonna end if you stan them too (cue the scene with them and Bobby looking at the same city and seeing Two Completely Different Views)

Every time you're ever with them one way or another and the Saja Boys are around/involved they are LOCKING THE FUCK IN. Constantly trying to redirect your attention and theirs like "Do Not Look At Her" and if you ever get too close they'll be all "back the FUCK up actually". And whenever thry try to pull all that hypnotising shit on you they are DRAGGING YOU AWAY and kissing you until you run out of air and forget what you were even thinking about like a min ago 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

They're so much more attentive towards you, and during the two weeks of the Saja Boys being there, you are NOT allowed to be without at LEAST one of them. Why?? Ohhhh yk cuz they just really really miss you, that's all!!!!! They did just come out of a world tour so like they wanna be with you for as much as possible ahahahaha definitely bc the boy band you're fawning over rn are actually demons that want to consume your soul!!! Especially yours!!!!!! Bc they know you're special to them all ahahahahaahahahahahahaahahhaa

Oh but it'd be devastating if Mira and Zoey saw you with the crowd after Rumi's breakdown. Not only Bobby was brainwashed, but so are you, mindlessly following the masses. And as much as they want you to fight it, to remember, they can't even blame you or find the strength; they failed, Rumi hid she was part-demon the entire time, it's over

You'd be one of the people closest to Gwi-Ma's flames on purpose I think—a twisted way for Jinu to make your sacrifice quick and painless. But when Rumi and then Zoey and Mira both clock it? Absolutely the fuck not dude Gwi-Ma just made them even fucking MADDER

At the end of it they know they'll definitely have to explain everything to you, considering. From the Saja boys to Rumi explaining herself properly ALLLLL the way to how they're Hunters and what they do. But at the very least you're not dead thank GOD

"You guys know I don't actually know how to feel right now, right? Finding out that my girlfriends have been constantly getting into near-death experiences as, like, idol ninjas with magic weapons isn't really for the faint of heart—let alone finding out demons and supernatural whatevers are real."

The four of you migrated to Rumi's bed after that whole ordeal at the Tower, tired and exhausted and in need of a good cuddle pile. Right now, you and Rumi were cuddled up against each other, her patterns casting a soft glow on your skin, while Mira was spooning you with her tall frame and Zoey clung onto Rumi like a koala.

The trio had the decency to wince a little, and Mira spoke first in defence, "To be fair, we did get trained for, like, years not to give anything away, including our Hunter profession."

"And I'm your girlfriend," you sighed as your hand traced the jagged glowing lines across Rumi's skin, "I thought we weren't going to hide anything. No wonder sometimes you lot disappear without any explanation—this whole time, you've been.. slaying demons?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You hummed.. before putting your attention on Rumi, "And you. You really think we were going to love you any less because of what you're mixed with?"

"Um. Kinda?" Rumi looked to the side, averting your gazes, "It's-- I was raised to think that I should be ashamed of it, that I need to hide. It's--"

"Why you always have a separate green room?"

"Why you don't go into the batthouse with us?"

Rumi nodded, though not without a flush on her cheeks, "..yeah."

Your gaze softened as you lightly bit your lip before cupping her face for a short but tender kiss, "You think that's gonna really scare me—us—away? Mira and Zoey came back to you after the shock, and I sure as hell don't care if you were part-turtle or whatever--"

"Being part-turtle would be cool! ..Or super slow, depends--"

"My point being," you interrupted Zoey with an affectionate chuckle, "we love you because you're our Rumi. Not an idol, not a demon, just our Rumi—the one that overthinks, overworks and gets so into her head that we'd have to shut it for her. ..No more hiding, yeah?"

Rumi doesn't respond, not for a long while, and thre three of you are content in just laying there in silence, with her patterns casting a brighter yet softer glow on all of you. But eventually she buries her head in your chest, muffling her eventual answer, "..Mhm. Thank you."

Zoey's hold on Rumi tightened as she practically nuzzled into the latter's back, all while Mira reached over to hold Rumi's hand, now back to its human shape compared to the claws she had briefly before. No one else says anything, and that's perfectly fine for the four of you.

"..So I guess I'm retiring from stanning anyone but you guys."

"Obviously!" "Duh." "You are."

[indecisive-capricorn]

Tranquility in Marriage — Gojo Satoru x Reader

WARNINGS: MDNI, heavy implications and talks of sexism, gender inequality because its in a more traditional setting, fluff, arranged marriage, quiet love, slowburn, distrust at first, elders acting like shit

SUMMARY: Getting into an arranged marriage with you was the only order Gojo Satoru had ever obeyed from the Elders and it was certainly not one he regretted.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is heavily inspired on a slow love song I found and it's like a part one of the background of a mini-series for the arranged marriage au.

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.

You looked in front of the mirror with cold, empty eyes that practically screamed for you to get out of there. The beautiful white gown fit your body perfectly, the painted lips left not a single smudge around it, the curled hair flowed down elegantly—every detail in place, every inch seen and carefully given attention to, an evident of your family's perfectionism. But it felt nothing like you, almost as if you were in someone else's skin or more precisely, a nightmare that could been ended with a single pinch.

However, no matter how many times you tried to dig your sharp nails into the flesh of your elbow, desperately attempting to wake yourself, you were instead met with a sting from the pinch and the bitter realization that this was indeed real. All of it was your reality now and you didn't have a say in it anymore.

Growing up in a traditional and strict clan meant that you had been taught lessons that you would never have learnt if you had been born in a normal family, your childhood no longer becoming your own as the adults around you took control.

While other little girls learnt how to tie their shoelaces and sing the alphabets during their childhood, your mother and the ladies of the clan homeschooled you and taught you the ways of how marriage works early on in your childhood. They tried to drill the idea of being a perfect wife in your head, becoming obsessed over time to turn you into a bargaining doll- a perfect bride to be sold of to another clan for power and fame.

In your childhood, you became lonely and isolated, cut off from the rest of the world the high walls your clan built around you. The women of your clan would frequently tell you horror stories, meant to keep you afraid, obedient and most importantly, loyal. They told you all about the cruel men who would sell you for money, how shame and ruin will only follow you beyond the clan's protection, and how staying within tradition is important to preserve your dignity.

"None of us would become anything without tradition," Your father lamented during supper, while your mother poured more tea into his cup, "Each of us have duties to be fulfilled with the roles given to us. You must do the same."

"But I do not know him, Father," you spoke up, voice steady as ever, causing several figures around you to stiffen, including your mother whose hand froze around the teapot handle. "How can I marry someone I do not know? I don't even know what he looks like. I've only heard from the whispers of others. "

Even with the suffocating pressure of tradition, you had always clung to your freedom. Long before you ever learned about the outside world, before you secretly discovered what life was like beyond the clan walls, you had already felt the longing of freedom in your heart. You wanted to live without fear and discover the world for yourself. You wanted to become more than what you were destined for.

And once you did learn and saw how different things could be for women outside of the clan's high walls, you couldn't erase it from your thoughts.

You began to question it. At first, your rebellion came in sharp bursts during your teenage years, which consisted of loud arguments, slammed doors, sleepless nights. But over time, you learned to wield your defiance more carefully. Quietly. Strategically.

You learned how to maintain your peace while still discovering pieces of yourself that they will never reach. You found freedom in stolen books, brief conversations with outsiders, and long moments spent in your gardens where no one could hear you think.

But no amount of rebellion could stop the letter that arrived from the Gojo clan.

And now, sitting at the table during supper, you could feel that old, familiar burn in your chest. The ache of a future chosen for you, wrapped in duty and a name far more powerful than your own.

Your mother's face slowly turned red with fury, lips tightening, ready to yell at you, "You ungrateful brat—"

"You will know him soon enough, flower," your father interjected gently but firmly, shooting a warning glare to your mother. She fell silent with a click of her tongue.

Your father turned back to you, eyes softening with understanding and sorrow. "And you will do your duty," he said, not as a command but rather as a reminder. "As I have. As your mother has. As every soul at this table has for generations, and many more to come."

There was no malice in your father's words. There never had been.

You were his only child. His only daughter.

Out of everyone in the clan, he had dreaded this day the most. He had postponed your marriage as long as he could, always making excuses to the elders that there wasn't a suitable match for you yet, allowing you to have more time with your freedom. He had ensured you had everything your heart desired growing up, whether it'd be bookshelves filled with books to private gardens for you to wander alone, away from the suffocating clan members.

He had given you everything he could and he was the one to raise you as you are now, but even he was bound. "I would keep you forever here if I could," your father had said quietly to you in private when the announcement was first made. "However, I am unable to postpone this. The Gojo clan had been asking for your hand for quite some time now."

And just like that, your heart broke into pieces.

The Gojo clan, the most powerful and ancient family within the Jujutsu Society, had proposed a marriage between you and their only heir, Gojo Satoru. A name that's known in every household as he was known to hold the most powerful gift ever known, appearing only once in a hundred of years.

The Strongest, the Chosen One and now, your soon-to-be husband.

That was why your clan paid no mind to expenses. The wedding preparations was meant to become a spectacle to guests to dazzle. They wanted the whole world to know that their bloodline would be bound to the most exclusive and the most powerful clan in all the Jujutsu Society. And one day, their bloodline would be the one to have heirs of the Six Eyes and Limitless.

They paraded you around like a crowned jewel. A daughter. A symbol. A transaction for power.

Your father tried his best to comfort you throughout the whole process and even told you of how kind and polite the young Gojo was, but you still felt dread crawling up your chest every time you were reminded of the wedding.

Eventually, your father arranged a formal supper, hosting an official meeting between the two clans. A chance for you and your betrothed to meet face to face.

The Gojo clan would be arriving that evening.

You had never seen him before. Not even a glimpse. But the rumors painted him vividly. The piercing, otherworldly blue eyes that marked him as the wielder of the Six Eyes. Eyes said to see through everything and everyone. Eyes that couldn’t be lied to. Eyes that made people tremble at the mere sight of them.

You didn't know him. Not really. And that made him unpredictable.

And in your perspective, unpredictability was dangerous.

It didn't help that during the rare times you were allowed to leave the estate—escorted by maids who watches you closely—you still managed to hear the whispers and gossips from others. And when you snuck out on your own, hidden beneath a dark cloak as you always are, the whispers grew louder.

Some said he was mad. That he laughed too easily, smiled too widely. That he was far too powerful to be stable. Others whispered that he was dangerous—that behind that charming mask was a storm waiting to unravel. Some pitied you.

"Poor girl," they said. "She’ll be the one to face his gift when he loses control."

You couldn’t help but wonder who was right or perhaps, if all of them were and it depends on who he was with.

And still, you would have to sit beside him. Smile. Bow. Be the bride everyone expected you to be. Even if your hands trembled beneath the silk sleeves of your gown from fear and anxiety.

In the middle of the dining room, the air was thick with tension as servants rushed back and forth, arms full of trays and porcelain. Your aunts barked orders, your uncles corrected the seating arrangements for the fifth time, and your mother hovered over the flower arrangements like the wrong color petal might ruin the whole evening. You breath caught in your throat again. It had been happening all day. It was like a ticking time bomb and the explosion was getting closer with each breath you took.

And yet, no matter how many times they spoke of your betrothed, he remained nothing more than a blur in your mind. Unpredictable. Possibly destructive.

So, you did what you always did when the walls began to close in. You ran.

You slipped past your family members, past the servants busy with arrangements, past the elder who tried to stop you with a half-hearted call of your name. Your slippers barely made a sound on the wooden floors. You knew every corner, spending your whole life memorizing it to escape from everyone without getting noticed. You pushed a hidden door open to your garden.

The only place that ever felt like yours.

The only place you could freely be yourself with no eyes around.

No one was allowed here. Not the elders. Not the servants. Not even your mother dared to enter without invitation, which she can never get. Your father had made sure of that. It was your sanctuary and on days like this, it was the only thing that kept you breathing.

"It's just a stupid man," you tried to assure yourself, breathing deeply. You should consider yourself fortunate for not having Naoya Zenin as your betrothed. He was close to becoming your betrothed but your father refused to after sensing something terrible within the Zenin, which caused your mother to frequently complain to her sisters about since besides the Gojo clan, the Zenin clan is quite powerful as well. However, you heard that he was terrible behind doors towards his own staff and that your father had indeed saved you from a cruel destiny with him.

Perhaps Gojo Satoru isn't as bad as they say? You heard that he was a teacher as well to a school in Tokyo and becoming a teacher certainly teaches one patience and understanding.

Your whole body became alert when you felt someone open the door.

"Didn't think you'd be the type to bolt," came a voice from the doorway.

You froze.

The voice was low and teasing but calm as if he'd been waiting.

Your head snapped toward the sound, eyes locking onto a tall figure. His white hair caught the silver of the moonlight, and a pair of dark-tinted glasses covered his eyes. He didn’t look dressed for a formal dinner, though he wore the same colors as your clan's celebration garb, only looser, more relaxed, as if tradition didn't sit tightly on his skin the way it did on yours.

Gojo Satoru.

You didn’t need to ask.

You just knew.

"I had a feeling you might be here. Your garden looks lovely," he remarked with a smile, stepping casually onto the stone path but he made sure to keep a distance between you to keep you comfortable. "Though I have to admit, I expected you to climb the back wall and disappear completely. Not take a detour through your rose bushes."

You stared at him in disbelief, both at how relaxed he was and how annoying he was. "How do you know this is my garden?"

He tapped his ear. "I listen. Your maids gossip a lot."

You narrowed your eyes. "And how did you get here if you only listened? Did you follow me here?"

"I wandered," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "And stumbled into your sanctuary entirely by accident."

He looked at you. "Lucky me. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have seen such beauty."

You weren't sure if he meant the garden or you.

Silence stretched between the two of you.

He didn’t look dangerous. He didn’t look insane. If anything, he looked as if he was trying to figure out what to do or even say to you in the situation you are in. You two are meant to be married soon after all. His posture was relaxed, his voice soft and unassuming. The famous Gojo Satoru, who wielded the Six Eyes and Limitless, who could obliterate entire clans with a flick of his hand, stood there looking more like a polite yet awkward houseguest than the strongest sorcerer alive.

And then, just as your heart started to calm, he reached into his sleeve and pulled something out. Your eyes widened in surprise at the sugar bun he brought out, neatly wrapped in a pale paper.

He held it out to you, completely deadpan. "Peace offering."

Your brows furrowed. "…For what?"

He shrugged one shoulder, a lazy motion that somehow still managed to carry elegance. "For crashing your very exclusive garden party. And, you know, the whole arranged marriage thing."

You blinked, taken aback by the casualness in his tone.

He tilted his head and added, "I’m aware I don't exactly have a peaceful reputation, but I heard you liked sweets and I thought you would find flowers boring."

You stared at the sugar bun. Then back at him. Then back at the sugar bun. You did like sugar buns and you did favor snacks over flowers any day, but how could he have known that?

"…You’ve been spying on me?"

"Research," he said, one hand dramatically placed on his chest. "Basic recon. You’d be amazed what I can find out from your maids in just a few minutes."

"But even so, how did you manage to get the sugar bun on time? Your family couldn't have been here for that long," you pointed out, suspicion creeping into your voice.

Gojo grinned, the kind of grin that belonged to someone far too pleased with himself.

"Teleportation," he said simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked. "Teleportation," you repeated in disbelief.

"Yep. Technically, it’s a manipulation of space, but that’s boring talk." He gave the sugar bun a slight wave in front of your face. "What matters is that one moment I’m sweet-talking your maids, next moment I’m popping into my favorite bakery with the most delicious sugar bun that I know of in Tokyo, and then boom, I’m back here with the gift in hand."

"I didn’t want to show up empty-handed," he said with a casual shrug. "First impressions matter, and I didn’t think you'd be impressed by the usual fancy clan offerings. The elders suggested gold, pearls, cursed weapons— they're quite a bore."

You almost smiled.

The absurdity of it. The sincerity behind that sugar bun.

"And besides," he added, stepping a little closer and holding out the sugar bun again, "I wanted to give you something you would actually like and enjoy."

That made you pause.

It was true that you expected gifts from him not because you wanted it but rather that it was obligatory for the bride and groom to gift something in their first meeting. It had always been mandatory.

But this? A sugar bun from Tokyo, delivered through a manipulation of time and space, because he thought you would like it?

You took it from his hand, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second.

"Thank you," you murmured with a sincere smile.

He smiled so gently that it made you wondered for a moment—just for a moment—why you had been so guarded before.

"Anytime," he said.

—

"Where have you been?" Your mother whispered harshly the moment you stepped into the living room where the two families waited. Her eyes scanned you from head to toe with thinly hidden irritation.

You had told Gojo not to follow you, knowing very well that his presence beside you would raise several eyebrows, especially with the more traditional members like the elders at present. He understood though. He always seemed to understand, even when you didn't mind his company. It was something that needed to be done.

Before you could explain yourself, her eyes dropped to the sugar bun still in your hand. Her face turned furious and without missing a beat, she snatched the bun from your hand and shoved it to a nearby servant who got startled by the sudden presence of the snack in her hand.

"You are already spoiled enough," she hissed under her breath, as though your existence was a stain on a fine porcelain, disgust evident in her eyes. "But hiding away from your own engagement to eat sweets? Have you no shame?"

She aggressively smoothed out the front of your attire.

"Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself," she muttered, deeply annoyed. "If anyone knows better, they would have thought you passed through a storm to get here."

Aunts materialized around you like a daily routine, fixing your hair and adjusting stray threads from your attire with careful fingers and disapproving silence. They were less vocal about it, thinking that your mother's constant criticism would be enough for you to learn a lesson. You barely had the time to breathe through your mother's little makeover before you were presented—more like, pushed—to the heads of the Gojo clan.

Gojo Naoyuki and Gojo Sayaka.

Your future-in-laws.

Maintaining a steady posture, you bowed to them with grace as a formal greeting that was ingrained since childhood and one that. You had wondered what they might be like because unlike Satoru, there were barely any conversations surrounding them. One might even thought Satoru didn't any at all, given how rarely they were mentioned. Gojo Naoyuki held a great resemblance to his son—sharp jawline, striking white hair, the same proud nose—but he had none of Satoru's charms or even the twinkle in Satoru's eyes. Instead, his gaze was heavy and rather restricted, a large contrast with Satoru's own personality.

In some ways, he reminded you of your father—bounded by tradition, but he seemed to have experienced it far greater than your father had, tradition carved deeper into the lines of his every expression.

Gojo Sayaka, by contrast, was as beautiful as the whispers did claim, ever so graceful and composed, features refined like porcelain. There was an effortless elegance to her, the kind not taught but inherited. And yet, she had said very little since the moment you entered. Her silence was not absent though, it was calculation. Her poised eyes had followed your every movement the moment you stepped into the room, unlike her husband, whose focus had remained locked in conversation with your father.

Her gaze wasn't cruel, nor was it warm. It was observant. Formal. Dutiful. The way a queen might pay attention to her court; nothing personal and only done with a purpose.

While Satoru’s presence made you feel seen, Sayaka’s made you feel studied, like a judge almost.

However, you were used to judging eyes as well. You had been your whole life with the way the women in your clan, especially your mother, have berated you all these years and insulted you as well for every little thing you do. Yet, here you are, having to marry a family that's far better than the one your mother had married into. If it wasn't an arranged marriage, you would have been prideful of it sooner but after knowing your future husband, you were more at peace and only made your formalities. At the very least you will make sure to not tarnish the Gojo name.

Your father stepped forward first, bowing with practiced grace. “Gojo-dono. It is our honor to welcome you into our home.”

Naoyuki inclined his head. “The honor is mutual.” His voice was deep and calm, but carried the weight of a man who measured every word. “We have long observed your clan’s reputation for discipline. We are pleased to see it was not exaggerated.”

Your father offered a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We strive to uphold what was passed down.”

Naoyuki gave a single approving nod before his eyes shifted toward you. They swept over you—not in scrutiny, not even judgment—but in the way one might inspect a weapon, a seal, an heirloom. “You carry yourself well," he remarked smoothly but lacked in warmth. "As expected of your clan. Daughters are often the reflection of a clan's discipline."

You bowed again. “Thank you, Gojo-dono.”

“It is not praise," he said evenly, “It is the standard.”

Silence hung for a moment too long and your aunts braced themselves for the bite that you usually do, but instead you just smiled politely. "Of course, I was raised well by my family and I will continue to honour the Gojo family with everything I was taught."

The room remained still for a heartbeat longer. Your mother’s eyes twitched ever so slightly, unsure whether to feel pride or suspicion. Your aunts exchanged brief glances, perhaps uncertain if your response was a surrender or a warning wrapped around in silk.

Naoyuki studied you, and while his expression didn’t change, there was a shift in the air, the slightest pause before he nodded once. Accepting. For now.

"Very well." He said. "You'll come to understand that more intimately once you take your place in the Gojo clan."

Murmurs of agreement followed afterwards, mostly from your aunts and other members of the Gojo clan. As for Sayaka, she only blinked slowly. A small tilt of her head. Nothing more, but you could see that it was a sign of approval from her.

You dipped your head politely, not submitting, but choosing not to engage with the provocation. You’d been raised to survive this kind of game. But from the corner of your eye, you saw Satoru relax slightly at your composure, his shoulders loosening as if to say, You did well.

Naoyuki gave a small nod of approval. Not of warmth—that was never his style—but of recognition. You had not faltered.

But you knew this wouldn’t be the last time you'd be expected to endure someone else’s standards. You watched as your father continued to converse with Naoyuki, but you could still feel a gentle gaze on you.

[shyxcherry]

caught in the act | leehan

summary: when your crush leaves you all hot and bothered, you sneak off to get some relief. too bad that said crush hears you moaning out his name.

pairing: leehan x female!reader

warning: pure smut with a little fluff (fingering, oral (f), spanking, unprotected sex, leehan has a filthy mouth)

word count: 3.2k

notes: request! this was not supposed to be this long lol. i blame my period for this...

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

you often regretted the day that your roommate introduced you to her friend group. they were all great, and you fit in perfectly. there was only one issue. you had the biggest crush on one of them- leehan.

it was all your fault really. you had no one to blame but yourself, but you couldn't help it. his soft eyes were so enchanting. you could stare into them for hours, and you have as you listened to him rant about a subject that you could honestly care less about. you also found yourself staring at his lips, watching the shapes he makes when he's not paying attention to you, wishing to know what they felt like against yours.

and god, his voice. you were pretty sure he could read you the encyclopedia, and you would be entertained. it was just so soothing, always calming you down. one time when you drank too much, you told him that. he didn't tease you for it which shocked you. instead, he told you to call him whenever you wanted to hear him, so now when you can't sleep, you call him. he'll talk to you about anything until he hears the soft breaths signaling that you fell asleep.

you knew you were down bad for him when he brought you with him to get another fish, and he told you which one would be perfect for you. so of course you got it, and now you have a fish named yin to match his new fish that he named yang. he helps you take care of it, often coming over to make sure you're following his directions.

your roommate teases you endlessly for you very obvious crush. she even brought leehan's friend, jaehyun into your teasing. they tried endlessly to get you to confess to him because you would be waiting forever for leehan to confess (jaehyun's words), but you always refused. you valued his friendship way too much to confess when you're not even sure he felt the same way. they were certain he did, but you still wouldn't do it.

lately, he's been leaving you hot and bothered. it didn't help that it's summer, so he's been walking around in tank tops and showing off his arms. today wasn't any different. all of you were at jaehyun's house playing a game, and the loser had to jump into the pool. leehan lost and didn't even take any of his clothes off before he cannonballed into the pool.

you felt nauseous as got out of the pool. his hair slicked back and showing off his forehead. his clothes were sticking to his body, and you swore you could see ab lines from where his shirt was clinging to his stomach. you felt like you couldn't take it anymore. so when he went upstairs to change, you told everyone you weren't feeling good before leaving. you played it off pretty good because none of them teased you like they normally did. your roommate even offered to go with you, but you refused.

that leaves you where you were now, softly moaning leehan's name as your vibrator ran across your clit. you imagined it was him laying on top of you, mouth running across your body while he held the vibrator to you, whispering everything he was going to do to you. your eyes shut in pleasure, back arching when you press the vibrator harder. right as you felt yourself getting close, you heard someone knock on your door, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

"yn." you heard your name being called from the other side of the door, and you nearly scream when you recognize the voice as leehan's. "are you in there?"

"just a sec!" you quickly shut off the vibrator before throwing it in your drawer. you fix your shorts before getting up. you run your hands down your shirt as you open the door. leehan was standing there with a concerned look on his face. you move back and let him in before shutting the door. "what are you doing here?"

"jaehyun said you weren't feeling good, so i wanted to come and check on you."

thankfully leehan wasn't looking at you, so he couldn't see your face. he did his usual, going to check on your fish before laying down across the end of your bed. you join him, leaning on the head rest as you cross your legs.

"you didn't have to do that. i think i just got overheated."

leehan looked over to you, slowly examining you to make sure you weren't lying. "so you're feeling better now?"

you wanted to say no. if he would've came five minutes later after you had gotten yourself off, you would've been fine. but now here you were, sexually frustrated with the one who is causing it laying right in front of you.

"yep. feeling much better." leehan hummed at your answer.

"then why did it take you so long to open the door?" you had to stop your eyes from widening at his question. you motioned to the bathroom that was connected to your room.

"i was in the bathroom."

"you didn't sound like you were in the bathroom."

you force out a laugh at him as you try not to freak out. "what are you? an interrogator?"

"no." he answered. "i just want to know why it took you so long to open the door."

"i just told you. i was in the bathroom."

"no you weren't." leehan argued with you. you shift under his gaze but was determined not to break like you normally did.

"is the heat getting to you too?" you ask. "because i'm pretty sure i was in the bathroom. i would know."

leehan clicked his tongue like he was scolding you. "you're lying to me."

"no i'm not."

"yes you are."

"what makes you think i'm lying to you?" you ask, getting fed up with him. he rolled over on his side, smirking at you and catching you off guard.

"i was standing at your door long before i decided to knock."

you felt your mouth dry up as you blink at him. he heard you. your friend heard you moaning his name while you pleasured yourself. you felt like you wanted to cry, especially since you couldn't tell how he was feeling. your mind told you he was teasing you due to the smirk on his face that still hasn't left.

you quickly untangle your legs before making a break for the bathroom. he tried to grab you, but you were too fast, closing and locking the door before he could get to you. you felt tears hit your cheeks as your back slides down the wall.

leehan knocked on the door. "yn, open the door."

"no." you willed your voice to come out strong, but it shook at the end. you knew leehan could tell you were crying be he cursed when he heard you.

"please open the door."

"please leave." you beg.

"i'm not leaving, yn." you heard leehan sigh. you could hear him shift like he was sitting down in front of the door. "i'm not leaving until we talk about this."

you kept quiet, not wanting to respond. you knew he wouldn't leave. he was too stubborn. once he said he was doing something, no one could stop him from it. "how long were you standing there?"

"long enough." he answered.

"can you just reject me and leave?"

"why would i reject you?" you scoff at his question.

"oh please. you were on the verge of laughing."

"i wasn't going to laugh." he replied softly. you shook your head, not believing him.

"then why were you smiling like that?"

"because i was thinking about how good you sounded while moaning my name." you nearly choke at his answer. "i had imaging how you sounded for months, and somehow you sounded so much better than anything i could've imagined. and its driving me crazy that you're locked behind this door, and i can't touch you."

you were stunned by his answer. you could hear the desperation in his voice towards the end. you quietly stood up before moving towards the door. "you- you like me back?"

you hear him shuffle as he quickly stood up once he heard how close you were to the door. "how could i not? you're like the most perfect person i've ever met."

you wipe your face, getting rid of the dried tears before you unlock the door. you didn't even get a chance to open it before leehan barged into your bathroom. you barely had a chance to look at him when his hands gripped your cheeks, pulling your lips to his. you gasped at the actions before kissing him back.

he kissed you deeply, hands roaming your body like he was trying to memorize everything about you. your back hit the counter when he backed you up. he easily lifted you up, sitting you on the counter as his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring every inch of you.

you felt your head spin, and you tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let you. he chased after your lips, molding them to yours as he pulled you closer to him. his grip was tight on your legs, tight enough to leave bruises as he wrapped them around his waist. his erection was poking through his shorts, brushing against your heat and causing you to moan into his mouth at the friction.

"you drive me insane." his voice deep with lust. he moved his head, sucking and biting at every inch of your exposed neck, making you squirm in his hold. "it took everything in me not to barge in and fuck you when you said my name. you would've like that though, wouldn't you baby?" you nod desperately, too far gone to speak sentences. "is that what you want? for me to fill this pussy up the way she deserves?"

"leehan." you whimper, voice cracking with need as you cling to him. he bites your neck harder when his name leaves your lips. you hands grip the counter as you roll your hips against his, moaning again when his hips desperately bucked into yours.

his hands cup your ass, squeezing tightly as he pulls you flush against him before picking you up. "you're already a mess, and i've barely touched you. i can practically feel how soaked you are through your clothes, my desperate girl."

your back hit the soft mattress before leehan kneeled over you. his hands gripped your knees before prying your legs apart, exposing your core to him. one of his hands left your knee before his fingers ran over your shorts. you choke out a moan, lifting your hips at the contact. you hear him darkly chuckle at your desperation. "how bad do you want it, baby?"

"so bad- please." his hand leaves your core, running across your hip, leaving you whining at the loss of contact. his hand roughly kneed the smooth flesh of your thigh before slapping it, causing you to jump while desperately moaning his name again.

"i don't think you want it that bad. why would you run away if you wanted this?"

you shake your head at his words. "i want it- want you. i'm sorry for running. i didn't mean to. please, leehan."

leehan stops your pleas with his mouth, tongue coaxing yours, causing your hips to rut against his. he bites your lip at the action, holding your hips down before sliding his hand into the front of your shorts. you stutter against his lips as his fingers teasingly slide down your dripping cunt. "you're fucking dripping. all for me baby, right?" you nod your head, eyes rolling in the back of your head when his thumb finds your throbbing clit. "and to think you thought a vibrator would be better than me." you almost scream when his hand pinches your clit. "tell me. can your vibrator do this?"

you thrust into his hand, broken moans leaving your lips when he thrust two fingers into you. he doesn't give you any time to adjust, leaving you squeezing around his fingers as continued to shove his fingers deep inside of you. the wet sounds of your cunt along with your moans and whimpers brought a smile to leehan's face. "answer me, or i'm going to stop."

"p-please don't stop." you cry out. "it doesn't. n-nothing has felt even a fraction as good as you."

he rewards you, curling his fingers, hitting that spot that has you squeezing so tightly around him, he could barely move. tears prick your eyes, hips moving against his hand as he leans down. his lips brush yours, drowning your sounds with his lips. "why don't you be my good girl and take your shirt off, so i can see these pretty tits?"

his fingers don't stop moving at all, leaving you to try to sit up with shaky arms. your hands barely work which leaves leehan chuckling, before you pull the shirt over your head. you throw it before unhooking your bra, letting it slide down your arms before throwing it as well. leehan pushes you down, lips instantly finding your hardened nipple. your back arches into his mouth, whimpering when he bites the sensitive bud.

he marks every inch of your chest, leaving it glistening with his spit and bruises, making him groan against your lips at the sight of your trembling body. his name barely leaves your lips, legs tightening around his waist when your stomach clenches so hard it hurts.

"cum for me." he demands, hand finding your sore nipple before pinching it, causing you to cry out. "cum all over my fingers. make a mess."

you scream out his name as your orgasm ripped through your body. it left you shaking, clenching around his fingers that have yet to cease moving. he took his other hand, pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving him completely exposed to him. he stands by the edge of the bed, lustful eyes scanning over every inch of you. you tried to pull away from his hand that was still buried inside of you, causing him to slap your ass in warning.

"stop running from me." he growled, ripping his hand out of your cunt, leaving you moaning for more. he gripped your thighs, pulling you towards him. "roll over."

you did as he said, rolling over to your stomach and letting leehan position you the way he wanted you. your ass was in the air, leaving your face pressed into the mattress, back arched for him that nearly had him moaning your name. he rips off his shirt in one clean motion before kneeling down, lining his face up with your cunt. his hand held your folds open while he darted his tongue out, brushing over your puffy clit with a groan of how you sweet tasted.

he started out slow, tongue moving slowly as he circled your clit teasingly, smiling when he hears you moaning for more. "patience, baby. i'm just getting started." he presses a little harder, flicking his tongue over your clit before sucking the swollen bud, leaving you moaning his name clenching around nothing. "do you feel that? how much this pussy is begging for me? should i give her what she wants, baby?"

"yes. please, leehan." you voice full of need that leaves leehan straining in his pants. "i need you, so bad. please fuck me."

leehan groans at your words, shedding his shorts as he stands up. his dick hits your clit, making you moan at the feeling. you could feel him pulsing as he slowly ran his dick through your dripping folds, coating him in your slick. he soon got sick of the teasing, the two of you moaning out in unison as he slides into you in one slick thrust. he groans when he feels you clench around him at the stretch.

his warm breath was hot against your neck as he leaned over you, pressing his lips to your spine. "do you feel how well your pussy takes me? like you were fucking made for me?"

you can't do anything but moan at his words, lost as he completely fills you with his cock. he start out slow, tortuously slow, letting you feel every inch of him against your walls as he almost completely pulls back before thrusting back inside of you. his hands dig into your hips, nails leaving crescent shaped marks as he held you in place.

your eyes clench shut, tears pooling in the corners as he speeds up, slamming into you. your knuckles turn white from how hard your gripping the sheets. the only thing leaving your mouth was his name. "that's right, baby. let me hear you scream out my name. let every know who's fucking you stupid."

you cry out his name, eyes rolling back when his hands push on your stomach bulge. your back arches more with his touch, leaving your back the perfect canvas for leehan's lips. he leaves your entire back covered in bruises as he continues to slam into you, loving that you turned into a sobbing mess beneath him.

"my good girl." you cry when his hand threaded itself into your hair, yanking you up with a sharp tug, groaning when he feels you squeeze his dick. "you're just mine to ruin, aren't you?"

he could tell you were already there, tears running down your cheeks as you begged him. "leehan, please. i- i need you."

"you have me baby." he coos, tongue trailing along your cheek, catching the salty tears with a groan. "do you want more? are you going to let me fill this pussy, so she knows who she belongs to?"

"please."

he lets your hair go, your face pressing into the mattress as he picks up his speed. he groans when you squeeze around him, stomach coiling tightly, signaling your climax. his hand moved around you, mercilessly rubbing your clit. you see stars, clenching your eyes so tightly as you cum. leehan groans at the feeling of you, thrusting into you a few more times before he fills you with his release.

the two of you stay in that position as you come down from your highs. leehan leans over you, pressing sweet kisses to your spine which was a complete contrast to how he just was. his hands run soothing circles on your hips as he pulls out of you. you hiss at the loss of contact, letting leehan roll you over on your back before covering you with his body.

"you did so good, my sweet girl." you smile at the compliment, grabbing his face before kissing him which he responds to instantly. he runs his hands all over your body, massaging the tender areas, leaving you moaning into his mouth.

"we picked the worst time of the year to get together. we're all sweaty." you complain as you pull away. you were right- the both of you were covered in sweat. leehan's hair was damp and sticking to his forehead, and you could feel yours clinging to your neck.

leehan laughs against your lips before kissing you again. "it's not all bad."

"why's that?"

leehan wraps you around his body once again, making you gasp as he stands up. he laughs, kissing your cheek as he carries you back to where everything started.

"because now i get to clean you up before doing it all over again."

[farfromharry]

Summary: Oscar’s girlfriend is starstruck over meeting Lando for the first time, the Aussie isn’t impressed in the slightest

oscar piastri x reader

w/c 1564

Oscar and Y/N had been together for so long that nothing surprised either of them anymore. In the past few years more than anything, Oscar’s life had gotten crazy and yet she adapted well to all of it. So much crazy stuff had happened during their relationship that she had sort of grown used to it. Every now and then she would attend a sporting gala or an award show– something normal people didn’t do. She was desensitised to it. Or so she thought. 

Being a fan of Formula 1 hadn’t come naturally to her. She learned to love it because it was what Oscar loved. For years he had sort of idolised a certain driver and she had heard so much about him that she started to rather enjoy watching him as well. Y/N didn’t realise just how much she had put him on a pedestal. Not until she met him for the first time. 

Obviously she was over the moon when Oscar told her he’d signed for McLaren, and would be teammates with the Lando Norris. It was exciting. For the first few months of them being partnered together, she didn’t have the chance to meet him. Her job and her degree kept her very busy. It wasn’t until Silverstone weekend that she was introduced to him in a manner that he would hold over Oscar’s head for years to come. 

Y/N had been to plenty of races in her life, but none compared to the size of a Formula 1 race. It was overwhelming, but knowing her boyfriend was part of it was thrilling. There were people here cheering his name. Who had travelled to see and support him. She was over the moon that people were finally starting to realise his greatness– even if McLaren had had a less than impressive start to the season. 

She was getting a tour of the McLaren garage for the first time. Oscar looked happy, truly, showing her around, showing off his car. Her heart soared for him. He was in his element. He was halfway through telling her about the new upgrades to his McLaren for the weekend when she interrupted. 

“That’s Lando Norris,” she whispered. 

Oscar nodded. “Yep. My teammate.” He must have seen them as he came into his side of the garage. His eyes fell on them and he smiled politely, in the way you did with new coworkers you were still unsure about. The pair were getting to know each other, but they hadn’t bonded as of yet. Lando started heading their way and Y/N positively freaked out. 

“He’s coming over here. Oh my god.” She turned to Oscar in sheer panic. “What do I do?”

The Aussie’s brow furrowed. Never had his girlfriend acted like this when meeting someone in the motorsport world. Why she was doing it now was a total mystery to him. “What do you mean? You act normal and say hello. He’s just a person.”

She was staring his way like he wasn’t real. “No, he’s–” There was a gasp and then suddenly she grabbed the material of his shirt in a rather tight fist. “He smiled at me.”

He had no idea what was happening. He knew his girlfriend rather enjoyed watching Lando drive, but he didn’t realise it was some sort of idolisation. Maybe she hadn’t noticed herself, not until the idea of meeting him was actually in front of her. She sort of needed to push this down though before he stopped in front of them or Oscar was never going to live this down. 

“Hey, man.” The 2 men shook hands, slight familiarity now displayed between them. Y/N knew better than anyone that sometimes it was hard to get Oscar out of his shell. Meeting new people wasn’t always his strong suit. Especially when the other was so extroverted. Slowly but surely though Lando was getting through to him. They were getting used to each other. She had no fears that they would be friends soon enough. “Excited for the weekend?”

Things felt more promising this weekend than they had all season. Whether it was because it was a home race with a warm crowd or that they finally had something good with their car, the whole garage was holding its breath. Their time would come, and it might be now. 

“Definitely. Seems like everybody’s chanting your name.” The amount of signs and shirts with Lando’s name and number was exceptional. Oscar could only dream. Australia had been welcoming but understandably they still favoured Danny. Maybe someday he could change their minds. 

Lando smiled. He had been a fan favourite for a few years, Silverstone of all places showcasing the most love. It never got any less surreal though. “You’ll get there.” The Brit was sure of that. Oscar was talented. 

The older man’s attention finally turned to Y/N who was practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Hi, I’m Lando.” His hand extended to shake hers and she squeaked in response. He was looking at her, talking to her. Lando Norris, Formula 1 driver, was giving her attention. Upon hearing the noise she let out, he glanced at Oscar with a furrowed brow. Silently asking what was happening. He met a lot of starstruck fans, but not a lot of starstruck guests. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N. She’s a bit of a fan apparently.” 

The grin that split on his face was downright evil. He was enjoying this. It was definitely a first, having a fellow driver’s girlfriend fangirl over him. He was painfully smug. 

Y/N swatted her boyfriend’s arm for exposing her. Now she just looked like a crazy person. “Sorry, I just really like watching you drive. You’re so talented.” Her boyfriend felt like he was having some sort of outer body experience watching this interaction. This woman in front of him was nothing like the woman he knew. 

“I like her already.”

Her hand reached out and gripped Oscar’s arm, squeezing. She didn’t even realise she was doing it. “Not as much as she likes you apparently,” he mumbled. Neither of them heard him.

A call of Lando’s name from somewhere in the near distance was Oscar’s saviour. He had never been so glad to get rid of the man he once considered an inspiration. He had a strong feeling this moment was going to keep coming back. What were the odds of Lando letting go of this huge ego boost? “Well, duty calls. Was nice meeting you Y/N. If I win this weekend I’ll be sure to dedicate it to you.” He waved as he headed back to his side of the garage for a chat with his trainer. 

Her jaw dropped. “Did you hear that? He’s gonna dedicate his win to me.” There were almost literal stars in her eyes as she watched him go. Oscar didn’t think she had ever even looked at him like that. She was even twirling her hair around her finger like some crushing teenager. Lando briefly glanced back over his shoulder, saw she was still looking. He offered a wink and a smirk, one that sent all kinds of alarms off in Oscar’s brain. He had never felt a wave of jealousy like it. 

Before he knew what  he was doing, his arm came to wrap around her and his lips glued themselves to her temple. Normally he really wasn’t one for PDA. Right now it felt necessary. His teammate knew what he was doing and he couldn’t help but laugh. Who knew Oscar was the possessive type? Not even him until now. 

“He’s never won, don’t get your hopes up.”

There was some sharpness to his tone. It was easy to pick up on for someone that had known him for so long. “Are you jealous?” The grin on her face was wide, teasing. She couldn’t believe it. She had literally never seen him like this before. He scoffed. Though his cheeks betrayed him, burning a bright red. “Oh my god, you are. Oscar Piastri is jealous!”

“I am not jealous.”

“You totally are.” The woman was overjoyed. It hadn’t been her intention to make him so jealous, but she was loving it. He always cared more than he let on. 

He huffed. “Tell that to the heart eyes you were sending his way.”

It was easy to forget that Oscar was still just a 22 year old in his first serious relationship. Sure they’d been together a while and he was pretty accomplished in his chosen job field, but it didn’t mean they weren’t young and still figuring out life. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her heart doing flips in her chest. At first she kissed his cheek, then his nose and finally his lips. Melting into her was completely against his will. That was just the effect she had on him though. “I love you, you big baby, not Lando.”

And he knew it was true. 

No doubt the story of how Y/N had fangirled over Lando would be brought up when she and Oscar inevitably got married. In fact the Brit told the story at any given opportunity. No matter how much time had passed, it would still rile him up. Oscar was never going to let her get starstruck again.

[hamilton-here]

Heya, just another idea I want to drop in your inbox so I don’t forget about it. Lewis taking his famous girlfriend to the f1 premiere and the relationship has been secret before so eveyone is like wooooah they are dating???????! And he‘s supe protective of her (maybe also possessive when there’s men getting closer?) something like this, thank you

𝐿𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈, 𝒞𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓈, 𝒰𝓈

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! I have around 17 requests to complete😫. Y'all were keen for me to open my requests oh my lordy. Requests are definitely gonna be closed for a while. I can't wait to watch the F1 movie this Sat. Anyway enjoy! Apologises if this is somewhat short 😞Lots of love xx

Summary: At a high profile premiere, Lewis Hamilton and his partner navigate the chaos of fame, finding strength in their private bond amidst the public spotlight.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It was one of those mornings where the world felt slightly off-kilter with a strange, humming energy hung in the air, buzzing quietly just beneath the surface, like New York itself knew that today would be anything but ordinary. Even from the safety of the hotel’s lavish suite you could feel it, the weight of what was coming, the undercurrent of anticipation threading through your every breath.

The floor-to-ceiling windows let in the soft morning sunlight, its pale glow stretching lazily across the minimalist décor - cream walls, cool marble counters and dark wooden accents. It should’ve felt calming. It should’ve made you feel like you had time. But the walls seemed to close in, your thoughts ricocheting off them as the clock’s relentless ticking filled the silence.

You were standing in front of the mirror, unmoving, almost like if you stayed still long enough, you could delay the inevitable.

Today’s the day.

Your eyes flicked to the dress draped neatly on the back of the bathroom door, which was a delicate, fluid masterpiece in soft gold, threaded with a whisper of shimmer so faint that it only caught the light when you moved. It was simple, intentionally understated, but the thought of wearing it made your chest tighten. The fabric was like your emotions of serene on the outside, but inside you were vibrating with nerves, spinning with every anxious what-if.

What if you stumbled in front of the cameras? What if people didn’t like you? What if, stepping into the spotlight next to him, made you more than just his partner - what if it made you a target?

From the other room came the gentle rustling of fabric, the soft thump of shoes against carpet as Lewis moved around. His presence, even unseen, always brought you comfort. Normally, he was the calm in your storm. But today? Today was different. This wasn’t just another gala, another appearance where the world expected him to show up alone. This wasn’t even about racing. This was his movie.

The F1 movie. The one Brad Pitt had starred in; the one Lewis had poured years into as a producer. The project that blended Hollywood with the fierce, unrelenting world of motorsport. Lewis had worked for this and fought to shape it, to tell the story right.

And today wasn’t just the culmination of that journey. It was the day your quiet, sacred relationship was about to be placed in the centre of the world’s stage.

You’d both kept it hidden for so long. It was easy, in private. In hotel rooms, late-night phone calls, tucked-away vacations where no one could reach you. But now would change everything. You would walk out of that car, and the world would see you.

Your fingers fiddled nervously with the hem of your robe. Was this really happening? Were you ready to stop being invisible?

The sound of footsteps nearing the bedroom pulled you from your spiral. You looked up just as Lewis appeared in the doorway, framed by the soft morning light, and for a second, it stole your breath.

He wore his pale pink jacket, the one with the diamond-studded goat symbol glinting just below his shoulder blade. He hadn’t needed to say it out loud, but you knew exactly why he’d chosen that jacket. He was stepping into the premiere knowing exactly who he was. He wasn’t shying away from being seen.

Paired with sharp black pants and his signature sleek boots, he looked as effortlessly commanding as always, but you didn’t see Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion.

You saw your Lewis the one who remembered how you liked your coffee, who rubbed your back when you couldn’t sleep, who pressed quiet kisses to your temple when the weight of the world felt too heavy.

“How are we doing, love?” His voice was soft, but you could hear the edge of concern, the subtle way he was reading you like you were a puzzle he’d long since figured out but still studied, just to make sure.

You offered him a weak smile, brushing your palms down the sides of your thighs to ground yourself. “Just trying to get it together.” You glanced at the dress again, as if it might help settle your racing thoughts. “It just feels like something’s shifting, you know?”

Lewis’s lips quirked into a faint smile, and he crossed the room in a few strides, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his touch warm, steadying.

“You’re going to be amazing,” he said, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your cheek, lingering there just a moment longer than usual. “They’re gonna see you the way I see you.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the nerves still clinging to your chest. “I just don’t want to mess this up. I don’t know how to be someone people talk about. Someone they pick apart.”

Lewis gently lifted your chin with two fingers, his thumb brushing softly against your jaw. His gaze, deep and unflinching, held yours like an anchor.

“They’re gonna talk, no matter what,” he said, his voice velvet smooth but laced with quiet certainty. “But I’m not letting them near you unless you want them there. You don’t owe anyone anything. We’re in this together, yeah? You’ve got me.”

The sincerity in his tone loosened something in your chest. You nodded, feeling the edges of your fear begin to soften under his steady gaze.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Together.”

Lewis’s grin widened, and he dropped his hand to your waist, giving you a little squeeze. “Damn right.”

The simplicity of the moment, his unwavering calm, reminded you of who you were doing this with. If Lewis was willing to walk through the fire with you, you could handle the heat.

By the time you both left the hotel room, hand in hand, the hum of New York City had sharpened into a tangible pulse that seemed to vibrate through the streets.

It was no longer just background noise, but it was alive, a persistent rhythm that reminded you of the weight of the moment you were walking toward.

The sleek red car waiting at the curb shimmered in the late morning sun, its glossy surface polished to the point where it mirrored the skyline. Even from a distance, you could hear the faint pop of camera shutters and the sharp, echoing shouts of paparazzi, though they were still just spectres at this point not close enough to suffocate you yet, but looming, hovering on the horizon.

Lewis guided you toward the car with quiet ease, his thumb brushing across your knuckles as though it was second nature because it was. You’d walked together like this countless times before. Grocery runs. Lazy afternoons. Late dinners when no one was looking.

But never like this.

Never where the entire world was waiting to see you.

He reached for the car door first, opening it smoothly and gesturing for you to slide in. You caught the softness in his expression, the way his eyes flicked over you like he was mentally checking every detail, not of your outfit but of you.

Are you okay? Are you ready?

You didn’t have to speak for him to know you were on the edge of unraveling. You settled into the car’s cool leather seats, the door shutting behind you with a soft, final click that somehow felt heavier than it should have.

Lewis circled the car, taking his time as though he was deliberately drawing out these last few seconds of peace. When he slipped into the seat beside you, the space immediately felt smaller in a good way. Like you could breathe again, but only because he was there.

The driver merged seamlessly into the pulsing afternoon traffic, the streets of New York sprawling past the windows in a blur of yellow taxis, glinting skyscrapers, and pedestrians that didn’t know, or didn’t care, what was about to unfold a few blocks away.

Lewis’s hand found yours again, his fingers slotting between yours with the familiarity of someone who had done it in the dark, in elevators, in back seats always with that same quiet certainty. But this time, you couldn’t stop the trembling in your palm.

He noticed immediately, his thumb starting to stroke gentle, reassuring circles over your skin without missing a beat.

And then, without hesitation, he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. He lingered there. Not a quick, passing touch, but a moment, as if he could anchor you and absorb the nervous electricity humming beneath your skin.

“You don’t have to be nervous, you know,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, that slight rasp curling around the edges like smoke. The kind of voice that always made your chest tighten, though it carried something more. Something protective. Something that felt like a promise.

Your throat tightened. You tried to smile, but you knew he could see straight through it.

“It’s just this is the first time. I’ve never had to -” you gestured loosely, as if the words themselves were too big to properly shape, “be seen like this. With you.” Lewis’s brow softened, his thumb pausing momentarily as he studied you, really looked at you.

“You’ve got nothing to prove to them,” he said, his tone quietly resolute, each word measured like he wanted them to sink into your bones. “Not today. Not ever. They don’t get to define you. You’re mine now. Let them write whatever headlines they want. What matters is what’s real. Us.”

The words weren’t suffocating or possessive in the wrong way they were protective, wrapping around you like armour. Like he wanted to build a wall between you and the sharp teeth of the outside world. You exhaled slowly, the knot in your chest loosening just a little. “You really think I can handle this?”

His lips curved into a soft smile, the kind that brought out the faintest dimple on his cheek the one you always loved catching when his guard was down. He leaned in, brushing another kiss to your temple, lingering there longer than necessary, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know you can. And you’re not doing it alone. We walk through that carpet together. Always.” It wasn’t just a line. It was a vow. One you felt settle deep inside you.

The rest of the ride passed in a pocket of silence - comfortable, grounding. Every few blocks, Lewis would squeeze your hand like a pulse check, a quiet I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. But the closer you got, the louder the energy became.

The muted hum of the city sharpened into the distinct roar of a waiting crowd. Even through the double-insulated car, you could hear the rising commotion followed by the blend of engine rumble, the faint blare of speakers, the excited calls from fans who had been camped out for hours just to catch a glimpse of the stars arriving.

Your heartbeat jumped as you caught your reflection in the tinted window. The way your makeup had been carefully perfected, the delicate shimmer of your dress catching in the sunlight, the slight tension still lingering in your jaw.

It hit you, suddenly, like cold water.

You were about to step out next to Lewis Hamilton. Not as a friend. Not as a PR plant. As his. Officially. Unmistakably.

When the car finally pulled up to the curb, your heart felt like it was lodged somewhere between your ribs and your throat. Through the safety of the dark glass, you could see them. Hundreds of people. Dozens of cameras. The flashes had already begun, stuttering white sparks popping like fireworks as they homed in on the unmistakable car.

You gripped Lewis’s hand tighter, your pulse hammering in your wrists. He turned to you, his thumb brushing firm, grounding strokes over your skin. His eyes softened, but his jaw was set with a quiet line of resolve.

“Hey,” he murmured, tilting your chin gently so you couldn’t hide from him. “I’ve got you. You ready?” Your breath trembled on the inhale, but you nodded. “Yeah.” His lips tugged into a slow, knowing grin. “Let’s give ‘em something to talk about.”

The car door swung open, and Lewis stepped out first, unfolding to his full height in a smooth, commanding motion that instantly drew every pair of eyes in his direction. The collective hum of the crowd exploded into cheers, gasps, the frantic whirl of camera shutters cranking into overdrive.

He moved like he owned the moment as it was unhurried, deliberate and as if the carpet had been rolled out just for him. Even the late morning sun seemed to bow to him, its bright rays catching on the pale pink jacket he’d chosen for the day, the fabric shifting in soft glimmers as he moved.

The diamond-encrusted goat symbol shimmered like a crown on his back. It wasn’t loud, more intentional. The greatest. And he knew it.

The outfit alone would’ve set social media ablaze but paired with his effortless charisma—it was like gravity itself bent toward him.

And then he turned back to the open car door. To you. His hand reached out, palm up, fingers open waiting for yours. There was no rush. No spectacle. Just an invitation. Step into this with me.

His hand wasn’t just a gesture it was a lifeline, a quiet anchor against the roar of the crowd. It was Lewis, saying without words, you don’t have to face this alone.

Your heartbeat so hard you could feel it in your teeth. But your hand moved to his like it always had like it belonged there. The moment your skin touched his, the world seemed to shift. The gasps from the crowd sliced through the noise in sharp, staggering waves.

“Wait is that -?”

“Who’s she?”

“Lewis brought someone?”

“Are they…are they together?!”

The murmurs surged, building into something uncontrollable, like the spark of a match dropped into dry grass. The media scrambled reporters elbowing for position, photographers tripping over each other to capture the shot that would headline a thousand news feeds.

You stepped out carefully, your heel meeting the carpet with delicate precision, but you felt weightless, unsteady under the sheer force of the moment. The noise blurred with shouting, cheering, cameras flashing so rapidly it felt like lightning was fracturing the air around you. For a heartbeat, you wanted to retreat, to fold back into the shadow of the car.

But then Lewis’s hand. His grip, warm and solid, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against your knuckles. You looked up, your breath caught in your throat. And he was already looking at you. His expression wasn’t tense. It wasn’t forced. He looked proud. Unapologetically proud to be here, to be standing with you. There was no hesitation. No doubt. He wanted this. He wanted you with him. Seen with him.

His hand slid to the small of your back, his touch protective but gentle, guiding you forward onto the iconic red carpet, step by step, as if the rhythm of his body would keep you steady.

And it did.

The cameras clicked, reporters fired off questions that tumbled over each other in desperate waves.

“Lewis! Who’s your date for this event?”

“Is this your girlfriend?”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Lewis, can we get a quote? Is this serious?”

You could feel the weight of the world pressing against your skin, their curiosity a heavy, sharp thing. But Lewis never faltered. His hand on your lower back was warming, his voice calm, smooth, but with a quiet finality that settled over the crowd like a closing door. “A while now,” he said simply, his gaze flicking back to you with a softness that felt like home. “We’re happy.”

And somehow, those two words made everything else fade. The noise. The flashes. The rush of adrenaline.

You were here. Together.

And in that moment, you realised it didn’t crush you like you thought it would. You didn’t crumble under the pressure. You felt steady and protefted. Seen but not exposed.

Because Lewis was right. They could write whatever they wanted thought what mattered was what was real.

You leaned in just a fraction closer to him as you both posed for the cameras, the rhythmic flashes sharp and unrelenting almost starting to blur into the background, like a metronome you could finally find comfort in. The noise, once deafening, began to soften at the edges as you found your rhythm by his side.

Your arm slid into his, a natural tether and Lewis subtly adjusted his stance, shifting his weight just enough to tuck you closer against his side. It wasn’t theatrical. It wasn’t for the cameras. It was instinct, Lewis’s silent way of making sure you knew you were his and that he wasn’t about to let you drift, not even an inch.

The photographers barked instructions with increasing urgency, their voices stacking over each other in a chaotic medley.

“Lewis! Look here!”

“Over the shoulder, please!”

“Give us that smile, champ!”

“Just one more this way!”

Lewis accommodated them, turning when they asked, angling his body toward each flash in controlled movements. But you noticed something else, he kept glancing back at you. His attention never fully left.

Even when he posed, even when he smiled for the lenses, his body was never squared away from you. He was always slightly turned toward you, his hand tightening around your waist, his thumb sweeping soft, deliberate patterns against your dress. Like a quiet promise, like a claim.

The longer you stood there, the more you felt the initial hurricane of media attention settle into something more manageable, almost rhythmic. The sharp staccato of the camera shutters became predictable. The crowd’s gasps softened into murmurs. The disbelief settled into fascination.

You’d survived the peak. The rest, you could handle.

As the red carpet stretched onward beneath your feet, the moment began to shift. More arrivals. More distractions for the crowd. The cameras still followed your every move, but the focus, the suffocating intensity, began to fracture as other stars and drivers made their own entrances.

Familiar faces from the paddock appeared of drivers Lewis had competed against, traveled with and known through seasons of brutal races, podiums and near-misses. They came with easy handshakes, claps on the back, brief but genuine embraces. You could see the years between them, etched in their shared smiles, in the casual way they joked about the season, the film, their own cameo scenes.

You recognised some of them instantly, men whose names had been etched into the sport alongside Lewis’s, their histories tangled with his through championship fights, victories, and heartbreaks. Some were younger, just beginning their legacy, still wide-eyed on carpets like these. Some were the old guard, battle-worn but still magnetic.

As the press scattered between the stars, the Hollywood elites, and the racing royalty, the energy on the carpet shifted from tense spotlight to curated chaos. Lewis’s world now your world started to fill around you.

And still, through all of it, his hand remained anchored at your back. Firm, steady, a quiet signal that even amid the waves of familiarity, the interviews, the handshakes, you were his fixed point. His centre.

You watched the ease with which he navigated the room graceful but unyielding, the kind of practiced charisma that came with years in the spotlight.

Yet, despite his seamless flow through conversations and greetings, his focus circled back to you in loops. He would smile, laugh, speak in that rich, grounded voice the cameras loved but his hand never drifted from your lower back, his thumb still brushing those slow, grounding circles against the fabric of your dress.

And then just as you were beginning to relax you felt it.

Lewis dipped his head slightly, his breath grazing the delicate curve of your ear, his lips barely brushing your skin as he murmured, low enough that only you could hear, “Stay close, yeah?”

The softness in his voice didn’t hide the edge beneath it a quiet possessiveness threaded through the words like silk over steel. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a question.

It was a promise.

A directive.

An unspoken tether.

You nodded, a subtle but certain movement, your breath catching as a shiver ghosted down your spine from the intimate brush of his lips against your ear. “I will,” you whispered back, the words slipping out on instinct. It didn’t matter where he went. Interviews, photos, greetings you would follow.

For a while, the two of you moved in seamless tandem.

Lewis eased through interviews with practiced charm, answering questions about the film, about his producer role, about the legacy of Formula 1 and the authenticity the movie promised to deliver. His voice dipped into passion when he spoke about motorsport how much he cared about telling the story right, about honouring the sport’s culture.

You trailed just a step behind him, your hand never far from his, your presence wrapped safely within the invisible border Lewis’s body seemed to create around you.

Drivers passed by some offering friendly nods, some casting knowing glances toward Lewis with subtle smirks that said so this is the secret girlfriend, huh? - but none dared to push too far.

Most of them knew better.

Until he arrived.

The man appeared almost out of nowhere sliding easily into the edge of your space, wearing a polished smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His event badge was flipped backward, his credentials unreadable, and his approach lacked the caution you’d grown used to seeing from others around Lewis.

He wasn’t familiar. He wasn’t part of the F1 world. But he was curious. Too curious.

“So,” he started, his voice laced with that smooth, false charm that made your stomach twist, “must’ve been hard, huh? Keeping him all to yourself all this time?”

You blinked, caught off guard by his directness. You opened your mouth, unsure whether to offer a polite deflection or to retreat entirely.

But he didn’t give you the chance. “A man like Lewis?” His gaze raked over you in a way that made your skin prickle. “I’m surprised the secret lasted this long.” His tone wasn’t overtly inappropriate but there was something in his delivery, something too casual, too invasive, that made your pulse spike.

You instinctively leaned away, shifting your weight to subtly create space, searching for Lewis with your peripheral vision. You didn’t have to search long.

Suddenly Lewis was there.

His presence enveloped you in an instant, a wall of calm, immovable certainty. His arm curled around your waist in one smooth, possessive sweep, pulling you tightly against his side as his other hand rested firmly on your hip.

The air between you and the man closed like a slammed door.

Lewis didn’t speak at first. His silence - that silence hung in the space like a loaded chamber. And when he finally did speak, his voice was so controlled, so disarmingly calm, that the warning beneath it landed like a thunderclap. “She’s with me.” Three words. Quiet, steady, but wrapped in steel.

The man faltered. You watched it ripple across his face a slight shift, a flicker of discomfort, as if he’d miscalculated how far he could push. Lewis’s posture didn’t change. He didn’t bare his teeth. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

His message was carved into the taut set of his jaw, the protective cage of his arms around you, the sheer weight of his presence pressing into the man like an invisible wall.

Back off. She’s mine.

The man’s bravado crumbled just enough to reveal the hesitation beneath. He raised his hands in mock surrender, a forced laugh tumbling out as he tried to soften the edge of the moment. “Didn’t mean to overstep. Just making conversation.”

Lewis’s polite smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Conversation’s over.” The dismissal was soft. Lethal. Final.

The man lingered for half a second too long, then retreated mumbling something about catching Lewis later, slipping quickly into the crowd like a man who knew he’d overplayed his hand.

Only after the man disappeared entirely did Lewis’s grip on you soften just slightly but his arm didn’t fully release you. His thumb resumed its slow, soothing circles against your waist, like he was wiping away the residue of the unwelcome attention.

“You good?” he murmured, his voice now velvet-soft, the tension in his shoulders dissolving as his focus narrowed solely to you. Your heart was still racing, your adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin, but you nodded, pressing into his side with a small exhale. “Yeah. I’m good.” Lewis didn’t rush you. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand slid from your waist to your fingers, lacing them together tightly, a deliberate act that sent a silent signal to everyone else.

You were his.

Unmistakably. Unapologetically.

His.

The possessiveness wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t about control more about care. It was about making it impossible for anyone to mistake what you meant to him.

Even as the photographers continued to call out his name, even as the press still lingered nearby, you felt safe.

And as Lewis guided you forward with that quiet, magnetic certainty, you realised this wasn’t just about stepping into the spotlight. It was about stepping into it together.

The velvet ropes and the relentless flashes of the red carpet finally gave way to the grand entrance of the theatre, and with each step inside, the roar of the crowd outside began to dissolve into something distant, like thunder fading over a distant hill. What had moments ago been a hurricane of noise camera shutters, reporters shouting, fans crying out Lewis’s name softened into a low hum, gradually swallowed by the thick walls of the grand hall.

There was an invisible threshold, one you crossed almost without paying attention it, where the world outside - the headlines, the speculation, the careful curation of public image no longer followed. It all slipped away, as if you’d passed into a different universe where none of it could reach you.

Inside, the theatre was awash in soft, amber lighting that shimmered faintly off the marbled floors and stretched upward into soaring ceilings etched with intricate moldings. The grandeur of the space wrapped around you, not in an overwhelming way, but like a protective cocoon, shielding you from the weight of the spectacle you’d just endured.

Plush, uniformed ushers moved through the lobby with quiet efficiency, their voices hushed as they guided arriving guests toward their seats. There were no shouting reporters here. No cameras shoved inches from your face. No strangers inching closer, pushing boundaries.

Just calm.

Just the low, steady murmur of conversations and the gentle rustle of expensive fabrics as people drifted toward their places. It felt like exhaling for the first time all evening.

For the first time, you realised how tightly you’d been holding your shoulders, how shallow your breathing had become under the heat of the public eye. You felt the weight begin to lift, inch by inch, like your body was finally giving you permission to exist again without bracing for impact.

And through it all, Lewis’s hand never left yours.

If anything, his grip had tightened the moment you stepped inside, the second the velvet ropes disappeared behind you. It was as if now finally he could drop the armour he’d worn outside, the polished composure that had kept him steady in front of a thousand lenses. Here, in this sliver of quiet, he could relax. And with that release, his instinct wasn’t to let go of you it was to hold you closer.

You followed the usher as they guided you toward the front of the theatre, past rows of important names and famous faces, past whispered greetings and exchanged nods. Of course, your seats were front row. There was never a question.

Lewis gently tugged you toward your seat, and the moment you sank into the velvety embrace of the plush chair, it felt like you were landing after free-falling all night. The contrast was striking of the weightless buzz outside against the grounded stillness now settling over you.

Lewis dropped into the seat beside you, his body shifting with a long, measured exhale, as though this was the first time he’d allowed himself to breathe deeply since stepping out of the car. And then, like muscle memory, his hand found yours again fingers lacing together like they belonged there, like they always belonged there.

“This is going to be a good time,” he murmured, his voice low, softer now that he no longer needed to project for microphones or entertain the crowd. It was no longer the carefully measured public version of himself. This voice was only for you unfiltered, unguarded. The words, simple as they were, wrapped around you like a balm, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves.

You turned your head toward him, your gaze catching the curve of his lips, now curled into the softest hint of a smile not the practiced one he wore for photographers, but something smaller, warmer, real. His dark eyes had lost the sharp glint he carried on the carpet; now, they were calm, drenched in quiet affection.

And in that moment, the tension that had gripped your shoulders, the racing pulse that had thudded relentlessly in your chest it all started to melt away.

The headlines didn’t matter now.

The whispers didn’t matter.

The speculation didn’t matter.

Inside these walls, it wasn’t about what the world would say tomorrow. It wasn’t about trends or social media frenzies or dissected footage. Here, it was just you and him. The rest of the world could wait.

The lights dimmed gradually, the soft amber glow fading into a deeper, velvet darkness, until the only light remaining came from the enormous screen flickering to life. The chatter in the theatre dissolved into silence, like a switch had been flipped, and the quiet reverence that filled the room was almost sacred.

As the opening sequence of the film began, you shifted instinctively, your body leaning toward Lewis like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your head came to rest against his shoulder, the fabric of his pale pink jacket soft beneath your cheek, still carrying the faintest trace of his cologne clean, fresh and uniquely him.

Lewis welcomed you into him instantly, his arm sliding around your shoulders, pulling you into the warm, protective curve of his body. His hand splayed wide across your upper arm, his thumb brushing lazy, almost absentminded strokes along your skin through the thin fabric of your dress.

It was comforting. Yours.

You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear steady, unhurried, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

His touch wasn’t performative anymore. It wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t for show. It wasn’t for the curated narrative the world was already racing to write.

It was just Lewis holding you like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. He didn’t need to speak. He didn’t need to fill the moment with more promises or empty reassurances. His presence was enough. The weight of his arm around you was enough. This was the truth of who he was not the man in front of the flashing bulbs, not the headline, not the legacy.

Just Lewis. The man who kept you close. The man who made sure you were safe. The man who had never once let go of your hand since you stepped out of that car.

You could hear the film continuing, the hum of engines, the dialogue, the familiar cadence of the racing world but your focus drifted, your heartbeat syncing with his, the velvet darkness cocooning you in the most intimate of silences.

Because this wasn’t just the premiere of a movie. This wasn’t just another milestone in his already illustrious career. This was the night Lewis chose to pull you into his orbit not in pieces, not in fragments, not as something to be tucked away in the shadows and it wasn’t about being his secret anymore.

And what struck you most what melted something in your chest was the quiet realisation that he had always been preparing you for this, gently, without pressure, until you were ready to walk beside him in full view of the world.

The media would dissect the two of you.

The photos would flood the internet.

The world would spin its stories.

But none of it mattered in this moment.

Because the most important headline had already been written in the curl of his fingers around yours, in the warmth of his breath against your hair, in the steady cadence of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

You were his. And maybe you always had been.

And as you nestled just a little closer to him, your eyes softening as you allowed yourself to exhale completely, you knew this wasn’t about surviving the spotlight.

It was about standing in it together and that would always be enough.

By the time the film ended, the velvet seats were now empty, the grand theatre slowly slipping back into quiet as guests trickled out into the cool New York evening.

The buzz outside was still alive reporters lingering for scraps of commentary, fans clinging to barricades for one last glimpse, but Lewis had expertly guided you out through a private exit, a warm hand at your back the entire way, keeping you tucked close to him, away from the chaos.

Now, the hum of the city wrapped around the car as you both sat cocooned in the soft leather seats, the tinted windows blurring the flashes into distant glimmers that felt too far away to reach you anymore.

For the first time all night, the silence wasn’t filled with tension.

You sat with your legs tucked toward him, your body turned just slightly, head resting back against the seat as you let yourself really breathe long and deep, the adrenaline finally beginning to fade from your bloodstream. The noise outside, the relentless clicking of cameras, the flashing bulbs they all felt so far away, like they were happening to someone else, far removed from this intimate, quiet moment you now found yourself in.

Lewis’s hand was still in yours. Always in yours. His thumb was still brushing that same, familiar rhythm against your skin, a quiet tether that had grounded you all night, the gentle movement providing a sense of calm you hadn’t noticed you’d been needing.

He hadn’t let go, not once.

You looked over at him, your gaze tracing the softened curve of his jaw now that he wasn’t wearing the weight of the room anymore. The tension that had been coiled in his shoulders had unraveled. His posture more relaxed, but his eyes those deep, thoughtful eyes still flickered to you like he couldn’t quite stop checking, like some part of him still needed to make sure you were okay.

“You alright?” he asked softly, his voice now stripped of the polish he’d worn on the carpet. This wasn’t the voice he gave the cameras. This was the voice he saved for you.

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. I think I am now.”

Lewis’s lips quirked into that half-smile, the one that always made your heart skip a little. “Told you we’d be alright.”

You let out a quiet laugh, your head tilting against the seat as you studied him, the memory of the night still warm on your skin. “I was so nervous,” you admitted, the honesty slipping out easily now, safe in the privacy of the car. “I thought I was going to faint when I stepped out. I thought maybe I’d embarrass you.”

His brows drew together instantly, his thumb pausing its rhythm to grip your hand a little tighter. “Embarrass me?” His voice softened with disbelief, the very idea of it clearly throwing him off. “You didn’t embarrass me. Not for a second. You -” He trailed off, searching for the words, his thumb resuming its soft circles, grounding you in a way that only he could. “You were perfect.”

You felt heat bloom in your cheeks, a soft flutter in your chest that had nothing to do with the cameras or the crowd. “You really think so?”

Lewis’s gaze softened, his eyes lingering on you like he wanted to etch this version of you - tired, glowing, real into his memory forever. “I know so.”

The car slowed as the driver turned onto a quieter street, the city’s pulse dimming to a soft murmur as the chaos of the premiere faded into the distance. The night air slipped through the cracked window, cool against your skin, fragrant with the distant scent of rain and city life.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty it was full, wrapped in the comfortable weight of shared understanding. The light outside seemed softer now, more intimate, as though the world had dialled down, just for you two, to let you breathe.

Lewis finally broke the silence, his voice a low murmur as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “They’re gonna talk, you know. They’re gonna write their stories.”

You nodded, your heart steady now. “Let them.”

He smiled at that, proud and soft all at once. “That’s my girl.”

His words settled in your chest like something permanent, something you wanted to hold on to. He didn’t need to say more everything he had already said, everything he’d done, told you more than words could. The car pulled up in front of the hotel, the quiet rumble of the engine slipping into stillness. The driver moved to open the door, but Lewis squeezed your hand once more before you moved, anchoring you there just a moment longer.

“Thank you,” he said, his gaze locking with yours, the weight of the words settling between you, grounding you even deeper. “For being with me. For walking through that with me.” The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten in a way that almost took you by surprise. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into your lips as you whispered, “Always.”

There, in the soft glow of the streetlights, in the quiet safety of the car, you allowed yourself to close the distance between you and him just a little more. His lips, soft and warm, brushed gently against yours before he pulled away, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to capture every second of the moment.

You lingered there, your face still inches from his, the rush of the night finally settling into something you could hold onto.

His brown eyes stared into yours almost like a plea. His hand slid to your face, cupping your cheek as if to remind you that this wasn’t for the world it was just for the two of you.

Soon enough, Lewis’s lips found yours again, this time with more certainty, more passion, more everything. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as though he was savouring the feeling of having you this close, finally able to love you without the weight of the world on his shoulders. His thumb traced the line of your jaw as he deepened the kiss, and you melted into him, letting him pull you closer, hands finding his neck, your bodies aligning with ease.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t hurried. It was perfect.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, Lewis’s forehead pressed gently against yours. “You’re mine,” he murmured softly, almost as if reminding himself.

“I’ve always been yours,” you whispered back, feeling that truth settle in your heart.

And as you walked toward the hotel, his thumb brushing slow, steady circles against your hand once more, you knew with certainty -

You’d walk through it all again.

[paucubarsisimp]

Heyy could you write something about Pau Cubarsí being jealous but it’s not a normal thing because he usually shrugs it off but this time some guy really got on his nerves? 🩷

només tu

pairing: pau cubarsi x reader

summary: in which a random guy flirts with you and it gets on your boyfriend's nerves

warnings: none!

a/n: i tried putting catalan into it instead of spanish so lmk how it is!!

pau had never been the jealous type. not once. not even when he probably should’ve been.

he was quiet, steady—the kind of boy who didn’t need to raise his voice to take up space. he didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. not on the pitch. not in interviews. not even when someone was clearly trying to flirt with you right in front of him.

and you liked that about him. the way he trusted you, the way he trusted what you had. you felt it in the little things—his fingers brushing yours under the table, the way he’d glance at you and smile like he already knew you were his.

but tonight? tonight was… different.

the dinner was supposed to be casual. just a little post-match thing with friends and a few people from the club. pau had played the full 90 and you could still see the faint marks of the game on him—grass-stained socks, a tiny red scratch on his knee, his curls still damp from the shower.

he sat beside you, relaxed and quiet, his hand resting on your thigh under the table in that gentle, familiar way. he wasn’t saying much—he rarely did—but he was there, completely. tuned into you like always.

then someone new showed up.

a guy from the media team. not a player, but familiar enough to be bold. he sat across from you and started talking—fast, confident, a little too smooth. and somehow, all his attention landed on you.

you tried to be polite. really. but he kept going. kept leaning in. kept laughing at things you didn’t even mean to be funny. touching your hand when you reached for your drink, brushing your knee under the table like it was nothing.

and pau… wasn’t smiling.

his hand tensed on your thigh, just for a second. then he shifted, sitting up straighter, eyes focused now—not just on you, but on him.

then came the comment.

“so… you and cubarsí? didn’t peg you for the quiet type. thought you’d be with someone more, i don’t know… fun?”

he said it like it was a joke. but no one laughed. and you barely had time to open your mouth before pau spoke.

calm. quiet. and sharp enough to silence the whole table.

“maybe she likes quiet.” a pause. his voice low but clear. “maybe she doesn’t need someone who talks too much and says nothing.”

you felt it before you saw it—his hand gripping yours under the table. firm. grounding.

the guy across from you let out a weak laugh, trying to brush it off, but no one really picked it up. the conversation moved on. awkwardly.

pau didn’t.

when you were walking back to the car, the night air soft around you, you finally broke the silence.

“you alright?”

pau didn’t answer right away. he was looking ahead, jaw clenched, curls falling a little over his forehead.

“i’m fine.” then a pause. “i just… didn’t like the way he was talking to you.”

you stopped walking, tugging his hand until he faced you. his brows were furrowed, lips parted like he was still figuring out what to say.

“he wasn’t anything,” you said gently. “you know that, right?”

he nodded. looked down. then finally met your eyes.

“i know. it’s just…” he exhaled, like the words were stuck somewhere in his chest. “he looked at you like you were something he could win. like i wasn’t even there.”

your heart softened instantly.

you reached up and brushed your fingers through his curls, tucking one behind his ear.

“pau… mi amor… you’re always there.”

he leaned into your touch, eyes closing briefly like it calmed him. then he opened them again and whispered, “ets meva, no?”

his voice was barely audible. catalan. a little unsure. a little possessive. soft in a way that made your heart ache.

“sempre,” you whispered back. always.

he stepped closer, slipping both arms around your waist now, pulling you in until there wasn’t any space left. the city could’ve disappeared around you and he still wouldn’t have let go.

“no vull compartir-te.” i don’t want to share you.

you smiled, pressing your forehead to his.

“you never have to.”

then you kissed him—slow, certain, sweet. and when you pulled back, he still looked a little serious, but softer. more at ease.

“you’re really not used to being jealous, huh?” you teased gently.

he laughed under his breath. “not until you.”

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @meganesanchez, @linnygirl09, @spidybaby,, @vicolette lmk if you want to be added!

[rafeplay]

i don’t want anybody else

ft. rafe cameron x fem!reader

tags. age gap, babysitter reader, obsession i guess, ooc, mommy issues, mentions of slut shaming n misogyny, controlling rafe so nothing new, mentions of rape, angst, character study low-key, mention of smut

note. hai.. finished s4 today. sorry if anything is wrong i literally started the show like 5 days ago i think this is so overdue for my angelic mutual who this fic is dedicated 2… very disjointed towards the end ignore any typos or mistakes ab canon lore LMFAO unedited … feedback n rbs always so appreciated :3 was meant 2 be smut but I got bored LMFAO.. title from genitorturers song..

Having a crush on his childhood babysitter is probably the most normal thing Rafe Cameron has ever done. 

You were fifteen and he was five. You had braces and a pierced nose, and you never really paid attention to Rafe unless he was bleeding or breaking a bone. Which coincidentally he learned to do a lot. He tripped down so many stairs for you. 

You had a boyfriend that he bit for kissing you on his couch. Well. Rafe’s dad’s couch, but that’s, like, the same thing. 

You didn’t get to have a sweet sixteen, but you did come to his sixth birthday party with a fisher-price kitchen set. Rafe found great interest in the plastic knife that came with an airbrushed piece of toast. He asked to marry you after everybody went home and you were tossing paper plates into a garbage bag because his dad asked you to clean up. 

He used his mom’s ring and everything. He wasn’t allowed to touch mom’s stuff, but he did for you—And Sarah, of course it was fucking Sarah, she’s been a snitch since the day she was born, ran off to tattle on him. 

“Aw, Rafey.” You ruffled his hair like a dog. “You’re so sweet.”

Sweet.

He was sweet. 

(Being put in the naughty corner by dad after you left didn’t even ruin his night.)

You were the only consistent thing in his life. The only one that didn’t leave or change or shift affections. You came every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday after school like the sun. You told him his little-boy shampoo smelt good, you didn’t mind when he pulled at your clothes with sticky hands unlike Rose, you didn’t tell dad when he made Sarah cry, and you let him hold your hand, because even back then, he couldn't not be close to you. 

When he was seven one of the older boys at school called you a skank, none of his friends heard, but Rafe did. It rang out in the playground like a gunshot, and for the first time his teachers brought up his ‘anger issues’ and ‘antisocial behaviour’ to Ward. 

After school, you came over, didn’t mention his bruised knuckles or the little pout on his face. 

You just said: “Wanna see something cool?” 

He nodded which prompted you to lift your tank top. 

Rafe covered his eyes, and then he peeked through the gaps in his fingers.

“I’m not showing you my boobs, idiot!” You laughed. “I got my bellybutton pierced.” 

And Rafe, at just seven years old, looked at the offending piece of jewellery and thought: skank like it was a diagnosis. He didn’t really know what it meant, just that the boys at school meant it in a bad way, and that he was feeling a bad thing in his chest like he did when dad let Sarah pick the movie on movie night, like he did when he saw mom in hospital, like he did when dad married Rose. 

The bad feeling he felt after he stole your cheetah-print thong and stashed it in his pillowcase. The bad feeling he felt when he told dad what he saw you doing with that boy in the guest room. The bad feeling he felt when you got fired. He watched through the banisters as Ward gave you a stern talking to and you cried and said sorry a lot.

And then you turned eighteen and you left for college. You didn’t say goodbye. You had a goodbye party, but Rafe wasn’t invited, and he took that very personally. Even when it was explained to him a handful of times that it was for teenagers and grownups. 

Here’s the thing, just because you toss an old toy out, it doesn’t mean you can’t miss it from time to time. And fuck. He missed you everyday for six years. 

Rafe missed you at ten when the new babysitter didn’t have hair as nice as yours or skin as soft and cotton candy-scented as yours. She didn’t let him watch Jeepers Creepers 1 or 2. At eleven when he got sent to the counsellor for drawing boobs in the margins of his schoolbook - they said he had issues with boundaries. At twelve when he wet the bed again and dad looked at him funny. At thirteen when his voice finally broke. He missed you at fourteen when he did his first line off the counter in the boys bathroom, it hurt so much he thought he was dying, his nose was bleeding, and all he wanted was you so he did another line. 

You came home a week later. Older, but not any taller, well-travelled, a tattoo in a foreign language on your hip, a ring on your finger. 

“Holy shit, you’re so big now!” You smiled up at him. “Gosh, you were like up to my hip before, how old are you now? Like thirteen? Fourteen?”

What grade are you in? How’s Sarah? Shit, Wheezie must be like in elementary now, she was a toddler the last time I saw her. You still bad at math? Are you guys still living in the Tannyhill place? 

The whole time you talked Rafe wondered if you would still catch him if he threw himself down a flight of stairs, even at this age, at this size. Would you take care of any self-inflicted splinters? Would you still wipe his ass if he asked? 

“What’s that?” He asked, not impolitely, bluntly, pointing at your shiny ring.

“Oh, this?” You smiled at him again, differently this time, in a way he couldn’t quite pinpoint. You smiled at everyone when you were younger, mostly boys your age, maybe that’s why it was so easy to call you a skank. “From my fiancé actually—I met him in Thailand, we stayed in the same hostel, he said he'd meet me back here soon, it’s a whole thing.”

He wanted to say something mean. Call your boyfriend a loser, ask if he had a job or a real degree, if he knew how much of a skank you used to be. 

Rafe said none of that, he retreated when his dad came over to greet you, give you a big hug, welcome you home, congratulate you on the engagement. 

“Look at you, god, you got so pretty,” Ward said, like he hadn't kicked you out of his house all those years ago, “lucky, lucky man wherever he is.” 

Wherever he is may he fucking die. May an earthquake or a flood or some natural disaster sweep him into the ocean so he can never find his way back to you. 

Nothing goes Rafe’s way so your fiancé arrived, and he was fucking great. He was a really, really nice guy. Even for a Pogue. He knew how to bartend, he made everyone laugh, and he had cool stories about tropical places. 

You got married three years later. When you had enough money for a wedding. Rafe was seventeen. If he was eighteen maybe it would’ve gone a little differently. 

Rafe Cameron, Kildare County’s most eligible bachelor; pedigree, privileged, and poisoned. Money wouldn’t be a problem with him. 

“I’m so glad you came,” you cooed to Rafe, gave him a great big hug, pet his head. “Rafe asked me to marry him once,” you told your husband, “it was so cute, his ring was even nicer than this one, he got down on one knee and awww—“

It wasn’t a fucking joke. 

Rafe was serious then and serious now. 

By the time Rafe was eighteen, you and your husband were on a ‘break.‘ You took off your ring when you came to the bar all the way over in Figure Eight. You talked to other men. They paid attention to you because you had nice tits, and Rafe would know because he liked them first. He liked them before he even knew why he liked them. 

“Rafe?” You tapped him on the shoulder, he was sweating through his linen button-up. “What are you doing?”

“What?” He blinked at you, glassy-eyed. “Nothing.” 

“Rafe,” you warned like you used to when he wouldn’t go to bed on time, when he climbed on the kitchen counters, “what are you doing?”

Are you using something? Rafe. Look at me now. C’mon. Did you drink or is it something else? You know you shouldn’t be here, right? Who let you in? Rafe, who let you in? Please, tell me.

The lights got too bright, everything was pulsing and burning. “Why do you… Why do you care?” He breathed out, a rivulet of sweat taking the path down his nose, fists balled up by his sides.

“Why do I care?“ Your voice broke in your throat, angry, and maybe a little bit heartbroken. “Rafe, are you kidding me?” You cupped his face and it made him so upset, somerhing inside of him burned as if you’d put his heart in a kiln. “Go home.”

“No,” he scoffed, childish and bitter, elbowing you off of him.

“Rafe, listen—“

“No, you listen.” He shoved you back, got a rush from the way you looked up at him like he’d struck you. “I’m not… I’m not a little kid anymore, okay? You can’t just tell me what to do.”

“You sound a lot like a little kid right now, Rafe,” you bit back, chest rising and falling like you were really mad. 

You were mad at him.

“Well,” Rafe said, blinking hard, “well, I’m not.” 

He was taller now, bigger, older, and he needed you to see it—He needed you to understand that there was nothing that any other man could do to you that he couldn’t do too. Touch you. Fuck you. Love you. Use you. Dump you. Break you. 

“C’mon, let me take you home,” you murmured, placating him with a gentle hand on his back, rubbing back and forth. Muscle memory.

You used to put him to bed that way. 

“What would your dad think if he saw you like this, huh?” You settled him into the passenger seat of your beaten up car, fastened his seatbelt like you used to. He remembered pretending to fall asleep so you would carry him inside. So he could feel and smell and touch you for just a little longer. 

“Don’t care.” Rafe shrugged, sullen, defiant. He looked out the window, jaw tightening. 

The porch lights turned on when you pulled into the drive, and no one was there waiting up for him, no warm family welcome. If Sarah was ten minutes past curfew dad would send out a fucking search party. 

You untied his laces like he was five again, put an arm around his waist when he sagged into you, took him upstairs, sat him on the edge of the bed, got him a glass of water. Like fucking clockwork. Like you were so used to taking care of him—You’d been gone for so long and you still knew what he liked. 

He slumped back into the pillows you fluffed up and caught a glimpse of something he probably wasn’t meant to see in the glow of the lamplight. 

You were bent over grabbing your purse, dress riding up - no underwear at all. The dress was a concern to Rafe in the first place, too sheer, too short—But this—This is when Rafe grasped that truly and honestly you were a skank. 

You didn’t respect yourself, so who was gonna to do it for you? 

It certainly wasn't going to be Rafe. 

“Oh no.” You sprung up, tugged on the hem to do last minute damage control even though he had seen it all and his silence confirmed that. “Oh no, oh god, I’m so sorry.” 

Your eyes were so wide. Mortified. Terrified that he would snitch to his father once again. Get you in trouble for being so lonely and open. 

“Oh, Rafe, god, I’m so—I’m really sorry.” You edged towards him, toeing over that imaginary line when you sat on his bed. “I wasn’t even thinking.” 

Rafe shrugged like his palms weren’t clammy. “You think I haven’t seen one?” One what? A girl? A pussy? A tit? His heart was going a million miles per second. 

“I don’t know! I don’t want to think about that!” You reached your hand out and then retracted it. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m gonna go, you should go to sleep.”

“No,” Rafe said quietly, and then louder, firmer, “no.” He took your hand, squeezed, and then let go of your fingers to grasp your wrist. He didn’t want to hold hands anymore, he wanted to keep you like a balloon, tightening his grip so you didn’t float away. 

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked softly, and see—This is all that was wrong with you. 

You were looking at him like he was still five and scared of monsters under the bed, like he couldn’t sleep without a nightlight. 

“You think…You think I haven’t seen a girl before?” His voice shook as he spoke, a divot forming between his brows as frowned at the lines on your palm. “I’ve seen tons—I’ve, I’ve fucked them all, okay? I could fuck any fucking girl I want—“

“Okay, okay, Rafe, I’m sorry,” you laughed, a little taken aback, still not taking him seriously, trying to defuse his anger, rock him back to sleep by dismissing him, “I know you’re not a kid anymore, but you still are little to me—“ 

“No, no, no, no.” Rafe shook his head frantically, hair falling in his eyes, he took your other wrist, squeezing both of them tight enough to feel your quickening pulse. “Let me speak—Let me fucking speak.”

You blinked at him. Lips parted. Eyes wide. And you must’ve finally got it. That he could do whatever he wanted to you now. He could hold you down, cover your mouth if you tried to scream. 

“I’m not little, I’m not little, I’m not,” he murmured feverishly, “look at me.” 

You looked away so he grabbed your face and when you flinched Rafe found himself liking it. Gave him a better rush than any fucking drug. 

“Look at me,” he repeated lowly, one big hand gripping your jaw so hard it must’ve hurt, “fucking look at me, I’m not little anymore, you know that?” 

You nodded quickly, breathlessly.

“Tell me you know that.” 

“I know, Rafe…” You said meekly. 

Surrendered.

And it sounded so fucking nice. 

You looked so beautiful with your shoulders up by your ears like a spooked cat, fingers twitching in your lap ‘cause you didn’t quite know what to do with them. 

“Good...” Rafe nodded slowly, and then he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Good.” 

He was eighteen and a half when you let him fuck you. You let him push you against the wall and mouth at your throat and you pulled his hair instead of petting it. He groaned so low - all the way in the back of his throat like a dog - it rattled your teeth. 

You’d given up on correcting people anytime they called him your boyfriend by the time he was nineteen. Rafe started showing up everywhere. Work. Your apartment. To the bar. To girls nights. Family events. That way you had to acknowledge him, he wasn’t just a kid you could brush off anymore. 

He’d gotten too big, too loud, being clingy wasn’t cute or charming anymore like it was when he was six. It was ‘fucking creepy’ and ‘obsessive’ apparently. 

Tonight you’re going out for drinks with ‘coworkers’ so naturally Rafe goes and gets in a fight outside Barry’s place with a junkie twice his size. He comes home with a bloody nose and watches you watch him in the bathroom mirror as you put your makeup brush down. 

“What is that?” You sigh, shoulders sagging. Before, taking care of Rafe was your duty, now it’s just a chore.  

“What’s it look like?”

“You got into another fight.” 

“Mm.” He shrugs. “So what?” 

“Hm.” You shrug. “So, I think you’re being a dick—I think you’re fucking...” You trail off, shaking your head. “Clean up and get out, okay?”

Rafe throws his hands in the air. “Say it. Go on. I’m fucking crazy, right?” 

“I didn’t say that, Rafe.” 

“You were gonna say that—I can fuckin’ tell, I’m not, I’m not stupid.” He gets all up in your face, and you’ve gotten so used to it you barely flinch. 

You reach out and brush your thumb over his cheek. He’s five again. “You wanna scream at me, Rafe? You wanna cry? Break something again, baby?” 

He doesn’t answer. Blinks a lot. Breathes too fast. 

“You wanna hit me? Hurt me? Scare me so I never fucking talk to anyone? You want me to stay inside like some fucking prisoner?” You’re talking to him so quietly, softly almost, like he’s just shown you a drawing you’re going to stick to the fridge. “Go ahead, do it.” 

Rafe’s mouth opens like he might. Like he really might do all of it. 

But he doesn’t. 

“Poor baby,” you coo, patting his sweaty cheek, “you’d lose your mind before you let me go.” 

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c - (+18) - exes & oh's!

pairing: siren!reader x rafe warnings: suggestive; nudity.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It’s too fucking hot, even with the ocean breeze cutting through the dunes. Sweat slicks the back of Rafe’s neck, and the bonfire dancing twenty feet away only makes it worse. Music’s blaring, someone’s shirtless and backflipping off the pier into the dark water.

Rafe's got a beer in his hand and his eyes on a nuisance.

Correction: you.

When Topper said, "bring her or don't come," he should’ve stayed the fuck home.

Now you’re sitting in a faded Tommy Bahama beach chair, drink untouched in the sand, wearing some sheer little cover-up that doesn’t cover shit and is not the bikini Rafe told you to not wear around his friends.

Your thighs are crossed, mouth glossed, and attitude lethal. People stare when you walk past, you turned this into a fucking catwalk instead of a party. 

You also haven’t looked at him once since you got here.Which he’s sorta happy about, it means you’re staying away.

He watches you now, body angled enough to show off without it looking obvious. You’re listening to some asshole go on about a story, biting your thumbnail, pretending to laugh.

Rafe downs the rest of his drink.

"You're pissed," Kelce says, catching up beside him.

"No shit."

"Look at her. What’d you expect?”

“I didn’t think she’d—” he breaks off, eyes narrowing as you lean in and say something into the guy’s ear, "—flirt all night."

Kelce shrugs. “That’s just her face.” 

His friend is already drifting off—free beer tends to scatter friends like pigeons—but Rafe stays rooted, eyes fixed on you. He assures himself he’s only checking in case you do something reckless.

He should’ve known. 

You were annoying the whole car ride up, feet on the dash, sunglasses sliding down your nose, whining about how his playlist was “a frat house funeral,” and trying to change the song with your toes.

He told you to stop, told you to be normal.

“Can you behave…tonight?” It took him every bone in his body to ask, “Don’t start with the drama, okay?”

"I’m not doing anything," you’d argued. “God forbid I show up and breathe like a normal girl.”

He reminded you to stay away from him when you got there, to blend in. He told you all of it while you looked him dead in the eye and said, “Fine. I’ll behave.”

Now you’re across the fire, bare legs crossed, arms shimmering with whatever oil you slathered on earlier, laughing at a joke that's not funny. It’s petty, but Rafe knows it lacks any humor because that guy you’re laughing with can’t be smart enough to pull that sound out of you. None of them are.

Topper strolls up with two beers in hand, one already almost gone, the other he tries to hand to Rafe, who doesn’t bother to look at it.

Instead, he stands stiff, breathing hard through his nose, watching you like you offended his entire bloodline. Which, funnily enough, you have on numerous occasions.

Topper follows his gaze.

“Damn,” he says, impressed. “Still can’t believe you get to live with that every summer.”

Rafe finally drags his eyes off you long enough to scowl at him. 

“Yeah. Fuckin’ nightmare.”

Topper almost chokes on his beer. “Nightmare?”

He’s already mid-eye roll, muttering, “She’s awful, man.”

Topper whips his head around so fast his neck pops, looking between you and Rafe “Awful?!”

Rafe gestures vaguely in your direction, like that proves everything. “Look at her. Look what she’s doing.”

“She’s sitting?”

“Flirting her way around.”

Topper throws his hands up. “She’s insanely hot. That’s not a crime.”

Rafe scrunches up his nose.

“She’s not.”

Topper starts laughing so hard he nearly drops his drink.

“Bro.”

Rafe turns on him, insulted. “What?”

Topper’s wheezing now.

“Do you wanna switch places or something? Seriously, say the word. I’ll house swap; she can scream at me and wear tiny bikinis and ignore me in public—please.”

Rafe bristles at the comment.

“She’s not all that. I don’t know what the fuck you mean.”

“Be serious.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am!” Rafe insists. “There’s plenty of other hot girls here.”

His best friend tilts his head, lips stretching wide like he’s about to pounce.

“Okay. Name one hotter.”

Rafe’s eyes dart around the party, he spots a girl in a red bikini laughing near the pier. One of the older kook girls flips her hair, flashing a white smile. A blonde walks past, bikini strings swinging.

“...That girl over there,” He eventually offers, motioning vaguely toward someone in the dark.

Topper squints. “The one eating corn?”

“She’s not eating corn.”

“She’s absolutely eating corn.”

“I didn’t mean her.”

“Okay. Then who?”

He doesn’t answer because he can’t; none of them come close.

Most of them are pretty. One has long legs, another has a tiny waist, and a designer bikini she bought just for tonight. There's tan skin, glossy hair, white teeth, and shiny things everywhere.

But they all look the same in his head. 

They don’t glow like you do. None of them are smirking with secrets tucked under their tongue. None of them roll their eyes like they’re doing him a favor just by showing up.

That’s what pisses him off most.

He needs them to come close, prays for the distraction.

But they’re not you.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Shut the fuck up, Top.”

Rafe shoves the empty into a trash bag and digs for a fresh bottle. Ice water burns his knuckles. He hears Sarah laughing with Kie by the volleyball net and someone’s screwing around with a Bluetooth speaker.

Stay busy. 

That’s the plan, if he’s busy, you won’t have a second to mess with his head.

He pops the cap, tips the beer back. He shoulders through a knot of kooks, lifting the mini–kegerator so they can slide a crate underneath. Easy grunt work, no mental load, no you.

He lingers while Topper lights the tiny mortar shells and pretends the metallic whine and powdery after-smell are interesting. But when a red bloom explodes overhead, he reflexively glances across the sand, searching for your silhouette backlit in crimson sparks.

He's only doing a headcount for field sober rides, starting a mental note list, a flimsy excuse to pace the shoreline, scanning for you.

Half an hour later, he’s wedged between the dunes with a handful of guys from Coastal. Somebody passes a pack. Rafe doesn’t usually smoke, but a spark feels good between his fingers right now. 

Nicotine scalds his lungs, settles meanly in his chest. He thinks about you swiping one of Ward’s cigars when you were fifteen, grinning around the fat thing like a cartoon villain.

Rafe had been furious; he is now, at the fact that memory tastes sweeter than the cigarette.

“Yo, Cameron,” one of the Coastal dudes says, “Your girl’s—”

“Not my girl,” Rafe clips.

“Whatever, bro. She’s down by the water, about to drown some chick.”

“Fuck’s sake."

 Rafe’s flicking the half-smoked cigarette into the sand. 

Not his girl, no his fucking problem. Except it is.

The sand is hot beneath his feet, damp against the rubber soles of his shoes as he jogs toward the water. His beer sloshes warm in his stomach, the bass from the speaker fades the further he gets, replaced by the rush of waves and the unmistakable tone of your voice.

He knows that tone.

You’re standing close to someone, body rigid, chin lifted, and then he sees her, familiar highlights, the baby voice.

His ex. Gemma, was it? Great.

He slows, trying to catch the tail end of whatever’s being said. You’re pointing now, nails flashing under moonlight, voice raised.

“—you think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’ve been staring since I walked in.”

“You walked in wearing nothing, sweetheart,” Gemma replies. “Don’t get mad at me just because he still doesn’t want you.”

Rafe has a second to register it before you're lunging forward, all teeth and fury and swinging limbs, not drunk-girl flailing. 

“Hey—” He surges forward and wraps an arm around your waist from behind, hauling you back as your fingers swipe air, inches from hair you were aiming to yank out. “Fucking chill—fuck, hey!”

You’re struggling in his grip, kicking sand, barking over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna talk to her—”

“Talk to her? With your fists?”

“She started it—"

He’s got you locked to his chest now, arms around your middle like a seatbelt, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah?” he huffs, lips brushing your ear. “Then how come I’m the one holdin’ you back right now?”

You stop squirming for him to think you’re done, then you kick backward and catch his shin with your heel.

"Fuckin' psycho.”

“Let go of me.”

“In a sec,” he mutters. “Soon as you stop channeling Mike Tyson.”

“You didn’t hear what she said.”

“I heard, alright.” He’s still laughing, with adrenaline. “Believe me, baby, the whole fucking beach heard.”

You wriggle harder at that, hissing something murderous, but he’s grinning against your neck now, too proud for a guy who claims to despise you on a good day.

You’re impulsive, you never do what he tells you. 

“Stop it,” he tuts, turning you toward him as your chest heaves. “What the hell got into you?”

“She was talking shit,” you snap, brushing sand off your thighs with a sharp flick of your hand.

“Me? You were the one hitting on him while we were together!”

Gemma’s not lying.

You lurch forward but Rafe catches you in time as you growl, glaring over his shoulder. 

“If I’d wanted him, I’d have had him.”

Unfortunately, that’s true. 

Rafe knows it like he knows his name; knows it in the worst, most inconvenient way. If you wanted him back then—even now—he wouldn’t stand a fucking chance. It makes him wonder what it would be like if you ever stopped playing and smiled at him genuinely. 

His arms tighten, effectively confining you. 

“Okay. Okay, nope. That’s enough.”

His ex laughs ugly. “Sweetheart, he hates you.”

You tilt your head, “Yeah?”

Yeah, he’s said that.

He said it to your face more times than he can count, and he meant it, too, mostly. But hearing it from his ex, delivered with venom, sounds ugly and brutal.

You’re not looking at him, you’re still smiling, but your posture has changed: shoulders slightly higher.

Rafe recalls the way he used to rant about you to his ex. He’d make it sound like you were this mosquito in his ear, a pest, only a problem.

But he never told her about the nights he’d spend re-reading your texts, never told her how his stomach twists in that specific way when you show up at his house every June.

He does hate you, but not the way she thinks.

“That’s enough,” he says again, directed at both of you.

Gemma shrugs, flippant. “Didn’t know you went for sluts now—”

Rafe’s head snaps toward her. “Shut the fuck up.”

“She tried to assault me!"

“Yeah,” Rafe says dryly, arms still wrapped around you, a rabid animal in a sequined bikini. “That’s why I grabbed her.”

She blinks. “So…?”

“So what?”

“So aren’t you gonna say something?”

He’s got one arm keeping you from tackling her and the other braced, in case he needs to start breaking up round two. 

His ex scoffs as you twist around to look at him, smirking even though you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar, but also bit the other kid who tried to take the last one.

Gemma all but cries out, “She threatened me, Rafe!”

“You kinda asked for it.”

You suck in a pleased little breath and lean into him.

“Aw, look at you defending me.”

“You’re taking her side? Rafe—Rafe—this is me. She’s just—”

“I’m not your boyfriend.”

Your head turns sharply to meet his eyes over your shoulder.

“I mean—fuck,” he mutters. “Not her boyfriend either.”

“Yikes,” you whisper, clearly delighted. “Say it with a little more venom next time, Romeo.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, releasing you like you’re radioactive.

You spin on your toes, unbothered, brushing imaginary dust off your chest.

“The fuck did I just say?” Rafe snaps, stepping between you fully now, body blocking like a shield. “Go.”

Gemma scoffs again, but there’s a wobble in it; she’s never seen this version of him.

“Unreal,” she mutters, backing off with that bitter, glossy pout.

He turns to you then, you’re still fuming, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged at the corner, hair wild from whatever scuffle nearly happened. You look insane. Gorgeous.

Rafe considers turning around and walking into the goddamn ocean.

You’re vibrating with leftover rage, a lit fuse with nowhere to burn. He knows you wanted the fight, and he’s never seen anything hotter in his entire life.

He should be pissed. 

Instead, he’s standing here with your voice still ringing in his ear and his palms tingling from where they touched you for so long.

He hadn’t meant to hold you that tight, to lean in close enough to smell your shampoo.

“You didn’t need to—”

“Yeah, I did,” he cuts in, hating that you get to him. “You’re deranged.”

“You’re easy to rile up,” you hum, but it sounds like you’re complimenting him. “She thought you were going to play white knight for her. How embarrassing.”

“You think I forgot how she keyed my truck?”

“She said it was her cousin,” you reply, batting your lashes.

You both know it wasn’t. Rafe had to park backwards for three weeks so no one would see the dick and balls etched into his door.

He scrubs a hand down his face, trying to wipe the glee off it. 

“You’re so—fuck me, you’re so annoying.”

You step back before he can say anything else, turning on your heel and sashaying up the beach like nothing happened, like you didn’t almost throw hands with a girl you hardly know while he was trying to be a good fucking person.

He follows you.

You’re like poison in his bloodstream, something he can’t sweat out or sober up from. And maybe it’s the fight in you, or the chaos, or the way you never let him forget he’s still got a pulse, but fuck, he likes it.

“What did she say anyway?”

He won’t tell you he’s dying to get the gossip.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Rafey.”

You’re covering up half your body in that sheer little thing, and shit, if that isn’t distraction enough. It's clingier than a second skin, and the way it hugs your hip...Rafe’s trying to hide the gawking, but you got him slipping up like a rookie.

You’re already halfway to the chairs, tossing him a glance over your shoulder. He follows—obviously —dragging his gaze up from the curve of your ass because, goddammit, he’s better than this.

Supposed to be. But you make it impossible.

Then you stop, turn, and look at your face, and he knows you’re about to do something stupid.

You start untying your bikini top.

He chokes on air. 

“Okay. What the fuck?!"

You’re peeling it off like it’s nothing, teasing, playful, like the whole beach isn’t ten feet away. His head snaps side to side, checking if anyone’s watching, but you're too fast, shrugging it off your shoulders.

Rafe lunges. 

Instinct overrides logic, and he pounces on you, arms around your bare back, shielding your chest with his body like a human barricade. He’s cursing under his breath, tugging the damn cover-up closed around you like he’s saving a life.

"What are you doing?!”

You smile up at him, “What?”

His eyes are up, must stay up, and his whole body’s screaming.

You’re topless now, he can feel it. You lean in again, brushing your mouth near his ear like a dare. 

“I’m gonna skinny-dip.”

Rafe jerks back. “The fuck you are.”

“Why not?”

“Why—” He splutters, “Because I’m telling you not to, that’s why. Get dressed.”

You whine, long and drawn out, five seconds from throwing a tantrum. “Nooooooo.”

Rafe’s eyebrows lift so high they could fly off. “No?”

If he lets go, you’ll sprint naked into the waves and make him chase you.

“You’re not doing this,” he asserts, trying to be the adult, the voice of reason, while your bare skin is brushing his chest and he’s a second away from exploding.

You tilt your head. “You gonna stop me, big boy?”

He stares at you, glaring more like, but his fingers are twitching, his ears are red and his swim trunks are doing nothing to hide how much you’re getting to him.

You giggle, spinning out of his grip and sprinting toward the water, sheer cover-up fluttering behind you like a flag of war. He curses under his breath, watching the ridiculous bounce of your hips as you hit the surf, laughing like you haven’t just ruined his night, his plans, his fucking life.

“Get back here!” he shouts.

“Join me, you uptight asshole.” 

He’s already chasing you.

The water’s cold, or maybe it’s the shock of what he’s doing, running full speed into the ocean after a half-naked girl with no regard for public decency or his very fragile sense of self-control.

He should’ve left you back there, flashed the entire beach and dealt with the consequences. But no, he ran to you.

He splashes into the surf after you, muttering curses, saltwater hitting his chest as you twirl like a drunk mermaid just out of reach.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he growls, wading closer.

You turn to face him, water just shy of your collarbone, yeah, he’s looking. Hair slicked back, eyes glittering with trouble, skin glistening in the moonlight—it’s cruel.

Your silhouette is bare and ethereal and not what his brain is equipped to handle right now.

“You didn’t have to follow me.”

“You’re naked.” His voice is strangled.

“So?”

“So—what if someone sees you?”

You swim closer, “Then maybe they’ll get a better look than you.”

.The ocean is dead quiet and his thoughts are just static and "fuck, she’s trying to end me."

He looks up, he has to, or he’s not gonna survive this. Your lips are quirked, that wicked smile that confesses you know what you’re doing to him.

 “You’re blushing.”

“I’m going to drown you.”

You laugh.

He closes his eyes like that’ll help. It doesn’t. When he opens them, you’re floating backward, arms splayed like you own the whole fucking ocean.

He follows and wonders, not for the first time, what the fuck he’s going to do if you ever stop letting him chase you.

He finally catches up, not because you slow down but because your laughter trips you up. A wave hits your back, you sputter, and he grabs your waist before you can go under.

You blink up at him, water streaming down your cheeks, eyelashes stuck together, looking like trouble wrapped in moonlight.

"Who was that guy earlier?"

The words come out clipped.

“What guy?”

“The one you were talking to.” His tone is flat, but his hands are gripping you harder now, afraid you’ll leave with the tide.

You stare at him, chest rising and falling with the ocean.

“My ex.”

He lets go of you, not all the way, enough to make the space feel colder than the water.

“You’re joking.”

You shake your head slowly.

He breathes out, long and bitter.

“You let that dumb motherfucker put his hands on you?”

You tilt your head, mock-thoughtful. 

“I mean…” You drag it out, “He is dumb.”

Rafe’s nostrils flare.

“But,” you add, features stretching wickedly, “He’s great in bed. Or in the back of his car, more like.”

Rafe blacks out for a second.

“You—” he chokes, about to throw a punch at a wave.

Your words play on a loop, over and over, some sick little horror movie with you as the star. The backseat. Of a car.

You, your laugh, your thighs, those sweet, breathy sounds you probably make when you’re teasing, when you're close—you gave that to him.

Rafe can’t stop it, his mind painting it out in vivid fucking detail: you gasping, legs draped over some busted seat, eyes fluttered shut, whispering someone else’s name while that idiot touched what he shouldn’t have even been allowed to look at.

He turns his face away from you. 

 “Don’t worry,” You confide in mercy, lips so lethal he swears the moon flinches. “I was thinking about you every single time.”

Then, you float backward, arms spread like a siren, meant to leave that wreckage in your wake. 

He’s still burning when you disappear into the water.

[lucenra]

Triggered

𝓟airing ↳ Jinu X F!Reader

𝓘𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 .. Reader tries her best to ignore her ex.

𝓦arnings .. flashbacks, mentions of cheating

𝓐uthor's note .. inspired by jhene aikos song triggered everyone are normal humans in thid

Part 2!

It’s been a year and a few months since you and Jinu broke up. You’ve been handling it pretty well. The popular K-Pop group HUNTR/X, also known as your bestest friends in the whole world, have been helping you get through it. You finally managed to get him off your mind.

Until..

You went out with the girls to get Rumi’s tonic juice. Everything was fine, until a group of boys walked into the same alley. Mira and Zoey immediately started thirsting over one of the guy’s abs, while Rumi scolded them, and you just shot them a look. Not that you could blame them.

Then, another guy appeared behind them.

"…Jinu?" you whispered to yourself.

Your breath hitched, and Rumi instantly grabbed your arm once she realized who it was. Jinu looked at you with yearning eyes. And just like that, the memories flooded in. Every date, every joke, every moment you bonded, every gift exchanged—it all came rushing back. Your heart ached. Burned. It felt just like it did when you first found out he cheated.

But for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to look away from him.

Luckily, the girls stepped in before it could go any further. Before you knew it, you were being pulled away, your arms in their grasp. As you looked back, Jinu was still staring.

"Are you okay Y/N?" Zoey asks as her hand is still on your arm.

“Yeah.. yeah. Don’t worry about me. It’s fine.” You sighed, trying to convince yourself.

Mira let go of your shoulder, arms now crossed. “I’m gonna kill that bastard. Who does he think he is showing up here? Ugh. Pisses me off.”

“Thank you, Mira.” You laughed softly.

“Hey,” Rumi chimed in, trying to change the mood, “why don’t we just get your mind off things? Watch the Saja Boys perform or something?”

You nodded. Anything to distract yourself.

What you didn’t know was that you were about to see your ex again—this time, on stage.

“What the…?” Mira muttered as the same group of boys from earlier suddenly appeared and began singing. All the girls turned to look at you. You just pressed your lips together and stared at your feet.

“This is just amazing,” you muttered, Rumi then feeling bad for you.

But surprisingly… the song was actually catchy. So, you decided to stay and watch. Every time Jinu sang, his eyes were locked on you.

Wow. What a unique way to get your ex back.

♡

After the performance, the group mingled with fans. You were about to leave when someone grabbed your wrist. You prayed it was just someone letting you know you dropped something.

Of course not.

“Wait, Y/N. I want to talk to you,” Jinu said, desperation in his voice.

“Yeah, no thanks. I’m good,” you replied flatly, yanking your wrist out of his grip and following the girls.

He ran after you. Persistent.

“Can we please talk?” he asked again, this time placing his hand on your shoulder.

You shrugged him off. “You don’t get to touch me anymore. And you sure as hell don’t get to have a conversation with me,” you snapped.

He stood there, stunned. You walked away, pretending like none of it happened.

♡

Later, you lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything in your mind. What you said. What he said. Were you too harsh? Were you being rude?

No. He deserved it.

But… maybe he changed?

Your thoughts spiraled, too fast to control. You needed air. So, you went out for a walk, hood up, hands in your pockets, AirPods blasting music.

Eventually, you walked into a convenience store to grab a snack. Hood down now, you were scanning the shelves.

“Why don’t you get the blue Takis? I know they’re your favorite,” a familiar voice said behind you.

You turned. Of course. Jinu.

“You just never stop, do you?” you scoffed, brushing past him, your shoulder bumping into his.

“I really want to talk. That’s all.”

You moved to a different aisle, but he followed you like a puppy.

“What is there to talk about?” you asked coldly.

“I just need a chance to show you I’ve changed. I want a second chance. Please,” he begged.

You stood there, arms crossed. Silent.

“Please,” he repeated, softer this time.

…

“Well…”

[echodr3ad]

Need some more Noob x Reader for Forsaken, I love this shy non-binary baddie. (You will see me more)

-Milkdunked Anon

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ Noob General Dating Hcs

Pairings: Noob x GN Reader

Warnings: None

Authors Note: Man I love Noob SO much aswell, specially their party skin they look SOO CUTEEE!! Sorry for taking a bit Milkdunked Anon, I had exams... Scary, but i'm officially on vacations now! So I can now work on requests! (Yipee!!) Since you didn't specify anything, i'll just be doing general hcs, I hope that's okay with you.

✮ Noob is quite an affectionate partner, they love to cuddle you, hold your hand, kiss your cheek and the like.

✮ What they specially like to do is linking their arms with yours. To them, it feels more intimate and special.

✮ They are a bit shy though, so it may take them a little while before they start becoming affectionate.

✮ You two are the power couple, it's a rarity to see one of you without the other.

✮ If that's the case, it's either because one of you went down or wasn't sent to participate in the round.

✮ The other survivors always ask Noob about you when they don't seem you with them, it's the first thing they ask, like "Hey Noob, where's [Name]?"

✮ They also ask you about Noob if you're the one that's left alone.

✮ Noob will clumsily throw themselves into danger to protect you. Either trying to distract the killer or taking hits for you.

✮ They always blame themselves when you go down, even when it wasn't their fault at all (please comfort them, they need it).

✮ Whenever they find an item, such as another Bloxy Cola or a medkit, you're the first person to receive it, no matter what, even if they might need it more than you do.

✮ But they refuse to take them for themselves. The only way you can force them to take a medkit for themselves is if they're on low HP and Elliot has gone down already.

✮ Speaking of Bloxy Cola, they love sharing theirs with you. It brings them so much joy being able to share something they like so much with you.

✮ They will probably ramble to you about how much more bland it tastes here than in normal Robloxia.

✮ Noob also likes to share all of their snacks with you, usually they wouldn't really like sharing, but since it's you they don't mind. They always ask if you want something.

✮ Whenever you two have the time, they like to take you stargazing since it's always nighttime.

✮ They definitly don't know the names of any constelations, but they make new ones up.

✮ They named one after you, and one after them! They always try to look for those two stars every time they stargaze with you.

✮ Believe it or not, Noob is actually quite the chatterbox. They always have a conversation topic.

✮ Your conversation could start off talking about what happened last round and end up being about something entirely different.

✮ They like to make you matching bracelets for the both of you to wear. The goofy smile they have whenever they see you wearing it is quite adorable.

✮ They don't get really mad or if they see you broke it, specially if they see that you're upset over breaking it. They know it probably wasn't your fault.

✮ They'll gladly make you another bracelet that's even better than the other one!

✮ Noob likes to try and slow dance with you, they aren't exactly good at it, but they like doing so anyway because they think it's really romantic.

✮ They also like cooking with you! They think it's super fun, specially if you're baking together.

✮ They also aren't very good with cooking, but if you are, they'll gladly pass you the ingredients you need and give you moral support with their presence.

✮ If you aren't, the both of you do your best not to screw up, even if it usually happens anyway.

✮ You end up needing to call Elliot for help, and he flawlessly fixes the issue in under a second. He truly is in a different league.

✮ Noob is definitly the type to eat the batter when you're baking, so watch over them.

[tiramiiswu]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Invincible x Tharja!Reader

✦ masterlist || next ✦ imagine: mark with a dark mage reader inspired by tharja from fire emblem awakening, aka mark and the freak who follows him everywhere they possibly can and casts curses on people who inconvenience them ✦ pairings: mark grayson x tharja!reader ✦ warnings: slight yandere behavior, stalking, reader is a little freak sometimes ✦ a/n: the inevitable tharja!reader imagine i keep babbling about :3 i love my wife she's so silly 💞😊also sorry if this jumps around a lot i like, worked on this infrequently and mostly whenever a brain worm started wriggling i had to get it out of my system i dont really know when to stop

✦ you might be into him because he's attractive or maybe you're just fascinated by his strength or general trauma spiral, sometimes you just follow him like a little stalker because you find him so fascinating for some reason

✦ you like the way you are for sure, it's less so that you don't see anything wrong with your behavior (you're definitely aware enough to know what you're doing is odd) and more so like, this is kind of just how you are and you don’t really see a point in changing

✦ but if mark ever mentioned like her creepy stalker/dark mage behavior being weird or wishing you were like more normal you would both like, understand you needs to change your approach but also lack the social clues to do this in a way that isnt fucking insane

✦ like you don't really understand that he finds you weird, that your tendencies to stalk him and watch him when you think he isn't paying attention, you just think your approach is wrong and that you should try to be As Normal As Possible (in the most bizarre fashion)

✦ you're usually pretty gloomy and monotone so you try to sound and act generally cheerier and upbeat but also uh, you tend to say a lot of weird things

✦ like your phrasing is just kind of Off and Weirdly iterated, you sound old fashioned but in a like, medieval sense

✦ Like you start to greet him specifically with “how fare you” and “good morrow sir” and say “huzzah!” at the end of some of your sentences and none of it sounds right, like it’s just odd and archaic sounding and Extremely Unlike You

✦ At some point mark is even more weirded out by your attempts at being normal that he just, straight up asks you to go back to the way you were before he decided he can put up with your usual strange, gloomy self better than this friendlier side of you

✦ mark starts to notice when tharja!reader is stalking him, it’s never inherently malevolent or out to get him or his loved ones, you're just like, creepy in general

✦ he doesnt have to worry about you trying to hurt him despite your past as a goon of some bigger, more threatening villain

✦ you're reformed and relatively loyal to him and the guardians (at least up until the team splits, then it's pretty clear that you're only really following where he goes)

✦ you're mostly just a lurker

✦ you're fascinated with him in a way you can’t specifically explain, but you fully believe you were destined to meet and tends to speak to him like the two of you are star crossed lovers of some kind

✦ idk if you'd like, go as far as following him to his house that’s insane work even for you, but at places like the gda or the guardian's hq and even during some of his assignments at some point mark would just start to feel you staring at him from somewhere behind him or within the vicinity

✦ you really aren't being that slick with it tbh

✦ yes sometimes you're peering around corners and watching him without him knowing but sometimes someone can just, walk up to see what you're doing and it’s clear as day just watching mark do Literally Anything

✦ you always manage to appear when he’s in the middle of doing something, even if he’s with company

✦ whether it’s walking in to ask cecil a question during one of his training sessions or even just suddenly appearing during casual conversations he’s having with the guardians

✦ it becomes very evident to everyone that you're always going to be lurking somewhere nearby if mark is there

✦ at some point it might become like? comforting? (at least in a stockholm syndrome kind of way)

✦ you become more reliable in combat if you can manage to keep up with him somehow (you're mostly grounded and you don't have very great stamina tbh but you can manage on your own) you do well to watch his flank if you're not in immediate danger, glass cannon and all depending on your opponent’s resistance to magic

✦ but like idk tharja!reader’s head over heels in love with him and isnt opposed to lending an ear or a shoulder to cry on, you just aren’t exactly the first person you’d think to turn to for comfort

✦ i think he’s keeping you at an arm’s length because regardless you're fucking weird but like

✦ idk i want them to have their tharja/robin moment where after getting used to your antics and somewhat comfortable at the idea of you watching over him/taking care of him he feels you watching again and like

✦ reaches out and pulls around the corner you're hiding behind just like, “i mean, i guess an easier way for you to keep doing all this is to just keep you by my side forever or something”

✦ but for now instead of marrying you he'll just like, ask you out on a date

✦ and while you would accept this bc you were almost like? waiting for it, in very tharja fashion you would just be like, “hm, this is wrong, turn back around” and make him ask you again (you still said yes dw)

✦ you're not actually used to him like, looking at you directly

✦ he thinks it's kind of cute in a way that you get kind of shy when he's actually speaking to you face to face

✦ he notices you actually don’t like making eye contact with a lot of people in general, it’s rare to see you actually speak to someone while looking at them dead in the eyes you tend to look down or generally avert your gaze to focus on something else during conversations

✦ cecil probably couldve had you on a tighter leash if he started letting you monitor the graysons with him

✦ 10/10 if someone gave you the job you’d dedicate enough of your time away from studying dark magic and worshiping the fell god to stalk mark on a government paycheck

✦ that’s implying you even like cecil tbh

✦ you honestly couldnt care less what he actually wants to get out of it, you barely listen to him most of the time you're on parole anyway

✦ tbh you could develop a much better hex to keep tabs on mark and his family than whatever cecil’s system is, you just likes doing it yourself

✦ when mark isn’t there for you to shadow? you're holed up in some quiet dark room to practice your dark magic

✦ whether it be studying old texts of rituals and curses or just like, practicing a hex that can change the color of her curtains temporarily

✦ because you're not just practicing spells that are for combat, you're practicing minor hexes for simply just convenience’s sake, or

✦ like yeah you can cast a spell that has to inflict pain onto someone else to replenish your strength and stamina, sure you can sap the life force of another person to heal your wounds or trap someone in a pool of corrosive mire from a few yards away

✦ but what do you actually practice and study the most in you spare time?

✦ developing a new spell to relieve the aches and pains in you feet after you walk in heels, or a hex to help regulate your body temperature just enough to avoid shivering or feeling that prickling sensation from the room being just a bit too warm, sometimes it's just developing a quick charm to take your makeup off at the end of the night because you just couldn't be bothered to go through your whole routine that night

✦ you aren't always trying to cause harm

✦ well, okay except when you're trying to get out of having to see cecil because you Really Don’t Feel Like It and decide to put a curse on him so he gets sick or mildly injured so you can miss your meeting (this has caused him to add more time to whatever deal the two of you made in relation to not sending you to jail)

✦ like not enough to leave him severely harmed of course but like, leave him with a bad cold or maybe like a sprained ankle

✦ something that inconveniences him so he can reschedule and so you can just go back to your books or so you can watch mark in person

✦ this goes for quite a few of the guardians actually

✦ like i mentioned before you'd probably be a reformed villain, like not actually reformed like you had a change of heart and suddenly wanted to do good

✦ but because the villain you worked for was about to get apprehended or killed and you switched teams because you realized you were on the losing side and decided throwing your life away for some crazy mf who doesn't care about you wasn't worth it

✦ you're still not opposed to killing someone if you need to, mark didn’t approve of it though so you've been reeling in your more lethal spells (which was uh, most of them if you're being honest)

✦ it’s taken a bit but you're gradually starting to become more merciful and sparing your opponents from severe bodily harm in an attempt to gain mark’s approval

✦ you'd offer your help to anyone besides mark almost begrudgingly

✦ like you asked for this tbh

✦ you agreed to join the side of the good guys maybe even the gda with some deal with cecil or whatever sure, but you're not going out of your way to interact with your new "teammates"

✦ they always manage to find a way to butt into your business somehow, like you just cant escape them

✦ at some point it's like you're stuck being their therapist at times

✦ like there's something about you that makes people just kind of talk out loud about their problems around you or the universe just has the most impeccable comedic timing when it comes to you walking into a room when someone has a personal issue

✦ like you don't know how to make it any more clear how much you don't really care but like, for whatever reason you decide to offer your assistance (probably just to get them to stop talking)

✦ your methods would be fucking wild and unconventional as hell tho

✦ like oh, mark is still traumatized and conflicted over his feelings about his dad trying to conquer the earth? simple, you’ll just spend a couple of days working on like a whole ritual or concoct some elaborate spell or curse to place on him that will erase his memories of his dad entirely to get rid of the source of the problem like??

✦ it could definitely be a plausible solution (you had the courtesy of offering it to him and waiting for permission to use that spell and he definitely said no ofc) but who the fuck would think of that first???

✦ honestly you'd probably get along with robot decently well

✦ like who else would tharja!reader find kinship with than the fucking weirdo who literally stole his coworker's dna to seem more appealing to his crush? what a fucking freak (you definitely wondered if mark would like you more if you suddenly became ginger or something)

✦ tharja!reader likes to pretend that they're not interested in forming bonds and attachments with others except for mark, but he’s seen how you sit and observe people before offering a solution to their problems

✦ you don’t actively seek out friendship with anyone but he sees how much you try to just like, exist, to prove yourself as trustworthy to the other heroes who hold you at an arm’s length

✦ you tend to be othered due to your track record being a former villain, or because your personality isn’t the most approachable and how you're kind of off putting because your hobbies are strange and how your solutions to problems are extreme at times

✦ like he sees how you get defensive when you think they question your loyalty or judge your practices

✦ you have a tendency to get catty or make snide comments either at others or say something self deprecating about yourself to make a point

✦ you tend to shrug it off as just being honest or realistic, but it’s apparent that it’s starting to get under your skin how much you get treated like a time bomb

✦ he genuinely considers for a moment that you might’ve cursed him

✦ you didn’t btw however everyone definitely thinks you did based on the fact that mark is? actually looking for you now? like willingly?? what the fuck??

✦ like he just cannot stop thinking about you it’s genuinely driving him mad like at first it was because yeah you’re always near him or watching him ofc he’s going to think about you constantly you never leave him alone

✦ but now he’s like, up at night thinking of you sometimes, maybe hugging his pillow to his chest and kicking his feet a little

✦ at some point you aren’t even there and he passes by a shop that has like pretty notebooks or like a black cat or crow plushie in the window and he thinks about you or how you would probably like something like it and maybe he even buys it for himself

✦ if mark ever feels like tharja!reader is like, trustworthy or loyal enough to him (with some stipulations) he might introduce you to his family

✦ you would oddly be mostly disinterested in his family but like, hey, a win’s a win you gets to go to his house and lurk in his room, life is good

✦ depending on when you're invited over mark doesn’t have to worry much about you reporting back to cecil about oliver because you're like

✦ actively avoiding the kid

✦ you look at him like he’s a little creature

✦ like not specifically because he’s an alien or because his skin is purple, but because he’s a child

✦ you don't want any of his kiddy germs on you

✦ mark thinks it’s funny how much you stiffen up when oliver walks over to you

✦ like the way you shuffle further away from him when sitting on the couch and the little sounds of panic/defeat you make when inevitably little toddler oliver corners you and starts like patting your leg or trying to crawl or climb over you

✦ you look so miffed by oliver being curious it's so silly

✦ sometimes you make a minor illusion of like a butterfly or some small glowing image to lure him away so you can escape, or just so he won't hover around you when you're trying to converse with mark or debbie (the graysons finding your efforts to entertain oliver quite silly and endearing in an odd way)

✦ mark pretends not to see you working quietly on making an amulet that can help disguise oliver/change his appearance with a transmog to help debbie save money on whatever foundation or face paint she uses to hide his alien skin

✦ he thinks it’s cute that when oliver’s still pretty young you tend to talk to him like he’s an adult, seeing you holding your amulet up to him and with a rather serious frown explaining to the boy the importance of keeping the pendant unharmed and intact in order for the enchantment to work

✦ the sigh you let out when he inevitably ends up teething on the pendant before giving him the ever so slightly affectionate tug on his cheek is something mark thinks about quite often after that

✦ you don't particularly like being touched by people, but with mark? you're like a cat, you slink around and start to cling to his side or creep up behind him and just sort of like, press into his back and hold onto his waist or shoulders

✦ neither of you have really noticed yet but the two of you both sort of take turns like, watching the other sleep when you're together

✦ whether it be looming over him when he's napping or staring at his face when the two of you fall asleep side by side, you find the peaceful, helpless look on his face when he's vulnerable just oh so mesmerizing

✦ on the other hand whenever you actually managed to fall asleep first beside or on top of him (or sometimes when he finds you slumped over your books, a hex dancing along your fingers to your pen to scrawl across your notes while snoozing in your chair) mark can’t help but find the relaxed expression on your face so… enchanting

✦ it’s corny mark’s so fucking corny but genuinely it’s like you put a spell on him

✦ which tbh is highly probable, like sometimes you put a hex on him during combat to spike his adrenaline for a few seconds or block a pain receptor or two every now and then (maybe even crank up his libido or something idk whatever this little freak wants)

✦ but this time you definitely didn’t do that

✦ last minute addendum mostly unrelated to that last part but this now implies the existence of noire whose father is mark

✦ and that her like bipolar mood swings/personality switches are being influenced by fucking viltrumite genetic strength,,,,,, girl is gonna get a crit and shout “blood and thunder!” and rip a man in half omg

✦ i think they’ve created a monster and by they i ofc mean me this might get a pin put in it i will be scheming about father candidate mark now