#What can the damned really say to the damned?
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always the same ♡ lando norris x verstappen!reader
time flies by, people around you change, but there’s no doubt that lando is the one for you—or so you think, and so does he.
happy austria win !!

yourname
🎵 sorry for party rocking • lmfao [E]
liked by maxverstappen1, isackhadjar, lando, and 26 287 others.
yourname isacks parents took me to dinner for passing an exam and made him pay 🩷
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user1 i can only see logan sargeant holding a fish when i hear the song
user2 why is max verstappen’s sister being taken out by isack’s parents for dinner ????
user3 we’re losing the ancient texts…
user2 i seriously wanna know though
user3 smh
user4 theyre friends n i think yourname lives with isack cos of her erasmus!!
kikagomes restaurants and bars hate to see us coming like 👩❤️💋👩👩❤️💋👩
yourname no fr we gotta go out more 💔
isackhadjar you gotta write your THESIS not your name on a piece of paper for some guy smh
kikagomes damn… he clocked you
yourname those words can’t stop me because i can’t read
user5 i dont believe in that erasmus crap they GOTTA be dating
user6 can’t two people be friends anymore 🫠
user7 i wonder if they ever talked about ad21 considering isacks a hamilton fan
pepemartiofficial barcelona clears paris dawg
isackhadjar why is this child speaking
pepemartiofficial i hope you get promoted to drive rbr soon
isackhadjar ???????? stop threatening me
user8 LMAOOOOOO
user9 god bless yourname for giving us pepeisack
yourname honestly they r like bedbugs…
isackhadjar YOU live in MY house who is more of a bedbug???
yourname hehehe i’m too pretty to be a bedbug | liked by lando ♡
user10 what is HE doing here ??
user3 you guys dont know the lore at all do you??
twitter

yourname • close friends
liked by kikagomes, pietra.pilao, gabyprentice_ and 23 others.
kikagomes girl if someone had a screenshot of what you said you’d be gone…
yourname you r laughing but i’d kill myself in a second
yourname i was fourteen n calling him my baby daddy 😭😭😭😭😭
kikagomes BAD DOWN ???
yourname isack cant literally stop laughing n wheezing @ me
yourname you might hear abt me on the news 🔜
pietra.pilao LMFAOO‼️‼️
yourname get your brazilian ass outta here 😭😭😭😭
yourname you’re so much WORSE than me whore
pietra.pilao this is really uncalled for 😣
yourname istg if you hear max or HIM talking about it just kill them for me
pietra.pilao only for you 🩷🩷🩷
pietra.pilao blocking the acc on max’s twt for u
yourname muito obrigada🙏
maxverstappen1 why are you posting pictures of me without permission
yourname this is not a safe space for males
gabyprentice_ u look like u need a hug
yourname ive got tickets to paris with your name on it
yourname bring christian and i’ll call pepe i cant deal with isack
gabyprentice_ OH YOU WERE SERIOUS
maxverstappen1
🎵 i always wanted a brother • lion king
liked by danielricciardo, lando, kellypiquet and 728 917 others.
maxverstappen1 brothers in law since day one dawg 🐶
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user11 oh my god someone put a go pro on yourname i gotta see this
user12 he always can be talking about victoria…
victoriaverstappen he isn’t 😂😂
user13 you are TWENTY SEVEN why are you saying DAWG
user13 someone ban isack hadjar from interacting with him
user14 HE SAW THE LORE DROP TWEET @ user3
user3 OH MY GAWD LOOOOL
lando day one dawg 👊👊
user15 lando definitely knew about this post beforehand 😭😭😭
mickschumacher she’s gonna kill herself
sophiekumpen 😂😂😂😂
user16 SO MESSY WTF
user17 @ isackhadjar check on yourname PLEASE
yourname WHAT THW DFUCK
maxverstappen1 this is not a safe space for males
user18 THE SONG CHOICE JAJAJAJA 😭😭
isackhadjar BAHAHAHAHAHHAHA
yourname washed up driver
yourname bully
yourname george russell was right
yourname ban this guy for life
yourname give hamilton his wdc from 2021 CHEATER
user19 yourname’s crashout wasnt on my bingo this year 😭😭😭
user20 SHE DOESNT FOLLOW HIM ANYMORE LOOOL
lando @ yourname text me back xx
user21 OH MY GOD
user22 so normal about this 🧘🏻♀️🧘🏻♀️🧘🏻♀️
yourname
🎵 starting line • luke hemmings
liked by lando, pepemartiofficial, gabyprentice_ and 21 728 others.
yourname crashed out so bad had to reconnect with nature 🩷
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isackhadjar “reconnect with nature” but not “write my thesis”
yourname shut the fuck up omg you went there WITH ME
user23 ultimate best friends
user24 propaganda i’m falling for: isackyn
user25 she’s a real girl
nikola_tsolov wow you met your long lost sister
yourname shut the fuck up omg
yourname big bomboclaat
danielricciardo max asks you to unblock him
user26 she really did block him omg 😭😭😭
user27 annoying older brother lmaoo
pietra.pilao garota linda 🩷🩷 | liked by author ♡
user28 honestly if i was lando i’d wife her up in a SECOND like… shes even friends with your friends ????
user29 they gotta be together n just trolling that theyre not
gabyprentice_ best field trip 😁😁😁
christianmansell i had a tick on my back and had to see a doctor
pepemartiofficial so ??? best field trip EVER!!!!
user30 i love how yourname friends are just red bull juniors and their colleagues 😭😭
user31 this is isack’s doing i swearrrr
yourname they r my kids wdym !!!!!!
unifriend1 how are you so gorg ??? | liked by author ♡
kikagomes went for a hike and didn’t take me…
lando did you reconect enough to text me back?
yourname please stop texting me idk who you are ??
lando yourname be serious
yourname okay 😣😣😣
twitter
lando
🎵 like that (jack’s version) • jack and jack
liked by maxfewtrell, patriciooward, maxverstappen1 and 726 910 others.
lando uncle duty on vacation dawg
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user31 so does his finger slipped when he was choosing the pictures?
user32 he’s too cheeky for it to be an accident
maxfewtrell nice pictures brother
lando thanks brother
user33 oh he’s soo serious
user34 weird theory but this is nawt magui
user35 wdym… why is she even in the debate 😭
user34 people on twt keep saying that they r back together but i’m pretty sure it’s yourname
user36 i think its delusions
user37 landoyn truther
maxverstappen1 dawg… 🐶
lando dawg…! 🐶
user38 just one taste please
user39 whore 🫵🫵🫵
isackhadjar i wonder who that is
user40 magui
isackhadjar sure girl 🩷 | liked by author ♡
yourname you should reconnect with nature a bit
user41 she finally stopped pretending that she doesn’t know him 😭
user42 she wants to have his babies bffr
user42 SHE JUST BLOXKWD ME
lando fancy joining me?
yourname go away | liked by maxverstappen1 ♡
user43 max is like i accept but i don’t support
yourname
🎵 bed chem • sabrina carpenter
liked by lando, pietra.pilao, isackhadjar and 33 004 others.
yourname he is MINE so STOP SAYING HES WITH SOMWONE ELSE WTF or i’ll SMOKE your ugly stupid asses
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lando when she’s possessive 😮💨😮💨😮💨
user44 how is he here so fast ???? i literally have notifs on
user45 imagine being in a obsessed with yourname contest and lando is there before they even open the door
user46 the song choice 😭😭 just release the damn sex tape
user47 someone make another rumour that hes with magui and she’ll do it | liked by author ♡
user48 she’s so messy i love it
pietra.pilao practically sisters in law now 👩❤️💋👩👩❤️💋👩
yourname WIVES*
lando over my dead body
user49 pr relationship lol
yourname do i gotta post a vid of us doing it raw or something ?
user50 PLEASE DO OMG
maxverstappen1 PLEASE DONT
mclaren please don’t 🧡
oscarpiastri why are people shocked
user51 i love how yourname is like ohhh here’s my boyfriend and then LOOK AT HOW HOT I AM my queen
isackhadjar never going to vacations with you
user52 LMFAO
isackhadjar hotel walls are not that thick nor soundproof
yourname shouldve joined us 🩷
isackhadjar FUCK OFF
user53 sex must be so good like . . . | liked by lando ♡
pepemartiofficial i basically made it happen
#lando norris x you#lando norris fanfic#lando norris x y/n#lando norris fic#lando norris x reader#lando norris fluff#lando norris smau#mclaren x reader#f1 x reader#f1 fluff#ln4 one shot#ln4 fic#ln4 imagine#ln4 fluff#formula one x reader#formula 1 x reader#lando norris#f1 social media au#lando norris social media au#ln4#lando norris x verstappen!reader#max verstappen x sister!reader
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I absolutely LOVED your Saja boys x assistant for your writing is honestly amazing 🙏
Sooo I wanted to know if I can ask for another one 🙏
If you don't mind can you do a scenario or story (not actually sure what it's called) for kpop demon hunters, the Saja boys when your secretly dating one of their members like Abby or Romance or baby (you can pick, or do 2 or both of them) and your apart of Huntrix and they find out and their reaction isn't good.
THANK YOU 🤍💜
HUNTR/X FINDING OUT YOU’RE DATING A SAJA BOY
cw: mentions of sex and rewinds of sex so we can technically say nsfw, secret relationships, arguments, cursing—and tell me if I missed something
PLOT: Three hunters? History says four! At least in this universe it sure does, because you’re a member of HUNTR/X, a beautiful sweetheart, the dream girl actually. That’s the exact reason a Saja Boy had interest in you. And that Saja Boy is…
JINU
It started like a joke. Like the dumb kind of thing you whisper to yourself when you’re three drinks deep after a long night of demon slaying, bruised, blood-splattered, and sore in all the wrong places, “Wouldn’t it be so stupid if I let that cocky little shit Jinu kiss me?”
Except you did. And you let him do a lot more than that.
You know damn well this is wrong.
You’re supposed to hate the Saja Boys.
But then there’s Jinu.
Oh, Jinu.
You know better. You do. But you also know how he kissed you the first time, like he was starving for it, like he’d been thinking about it for weeks, that you’ve been driving him crazy.
Every time you sneak off, telling Mira you’ve got to “clear your head”, lying to Zoey about meeting friends, making up some bullshit mission Rumi would definitely sniff out if she wasn’t so busy being ten times the badass you pretend to be, you end up in Jinu’s room. Usually on his lap. Sometimes against a wall. Once in the backseat of a staff car, which, honestly, was way too cramped for the kind of shit he wanted to try. (But did you complain? No. You just bit his shoulder to muffle the sounds.)
You keep saying it’ll be the last time. Every single time, you tell yourself:
This is it. I’m cutting it off. I shouldn’t be doing this. He’s a demon. I’ll kill him when we’re done.
And every single time, you end up under him again, hips rolling, nails dragging down his back while he whispers filth.
You shouldn’t be doing this. Every second with him is a risk. If Zoey finds out? She’ll be furious. If Rumi finds out? You’re dead. If Mira finds out? You might wish you were.
But fuck… it feels good to be wanted like that.
So no. You’re not telling the girls. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Because that boy is a demon, still.
You can see it in the yellow flickers in his eyes when too much happens to his body. The way his voice changes when he’s angry, the shadow under his skin when his temper spikes, like there’s something inside him, snarling.
Because there is. Gwi-Ma.
You hate that freak. You really, truly do.
He’s not always loud, but when he is, you feel so bad for Jinu.
Sometimes, you’ll catch Jinu zoning out—just for a second—and when he blinks back into himself, there’s this… weight. A bitter taste in the air. You know it’s Gwi-Ma.
You’ll be tangled in Jinu’s sheets, your mouth on his throat, your nails digging into his ribs while he gasps, and then suddenly he’ll choke out a laugh. You’ll ask, “What?” thinking you did something good, and he’ll groan, cover his face and mutter, “Ignore him.”
Like??? Fuck off, Gwi-Ma. (He also once called you “delicious,” which Jinu immediately apologized for by dropping to his knees and staying there for a long time. It helped.)
There was also that one time you were straddling Jinu on the couch in his dressing room, and he went real still, eyes distant, and then just groaned, “Shut the fuck up.” into your neck.
But here’s the thing. Gwi-Ma’s always there—always. Jinu can’t shake him, can’t silence him, not completely. And yet… you don’t feel the urge to pull a blade on him. Not like you would with anything else that dark and dangerous.
You should. You know that. Every instinct in your hunter-trained, scar-hardened body should scream put it down before it turns on you.
But you don’t.
Because the truth is? The demon’s a parasite. But Jinu? Jinu’s not the demon. He’s the boy fighting it. Every single day. You see it when his eyes flash for just a second and he has to swallow it down. You see it in the way he looks at you, like he’s scared you’ll see it, too. The rot inside. The crack in the mirror.
But you already do.
And you love him anyway.
No, wait, you didn’t mean to say that. Not even in your own head. But it’s out here now.
You love him.
He hasn’t said it. Not out loud. But you know. You know by the way he touches you when he thinks you’re asleep. Soft fingertips, trailing your spine, memorizing the shape of you. You know by how he always lets you go first when you argue, even if he hates it. By the way he flinches when you joke about your death like it’s just another occupational hazard.
And sometimes? When you least expect it, he says shit that almost counts.
Like, “I’d burn the world down if anything happened to you.”
Or, “I like who I am when I’m around you. I don’t hear him as much when you’re close.”
And maybe that’s what really fucks you up.
You thought you were just in it for the heat. For the adrenaline. For the sex and the secrecy and the thrill of knowing you were doing something very bad with someone very pretty.
But now? You’re in deeper.
Worse, so is he.
You’re full on dating. Dating dating.
You should be enemies.
Instead, you’re in his bed.
Heart beating fast.
Shirt already half-off.
And he’s looking at you like you’re the last light he can still see in the dark.
You don’t trust this.
You don’t trust yourself.
But when he kisses you, slow and scared and wanting, the demon in him quiet for just a second?
You let him have you.
Again.
And again.
And again.
You also like the tiger. Or cat. Or tiger-cat. Whatever. You still don’t even know what to call it.
You remember the first time you saw it, you thought it was some kind of hellbeast and went for your blade, and Jinu was like, “Waitwaitwait, he’s chill.”
And now? You’ll be at Jinu’s place, half-naked, trying to sneak in a post-mission quickie, and suddenly there’s a 600-pound animal flopping on your legs like it’s a house cat.
Like, sir. Please.
Your vibe is adorable but your mass is inconvenient.
It loves to curl around the both of you like some kind of living, purring barrier. It’d be cozy if it didn’t also come with the crushing weight of “You move, you die.”
And then there’s the crow that hates everyone. Except Jinu. And sometimes, very begrudgingly, you. But only if you bring food. Or if you’re crying, which you hate that he knows. The crow is weirdly intelligent like that.
Sometimes he lands on your shoulder and just sits there while you and Jinu are talking. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t squawk. Just watches. It’s unsettling, but Jinu swears it’s a sign of affection. (You’re not totally convinced it’s not reconnaissance.)
Then, you got caught, babe.
Now, you’re wearing a little shirt that barely reaches your navel and a little black thong. You’re barefoot on your balcony, one hand resting on the railing, the other clutching a soda you don’t even really want. Your legs are sore, your back hurts, your lip’s still split from earlier, and the last thing you need is—
“Hey, sweetheart.”
You jolt. Turn.
“What the fuck, Jinu?” you hiss, slamming your soda down and rushing to him. “What are you—how did you even get up here?!”
He’s grinning. Soft, smug, absolutely useless in his very kissable way.
“Teleported.” he says. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”
“Jinu. They’re home.”
“And?”
He says it so easy. So breezy. Like your heart isn’t trying to hammer through your ribs. You grab him by the arm and drag him fully onto the balcony, pressing him into the wall so he’s out of sight from the windows. Your face is close to his now, too close.
His eyes flick down your body, lazy but appreciative. “You’re not exactly dressed for company.”
You slap his chest. “Don’t make me push you off this building.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst way to die.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. Your hand’s still on his chest, and he’s warm under your palm. Steady. Calm. Like nothing can touch him, not even the hurricane that’s about to slam into your life when this secret finally gets out.
“You’re insane for coming here.” you murmur, quieter now. “What if they see you?”
“I missed you.”
That’s it. No drama. No poetic nonsense. Just those three words, spoken so plainly you feel the ground shift under you.
You swallow. Your throat’s dry. Your hand drifts up, fingers brushing the curve of his jaw. “You couldn’t just text? Send a letter with your cat?”
“I needed to see you.”
He leans in, just a little, and you follow because of course you do. His lips brush yours once, just a ghost of a kiss, and it’s enough to turn your knees to—
Gasp.
You freeze.
The sound comes from inside the room.
Both of you turn your heads just in time to see the door swing open, Zoey standing there, eyes wide, mouth fully agape.
“…oh my god.” she breathes.
Then the door slams shut again.
“Oh my god.” you echo, gripping the balcony railing like it’s going to save your soul. “Oh my god. Jinu. She saw you. She saw us.”
“She didn’t knock.” Jinu says, baffled.
“WHY WOULD SHE KNOCK? IT’S MY ROOM.”
You whirl on him, panic spiking like adrenaline in your veins. Your whole face is on fire. Your body’s moving already, ushering him toward the edge of the balcony, trying to think, to fix, to stop the bleeding of this moment from leaking into the rest of your life.
“She’s going to tell Rumi. Mira. Bobby. She’s going to tell everyone. Oh my god.”
“Okay.” Jinu says, still infuriatingly relaxed. “And?”
“And?!”
He’s smiling again, like this is funny, like you’re just being dramatic. He has no idea how bad this is. You shove him toward the railing with a hand to the back of his head, not hard, just enough to make him stumble.
“Go.” you hiss. “Go, now. I’ll fix it.”
“You’re gonna ‘fix’ getting caught half naked with me on your balcony?” he laughs, holding the ledge like he’s deciding whether to leap or wait for you to calm down.
You swat the back of his head again.
He laughs harder.
And somehow… somehow, that helps.
Because he’s not scared. He’s not shaking like you are, imagining Rumi’s furious stare or Mira’s disappointment or Zoey’s lethal level gossip abilities. He’s just… there. Present. Unbothered.
You exhale hard. Press your forehead to his chest for just a second. He lets you. His hands come up, hold your waist gently, swaying with you.
“Go.” you whisper again. “Please.”
He nods. Serious now. The playfulness fades, just a little. He cups your cheek, presses one last kiss to your lips, then steps back over the balcony’s edge.
And disappears.
You’re left standing there. Heart racing. Lips tingling. Whole body humming like you’ve been plugged into an outlet.
Inside, you hear footsteps.
Voices.
Loud ones.
Zoey’s already telling them.
“Shit.” you breathe, dragging a hand through your hair. “Shit shit shit.”
But even with the panic creeping up again, you can’t stop the small, ridiculous smile that curls onto your face.
Because that dumb, beautiful demon boy came here just to see you.
You don’t even bother throwing on shorts. Just storm out of your room in the tiny shirt and thong you were already wearing, not because you’re trying to prove a point, but because fuck it, the point already proved itself.
You race down the hallway, barefoot, still breathless from the sheer velocity of your panic. The walls feel like they’re closing in with every step. And as you reach the living room, it’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Zoey’s perched on the arm of the couch. Her popcorn is real. You knew she’d have popcorn.
Mira’s sitting, arms crossed over her chest, legs crossed. Her expression isn’t angry. Not yet. Worse, it’s disappointed.
Rumi’s standing. Her arms are crossed too, and her face is blank in that terrifying way that says: I haven’t decided whether to scream or murder someone.
You stop cold in the doorway.
“…hi.”
No one answers.
You laugh. Short. Nervous. “Okay. So. Surprise?”
Zoey makes a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a cackle. “Surprise? GIRL.”
Rumi’s voice cuts through, quiet and sharp. “Sit down.”
You glance around. “I’m, uh, I’m not really dressed for a—”
“SIT.”
You sit.
“Zoey saw Jinu.” Mira says, voice like ice water down your back. “On your balcony. With you. And not in a friendly way.”
“Wasn’t a kiss on the cheek, hun.” Zoey adds, tossing popcorn in her mouth.
“Zoey.” Rumi scolds gently.
Zoey zips it. Barely. She’s vibrating with drama high. Her foot’s tapping. She’s dying to see how this plays out.
Mira leans forward. “How long.”
You blink. “What?”
Mira’s eyes are lasers. “How. Long. Has this been going on.”
You swallow. “…A while.”
“A while?” Rumi explodes, stepping forward. “Define ‘a while,’ because ‘a while’ sounds like weeks, and if this has been going on while we were out risking our asses, while we were fighting off demons and you were texting your little boyfriend under the table, I need to know that before I go to prison for launching a sword through the next Saja concert.”
You flinch. “Okay, whoa, let’s not—”
“WAS HE AT THE CEMETERY FIGHT?” Zoey blurts, her eyes wide. “Because you said you were on break that day and he was also conveniently there! Oh my god—were you hooking up behind the mausoleum while I was getting bit by that demon?”
“That was one time.” you snap.
“You just admitted it!” Zoey screams, victorious.
“Okay, enough.” Rumi says, holding up a hand. She turns back to you. “Is it serious?”
And you freeze.
Because there’s the real question.
They’re not just mad about the secret. They’re mad because they know what this means. You don’t sneak around for fun. You lie to protect. So if you were protecting him…
Then you weren’t protecting them.
“I care about him.” you say softly. “It wasn’t just sex. It isn’t. He’s not—”
“He’s a demon.” Mira says, flat. Cold. “End of sentence.”
“He’s not—” you start, then stop. Because okay. Yes. He is. But not the way they mean. “There’s something inside him, yes. Gwi-Ma. But Jinu’s fighting it. Every day. He’s—he’s not evil. He’s not one of the monsters we hunt.”
“And what if he loses that fight?” Rumi asks, quiet again. “What if the thing inside him gets stronger? What if you become the liability?”
Your throat closes. Because that’s the worst part, you’ve already thought about all of that. And it still wasn’t enough to stop you.
“I know what I’m doing.” you whisper. “I know.”
“Do you?” Rumi growls. “Because it looks like you’re playing house with a demon.”
“Rumi, stop—”
“No. You lied to us.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“You chose him.”
Yeah. You did. Over and over again. Every night you crept out, every time you let him touch you, every second you looked at his face and thought, maybe this could last, you were choosing him.
Even if it meant eventually losing them.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.” you say, finally.
“Too late.” Mira mutters.
“Wait.” Zoey says. “Did you say Gwi-Ma? Like the actual Gwi-Ma?”
“Yeah.” you sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Lives in his head. Won’t shut up. Kind of an asshole.”
Everyone’s silent again.
And then, Zoey: “…Does he also do the tongue thing when he kisses you? Like he looks like he does the tongue thing.”
You close your eyes. “Zoey.”
Rumi sighs. Mira pinches the bridge of her nose. And slowly, slowly, the tension in the room starts to loosen. Not dissolve. Not disappear. But… loosen. There’s still tension in the air. Still betrayal.
“You know we’re supposed to kill them. Right?” Rumi says, loud and clear so you hear it.
You have heard it. You’ve heard it a hundred times. In debriefs, in Zoey’s snide jokes, in the way Mira files her knives after watching Saja Boys interviews with a dead stare. You’ve said it yourself. Weeks ago.
You knew what they were. You knew they weren’t human. And your girls have been tracking, prepping, moving toward this for weeks.
And meanwhile?
You’ve been sleeping with the mark.
“I know.” you say, barely above a whisper.
“You knew.” Mira corrects, her voice a blade.
“I know.” you repeat, louder now. “And I didn’t—I didn’t plan for this. It wasn’t some operation gone rogue. It wasn’t a trick. It just—”
“You tripped and fell onto his dick, huh?” Zoey says, sharp and bitter.
You shut your eyes. “Zoey, not now.”
“No, I really wanna know.” she goes on. “Did you just accidentally fall in love with a guy who’s literally got a demon whispering murder in his ear while we’ve been training to put his head on a spike? Because that’s wild.”
“What was your plan?” Rumi asks, not looking at you. “What was the endgame here? That we’d kill his bandmates but leave him alone because you like his face?”
“No.” you snap, the sharpness surprising even you. “God, no. You think I don’t know how this looks? You think I haven’t been ripping myself apart every night over this? I know what we’re doing. I know what he is. But you don’t know him. Not like I do.”
“Enlighten us.” Mira says, icily. “Please.”
You blink fast, trying to push the burn out of your eyes. You weren’t gonna cry, you swore you wouldn’t, but the pressure’s building.
Silence.
Rumi closes her eyes like she’s trying not to hit something. Mira sits back. Her face has gone to that scary-silent-assassin look that means her brain is moving three steps ahead of everyone else. Finally, she says: “So when it’s time to take them out… what happens then?”
You stare at her. You hate how cold she sounds. You hate how reasonable it is.
Because that is the question, isn’t it?
What do you do when it’s your sword, and his neck, and no one else to make the call but you?
“I don’t know.” you admit, soft. “I don’t know yet.”
“That’s not good enough.” Rumi says, voice rising. “You’re not just putting yourself at risk. You’re putting us at risk. What if he turns on us mid-mission? What if he uses you to get ahead of us? What if this whole time—”
“He wouldn’t.” you say quickly. “He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t hurt any of you.”
“You can’t know that.” Mira says.
“I do.”
And you do. Deep down. Where all the fear and doubt and guilt live, even under all of that, you know.
He wouldn’t let them touch you.
And he wouldn’t touch them.
Not unless they tried to kill him.
Which they… will.
Soon.
Zoey stands again and walks across the room, pacing now. “So what, we’re just supposed to ignore this? Let you keep cuddling up with your demon boyfriend while we finish the job?”
“No.” you say. “I get it. I’m not asking you to trust him. I’m not even asking you to like me right now. I just… I just need you to understand. I’m not choosing sides. I’m choosing truth. Jinu’s not a monster. Not yet. And I don’t think he ever will be.”
There’s a pause. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Then, softly, Mira asks: “But what if you’re wrong?”
You look at her. Look at all of them.
And you don’t have an answer.
ABBY
Look. You’re supposed to kill him. Let’s be very clear about that. The Saja Boys are your target. You’ve watched them on stage, off-stage.
The first time you saw him, shirtless and grinning, was some training clip Rumi pulled up on the mission table, purely for recon (allegedly), and even then, you felt your spine short-circuit.
He looked like a human weapon.
Except he wasn’t human.
And you weren’t supposed to want the weapon.
But, you know. Whoops.
He’s huge (like, throw-you-around-the-room, bench-press-you-during-foreplay huge). Arms like steel, voice like “what’s up, babe?” and a smile so cocky it should be registered as an actual threat.
You hated him at first.
You hated him… until you didn’t.
Until one night after a bad mission, your ribs aching, pride worse, your blood still up and nothing in the world feeling good. And then you saw him. Leaning against a wall, flexing like he didn’t know he was doing it and voice dropping into that stupid low register like, “Hey. You okay?”
Game over.
Brain fried.
Panties? Gone.
And then, somehow, you were... kissing. In a stairwell. Covered in blood. Your blood. His blood. Something's blood. Messy. Wrong. And absolutely addictive.
Now it’s… a thing. A secret thing.
Because Abby? He makes you laugh, first of all. He says dumb shit in bed. He says dumb shit all the time. And he’s so proud of it.
And yeah. He’s a demon. You see it. He doesn’t even hide it.
There’s something in him that pulses dark. Wild. Primal. The heat in his body burns wrong sometimes. The shadows cling to him longer than they should. And there are moments, fleeting but undeniable, where he looks at you like he wants to eat you.
Not in the fun way. (Though, to be clear, he definitely wants that too.)
But in the demonic, soul-thirsty kind of way.
And yet. Somehow. You’re not afraid of it. You should be. You’re trained to be. You’ve put down lesser demons without blinking. You know what he is. But something in you doesn’t flinch.
Because under all of that darkness… you know he likes you.
He really, actually likes you. In his dumbass, show-off way.
The first time he said it, he was inside you—of course he was—panting, all flushed and cocky, and he muttered, “shit, I like you too much.” Then he tried to play it off with a kiss to your neck, followed by something heinous you don’t even remember, too busy feeling all of him.
You laughed. And then whispered, “me too.”
He knows you’re a hunter. He knows who you are, what you do. But he keeps showing up anyway. Still winks. Still pulls you into dark corners and picks you up like you weigh nothing. Still teases you like none of this is real.
He trusts you. And that terrifies you more than anything.
Because when the time comes…
When the blades are drawn…
He’s not going to fight you.
And you don’t know what you’re going to do when that moment comes.
But for now? You let him pin you to the wall and mutter, “what, you gonna slay me, hunter?” against your jaw.
Because the worst part isn’t that you’re supposed to kill him.
It’s that a small, aching part of you knows you won’t.
He does shit like carrying your bag when it’s heavy, but doesn’t make it weird. He just grabs it and then slings it over those stupid big shoulders like it weighs nothing. Flexes a little, maybe, but you let him. You even look on purpose. He likes it.
He memorizes what you order from that little noodle shop you go to after late-night sweeps. The first time he brought it to you unasked, still hot, you didn’t even know what to say. He just handed it over with a lopsided grin and went, “See? I got a brain in here.” and then tapped his temple with the chopsticks he’d stolen from the shop.
He warms his hands before touching your face. Doesn’t even think about it. Just always runs them over his neck or into his sleeves first, and then cups your cheeks.
And then there's how he watches you. Not like prey. Not like the demon in him is looking for an opening. But like... you're the funniest, hottest, most precious thing in his world and he can't believe you're even talking to him, let alone letting him see you naked on the regular.
And oh my god, he tied your shoe once. One time. You’re mid-arguing, mid-huffing about something completely irrelevant, and this man bends down, wraps those huge hands around your ankle, ties your shoe with all the careful attention of someone untangling a bomb, then slaps your thigh and stands up.
You were silent for, like, ten minutes.
You hate how much you like it. Hate it. Hate it.
But not enough to stop.
Not when he’s currently got you pressed up against cold tile, his breath warm against your throat, your thigh hiked high around his hip in the almost empty bathhouse the three of you ducked into after a hunt.
You don’t even know how it happened.
One minute, you were soaking in the women’s bathhouse while Mira and Zoey argued over whose blade got the final hit, and the next, you were in the showers and Abby was there. Shirtless. He must’ve snuck in through the back.
You didn’t even try to stop him. You should’ve.
But he’d walked up to you, dripping from a quick rinse-off, and grinned. “Damn. You clean up nice.”
And that was it. That was the moment your common sense packed her bags and left.
Now? Now you’re sandwiched between Abby and the cold wall of the bathhouse’s back corridor. Your towel’s half off, your thigh’s fully up, and Abby’s mouthing your neck like this isn’t a public facility.
“Abby.” you whisper, half-laughing, half-moaning, trying to push him back even though you’re very much not trying that hard. “They’re still here. They could come back any second.”
He just kisses lower. “Then we better make it fast, huh?”
“You’re the one taking your damn time.” you snap, trying not to laugh, and he grins against your skin.
“What can I say?” he murmurs. “My girl’s distracting.”
You shove his chest. It’s like trying to move a wall of warm concrete. “I swear, if they catch us—”
Footsteps.
Voices.
You both freeze.
You don’t see them at first. But you hear them. Zoey’s laughing about something and Mira’s voice is lower, casual, annoyed maybe, like she’s mid-eye roll. They’re just coming back from the sauna. They’ll be rounding this corridor in seconds.
You shove at Abby, harder. “Go. Go now.”
But he’s LAUGHING. The fuckass is laughing, muffling it behind that dumb smug smirk like this is the funniest shit ever.
You smack the back of his head, panicked. “Are you trying to get me killed?!”
He grins harder. “If we die like this, honestly? Worth it.”
“Abby!”
Zoey’s voice: “Wait… why’s the floor wet back here? Was someone—”
She turns the corner.
She sees you.
Sees him.
Sees you, basically naked, thigh still up, Abby shirtless and pressed into you, steam rising off both of you.
Zoey screams.
Mira slams in behind her a half-second later, silent, deadly, her eyes going wide.
Abby, still shirtless, just waves. “Hey.”
You are going to die.
“YOU.” Zoey shrieks, pointing. “ARE YOU INSANE?!”
Mira? Mira’s face is stone. Pissed. Her arms are folded. Her jaw is clenched. And she’s staring directly at Abby’s glistening chest.
You, meanwhile, are red. Not pink. Not flushed. Red. Half-wrapped in a towel. Half-tangled in him. All of you exposed, literally and emotionally, in the worst way possible. You’ve barely had time to stumble back and yank your towel up around your chest when he decides to speak.
“Yo.” Abby says with the most unbothered, dumbass charm in the world. “Heeeeeeey girls.”
He actually lifts a hand. Like he didn’t just get caught shoving his demon tongue down your throat in a public women’s bathhouse.
Zoey looks like she’s about to scream a second time. Possibly kill you. Possibly him first.
And what does this stupid man say next?
“You know what,” he continues, glancing between them and then at you. “I feel like… you guys got some things to work out. Real important girl talk. Imma… just.” He gestures vaguely toward the exit, completely unapologetic. “Slide out. Give you all some space. Respectfully.”
You gape. “Abby—”
He turns, halfway out the door, then glances back at you, slow, like he’s throwing a whole-ass grenade at your friendship. And then, he calls:
“Catch you later, babe.”
Babe.
In front of them.
AND THEN THE BASTARD WINKS.
Winks, flexes without flexing, and vanishes.
You are.
So.
Fucked.
You’re clutching your towel to your chest, dripping water, heart hammering so loud it might as well be a war drum. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words. Just a stupid, guilty sound like, “Uh—”
“How long.” Mira says, deadly quiet,
You blink. “I—”
“HOW LONG?!” Zoey practically screams, her arms thrown up like she might start flinging bath sandals at you. “You’ve been sneaking off to tongue wrestle with a Saja Boy?!”
“It’s not like that—”
“Oh, it’s not?” she snaps. “Because from where I was standing? It looked exactly like that. Unless ‘chest licking in a sacred women’s bathhouse’ means something different in demon-speak.”
“Zoey.” Mira says again, voice low. “Let her talk.”
“Why?! So she can lie again?”
You feel it. The shame. The guilt. The sting of it.
Because you didn’t tell them. Not when you should’ve. Not when it started. Not after the first time. Not after the sixth. Not even after you knew it was something real, something that wasn’t going to just go away if you pretended hard enough. You stayed quiet. Let them think you were just normal. Still loyal. Still on-mission.
But you weren’t. You’d fallen into bed with the enemy, and now it’s your best friends staring at you like you’re the monster.
“Okay.” you say, quietly. “Okay. Look.” You take a breath. It comes out shaky. “Yes. It’s been going on. And yes. I know how it looks.”
“You lied to us.”
“I didn’t lie—”
“Bullshit.” Zoey hisses. “You snuck around behind our backs with the very thing we’ve sworn to eliminate. You let one of them turn you into his little secret side piece—”
“Stop.” you snap, louder than you meant to. “Don’t talk about me like that.”
Silence again.
“I’m not a side piece.” you say, quieter. “And he’s not just… whatever you think he is.”
Zoey’s expression warps into something like heartbreak. “You’re in love with him.”
You look away.
“Oh my god.” She covers her face.
“I didn’t plan for this.” you try, pleading now. “It just—it happened. And I know it’s wrong. I know what he is. But I also know what he’s not. He’s not—” You gesture weakly toward the steam he vanished into. “He’s not hurting people. Not the way we thought.”
Mira steps forward, eyes sharp. “And what happens when he does? When we take him out? What then?”
You swallow. You don’t answer. Because you don’t know. And they see that.
After the bathhouse blowout, the tension clung to your skin worse than the towel.
Mira and Zoey walked ahead of you the whole way home, Mira silent, Zoey muttering to herself in rage, still trying to process the abomination of seeing you with Abby’s abs all up in your personal space. You trailed behind, wrapped in shame, hair dripping, stomach doing flips that had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with impending doom.
“Let me tell her.” you said, the second the elevator doors opened to the penthouse. “Let me tell Rumi myself.”
Mira turned to you, her jaw clenched. “You sure?”
“No.” you said. “But I’m going to.”
They just exchanged a look, silent agreement, and then headed to the kitchen like they weren’t absolutely going to lurk by the hallway to hear every single word.
You find Rumi in her room. She’s standing by the window. You almost leave. Almost. But then she turns. “You need something?”
Your throat closes.
Yeah. Just your life exploding.
“Can I talk to you?” you ask, voice trembling. “It’s… personal.”
She gestures toward the chair. You don’t sit. You can’t. You’re vibrating with nerves, practically bouncing out of your skin. You pace instead, like if you move enough, the words will come easier. They don’t.
“Okay, so—so.” you start, hands waving like you’re trying to draw the sentence into existence. “So, you’re gonna be mad. Just—please, can you let me finish first before you say anything? Just let me get it out all at once, because if I stop, I won’t say it, and I have to say it because it’s already—happened, and Zoey and Mira know, and you’re going to find out anyway, and I need it to come from me.”
Rumi’s arms cross slowly. “You’re stalling.”
“I’m dating Abby.” you blurt.
Silence.
You say it again, just to fill the space. “I’m dating Abby. From Saja. The one with the abs and the arms and the—yeah. Him.”
Still no reaction.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen. It wasn’t, like, some weird betrayal thing. I didn’t go into this planning to screw around with the enemy, I swear. It just—he was there, and he’s funny, and stupid, and sweet, and he’s not like what we thought. And yeah, I know it’s a conflict of interest. I know it’s dangerous, and I know we’re supposed to be hunting them, and it’s all wrong, but it doesn’t feel wrong when I’m with him. It just feels like… mine. Like something I chose. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
You finally stop.
You wait.
“…You’re joking.”
Your heart drops. “I’m not.”
You’ve never seen Rumi this mad without even raising her voice.
“You’re sleeping with a demon.” she says, cold. “A Saja Boy. One of the five. Our primary targets.”
You flinch. “It’s not like that—”
“Did he charm you? Manipulate you? Feed off you?”
“No! Rumi, he hasn’t even—he hasn’t taken anything from me.”
“Oh, but he took you, huh?” Her voice cuts like glass. “He gets the girl, the inside scoop, the trust, and we get what? A betrayal?”
You step forward. “I didn’t betray you.”
“You didn’t tell me. You kept it a secret. You let this go on while we’ve been risking our lives—my life—hunting down his kind. You don’t think that’s betrayal?”
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Because you did. You did lie. Maybe not in words, but in silence.
“You’ve compromised our entire mission.” she hisses, turning her back on you. “You think this is just about sex or feelings or whatever he gave you to keep you quiet? It’s bigger than that. He’s dangerous. And you let him in.”
“I didn’t let him in.” you snap, suddenly defensive. “He got in because he wanted me. Because he likes me. Because I like him.”
“And when the time comes,” she says, turning back around, eyes locked on yours. “and you have to choose between us and him, what’s your play?”
You’re shaking.
You can’t answer.
And Rumi sees it.
“…Get out.”
“Rumi—”
“Get. Out. Before I say something we both regret.”
You stagger back. One step. Then another.
And as you open the door—Zoey and Mira. Absolutely planted on the other side. Zoey straightens so fast she almost falls into a lamp. Mira just steps back, arms crossed, deadpan. Neither of them says a word.
You don’t say anything either.
You just walk away.
ROMANCE
Ohhh baby. You’ve just opened Pandora’s box with Romance.
The first time you and Romance crossed paths just the two of you, it was bloody. And violent. And frankly, stupid hot in hindsight.
You were rooftop hunting, your blade humming with enchanted energy, adrenaline in your teeth. The Saja Boys were slippery—always were—but he showed up like he’d been waiting for you.
You fought.
He was strong, too strong. Slippery. Every move came with a smirk, a breathy compliment, some infuriating “ooh, I like it when you’re rough.” You were sweating, pissed, cornered on the edge of a skylight.
But you didn’t back down.
You clocked him, hard, elbow to the jaw, leg sweep, blade to his throat, and he went down. Fell like a sack of demons with a ridiculous grunt and a flutter of his pretty shirt.
You stood there panting, blade raised.
Victory. Yours.
You even kicked him, toe of your boot to his ribs. “Dead?” you muttered.
He grabbed your ankle, fast as lightning, yanked, and dragged you straight to the ground with him. The breath left your lungs. Your body slammed to his. And suddenly? You were chest-to-chest with him, both breathing hard. His smile was bloody and filthy.
“Now this,” he purred. “is foreplay.”
You tied him up after that. You had to. Found rope in the storage unit of the building, tied his wrists behind his back, looped around the support beam. He didn’t fight it, no, of course not. He just watched you. Smirked. Made comments.
“That grip.” he said. “Ever thought of moonlighting in bondage? You’ve got talent.”
You should’ve killed him. Should’ve. He was just lying there, helpless, caked in blood.
But something in you faltered.
So you left him. Said it was a warning.
Before you left, he looked at you with those bedroom eyes and said, “Next time, bring better rope. You’ll be the one staying.”
And you did.
You came back. In the dead of night, alone.
And he wasn’t tied up anymore.
No, that time you were the one in knots.
Literal ones. Spread out, mouth covered in tape, eyes wide while he knelt between your legs, chin lifted and so fucking pleased with himself.
He whispered things you still feel heat up your spine when you’re alone in the shower.
That was the real beginning.
You’re not blameless. You like it. You like the chase, the secrets, the tension in every stolen second.
Romance doesn’t ask. He offers. He tempts. He brushes his fingers along your collarbone in passing, whispers filth into your ear just to see you shiver. He invites you to meet with him night after night. You go. Every time.
You’d call him a slut, except he only ever wants you.
He’s also attentive. Not the good boy kind, no. He’s too much of a tease for that. But he knows when you’re stressed, when you’re insecure, when you need to be fucked out of your head or just held while he brushes your hair. Super senses like he has do wonders in him getting your little feelings. Romance also has a memory like a thief. Remembers everything you say, down to the way you phrased it.
He’s obsessed with you. Openly.
But he also won’t stop flirting with other people in front of you just to rile you up.
(You’ve slapped him for it. He moaned. It didn’t help.)
He knows exactly what you are. A killer. A blade. Something sacred and trained and dangerous.
And he adores it.
“God, baby,” he’ll murmur while trailing his mouth down your thigh. “do you know how hot it is that you could murder me and choose not to?”
You don’t tell the girls. Obviously. They’d lose their minds.
Because you’re supposed to be on a mission to exorcise his ass from the planet—not get your back blown out on rooftops between hunts.
For an example, you let him tie you up again last night. He read you poetry while he did it. From memory. Filthy, ancient verses in a demon tongue you didn’t know—but understood perfectly from his eyes alone.
And when he made you scream his name, you think the whole street heard it.
Even when he’s being a tease—pulling your panties to the side in an alley or teasing you with promises he has no intention of letting you walk away from—his hands are always reverent. Worshipful.
He runs his fingers down your back when you’re not even paying attention. Laces your fingers together when you’re not touching him.
Then, it started with a bra strap.
Well, a glimpse of it, really, something delicate, lacy, red, peeking just above your sports tank when you bent down to pick up your dagger from the training mat. You didn’t even notice. But Zoey did. She always does.
Zoey squinted. “Since when do you wear matching sets for patrol?”
Mira glanced up from her weights, brow cocked.
You just shrugged. Played it off. “Self-care.”
They didn’t buy it.
And then it happened again.
The next night. And the next.
A different set this time, satin, black, barely-there. They weren’t judging you for it. Please. You’re hot, you’re allowed to feel yourself. But there was a pattern emerging, and it had nothing to do with confidence and everything to do with how you were always glowing when you came back from “walks.”
Your cheeks flushed. Your lips bitten. The scent of perfume that wasn’t yours clinging to your jacket.
And the final straw? Rumi walked into your room to grab something and saw an empty condom wrapper on your nightstand. You weren’t even home.
That night, the three of them made a decision.
They were going to follow you.
It’s late.
You thought you were slick—slipping out the back stairwell in your “casual clothes” (which just so happen to include a barely-buttoned blouse and lace-trimmed thigh harness under a trench coat). Hair glossy. Lip gloss glossier.
You head toward a park a few blocks away. A little bench nestled between two massive trees. Always quiet. Always shadowed.
And sitting there, legs crossed, coat open over a shirt unbuttoned just enough is Romance.
He looks up, sees you, and grins. That slow, wolfish, I’m-gonna-undress-you-without-touching-you kind of smile.
“You’re late.” he says.
“You’re early.”
“I’m always early. It gives me more time to think about you.” He says it like a whisper. You bite back a smile, step closer, the night air curling around your ankles like it knows this is wrong and wants in.
He reaches for your hand, brushes his thumb over your knuckles. Doesn’t even glance at your dagger strapped to your thigh.
You lean in, eyes half-lidded. “What if I was here to kill you this time?”
“Then tie me up first. You know how I like it.”
You laugh. It’s soft. Intimate. Familiar.
That’s the sound that does it.
Zoey’s voice, “Whaaaaaaaat.”
You whirl around.
Rumi. Zoey. Mira. Standing just behind the tree line, like they’d been parked there for ten whole minutes, watching your little forbidden lovers’ reunion.
Your blood goes cold.
Romance just sits back, arm along the bench like this is hilarious.
Zoey’s eyes are bulging. “Are you seriously making out with Romance?! As in Saja Boy, Romance?! Mister demon dick himself?!”
Mira’s arms are crossed, her voice dry. “So that’s what all the lace was about.”
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.
Romance, unbothered, lifts two fingers in a lazy salute. “Ladies.”
“Don’t you ladies me.” Zoey snaps, stomping forward. “What the fuck, Y/N?!”
You stumble over your words. “I—I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like—okay, not like this. I wasn’t using him or betraying anyone or—”
“Oh my god, are you in love with him?!” Zoey howls.
Romance leans closer to you, whispers, “Say yes.”
You elbow him in the ribs so hard he wheezes. But he’s laughing. This fucker is laughing. And that laugh? It seals your fate.
Rumi steps forward, voice cold as glass. “Go home. Now.”
You look at Romance. He gives you a wink. A wink. He’s enjoying this. He is.
You turn to leave.
And you know they’re right behind you. Their silence is heavier than their words. Zoey’s arms are flailing in disbelief. Mira’s jaw is tight. Rumi says nothing, but you can feel her disappointment.
Back at the penthouse, everything feels louder. The walls feel tighter. Every footstep echoes like judgment.
You try not to flinch as the elevator closes behind you, sealing you inside with three of the people you love the most, and who now all look at you like you’re a stranger.
No one speaks.
You want to say something, break the silence, offer an explanation, but your throat’s tight, heart hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape before Rumi cuts it out herself.
When the elevator dings open at your floor, it’s Zoey who moves first. Quiet. Shoulders tense. Mira walks out after her. Rumi walks last, slow and composed, her silence ten times more dangerous than if she’d yelled.
You don’t even make it to the living room before Mira turns on you. “What the actual fuck, Y/N?”
You swallow. “I was going to tell you—”
“When?!” Mira snaps. “After you fucked all of them? Or just after the Saja Boys rip our hearts out?! Which was it?!”
“I didn’t—” You exhale, hands up, trying to keep your voice steady. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t mean to fall into something with him.” You’ve gone over it a thousand times in your head. Every rule you broke. Every kill order you ignored. Every night you slipped away when your best friends were asleep, trusting you to be one of them, not one of the fucking enemy’s bedwarmers. “I know what I did.” you say, quieter. “I know it’s wrong.”
Zoey finally speaks, voice soft. “Then why did you keep doing it?”
You look at her. And she looks like she’s not angry like Mira, not composed like Rumi. Just… hurt. Her arms are folded across her chest.
“I don’t know.” you admit. “He’s a demon. He’s everything we’re trained to kill. But—”
“But you let him charm his way between your legs and now suddenly that makes it okay?” Mira’s voice is sharp. “You endangered us. All of us.”
“No.” you snap, louder now. “I would never let anything happen to you. I’m not stupid. I’m not just lying there letting him feed off my soul—he hasn’t even touched that part of me. I wouldn’t let him. I’m not a liability, Mira.”
“You are.” Mira spits.
Silence again.
You feel it in your stomach, a cold pit of shame. But beneath it, there’s something else. Something like defiance. Because yes, maybe you’re making a mistake. Maybe you crossed every line. Maybe you’re betraying the oath, the cause, the sisterhood.
But it wasn’t just sex. Not with Romance.
He sees you. Wants you. Not your blade, not your strength, not your usefulness to the mission.
Just… you.
“He cares about me.” you say, quietly.
“That doesn’t matter.” Rumi says. Her voice is so soft. “You’re a hunter. You don’t get to fall for the monsters. You kill them. Or you compromise everything we’ve built.”
Oh Rumi, we know why you think that.
Zoey bites her lip, voice shaking. “Are you in love with him?”
You hesitate.
And that’s the answer.
Mira throws up her hands. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Rumi looks at you like she’s assessing whether or not to kick you off the team. “We’re here to stop them, Y/N. All of them. We don’t get to make exceptions because they kiss nice or talk pretty.”
You nod slowly. “I know that.”
“Do you?” Rumi steps closer. “Because the second he snaps his fingers, and decides he’s hungry, you’re the first soul he’s going to devour.”
Do you really think that Rumi, or you’re just making shit up to stop your beloved Y/N from making the same mistake your mother did?
You want to scream that it’s not like that. That Romance—for all his bullshit, his flirting, his filthy mouth—has never once made you feel prey. You’ve never seen him lose control. Never once doubted he would stop if you told him to.
But even you know that doesn’t make it safe.
You glance between them, the three people you’ve fought with, bled with, survived with, and it feels like you’re in the wrong. You are.
Zoey steps forward finally, hand brushing yours. “If you really love him… then please be careful. Don’t make us bury you because you thought he was different.”
Her voice breaks at the end.
And Mira won’t even look at you.
Rumi just turns and walks toward her room. Before she disappears down the hall, she says one last thing:
“You have one chance to fix this. Or next time, it’s me that puts a blade in his chest.”
The door slams.
Your pretty underwear under your clothes feels stupid now.
But even through all that, you know, deep down?
You’re not going to stop seeing him.
And that’s the problem.
BABY
Oh, Baby.
You hate(d) his name.
Baby.
You don’t even know when it started.
Just that one second you were fighting, and the next?
You were… not.
It was supposed to be a quick hunt. You’d gotten separated from the girls for like five minutes—five whole damn minutes—and then bam. He was there.
Backstage, right behind the curtains at some underground venue, blinking at you like you were the surprise, not him.
Did he say anything?
No.
Just smirked.
And you knew it was a smirk, even if his mouth barely moved. Something about the way his eyes narrowed, chin tilted. The unbothered little lean against the wall, arms crossed. Hair too shiny. Mouth too glossy. Pretty in a way that made you want to scratch it up.
So you drew your blade.
He didn’t move. Just blinked again. Like you were the one being ridiculous. Then you lunged. He blocked you, lazy, like your movements were predictable. A joke. Your blade barely missed his throat, and he laughed. Not even like a proper laugh. Just this airy “heh” with his head tilted like, Is that all?
And you? Furious. Mortified. Already picturing the way Mira would roast you for getting played by the baby demon.
So you kicked his leg out from under him. Hard.
The fight got into close combat from there, your blade dropped to the floor. And the two of you just… went at it. Not even fighting anymore, just grappling, rolling across concrete with all the force and heat of a catfight.
His fingers in your hair. Your hand around his throat. Neither of you speaking, just panting, growling, gritting teeth. And his face?
Still blank. Still bratty. Still beautiful.
Until your knee landed in a very strategic place and he grunted—actually made a sound—and somehow that flipped a switch.
Next thing you knew?
You were on your back, shirt pushed up, his mouth on your tits, sharp little teeth teasing your skin as you hissed at him to fucking go.
“The girls are almost on. I have to go.” You hissed.
His response? A slow blink. Like you’re so loud and he was busy. Then he kissed a bite-mark over your nipple like it was his fucking signature and pulled back, shirt half untucked, his lips all red, and not a care in the world.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t wink. Didn’t flirt. Just looked at you like he expected you to come back later. Like he knew you would.
You did.
Because Baby is… different.
He doesn’t do the “Oh, I want you so bad” stuff. That’s Romance’s thing. Doesn’t do the “I’ll protect you, angel” softness. That’s Jinu. Doesn’t even do the “Come here, babe, sit on my lap” gym rat boyfriend vibes. That’s Abby. Doesn’t let you control him like Mystery does.
Baby ignores your ass half the time.
You text him that you’re downstairs? He doesn’t even buzz you up. You have to break in. You say something flirty and he shrugs. You try to make plans and he answers with a yawn.
But when you’re alone? When you’re in the dark corners of club basements or dressing rooms or the stairwell no one uses between the 6th and 7th floors of the broadcast building?
He’s all teeth and tongue and whispers against your throat. Biting. Mouthing. Slouching against you like he doesn’t care but always pulling you closer.
He talks more with his mouth on your body than he ever does out loud.
His affection comes in weird little ways. Like slipping your favorite drink into your bag without saying anything, which he clearly stole from someone. Like swiping the exact eyeshadow palette you complimented on a make up staff member.
Like blowing off fan meetings just to sit in the dark and watch you stretch, head tilted.
And every time you call him out on it?
He gaslights you. Fully.
“What palette?”
“You bought it, didn’t you?”
“You said I could come in.”
“You didn’t say stop.”
Smug. Rude. Hot as fuck.
And for all his demon blood and dead-eyed stares, there are moments—tiny, barely-there glimpses—where you think he might actually care about you. Like really care.
He is the worst, but underneath that generally insufferable personality, he actually kinda likes you.
He still ignores the fuck out of you.
Deadass. You’ll walk into a room and Baby won’t even glance up. You’ll say hi and he won’t say anything back. Doesn’t even nod. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him to move. He never moves. Just slowly looks at you like you’re interrupting.
But the second you’re smiling on your phone, texting?
Laughing too hard?
Not paying attention to him?
He’s right there. Doesn’t say a word. Just drapes himself over you like a cat and sighs against your neck like this is what I had to resort to?—then nips at your collarbone.
You tell him to go away. He doesn’t.
You shove at him. He goes heavier.
You call him annoying.
His answer:
“Mhm.”
You’ll be pouring tea, being the sweet, functional human being you are, and he’ll just… slide his mug over. No eye contact. No “please.” Not even a “yo.” He just tugs on your sleeve once and you already know.
You always say the same thing: “I’m not your maid.”
To which he always responds by… waiting.
Not moving.
Just standing there like …so?
So you pour the tea.
Every. Damn. Time.
(And then he takes a tiny sip and says, “Too hot.” And you fantasize about kicking him in the shins.)
He has the nerve to walk around with that adorable, sweet little face. Wide eyes. Lashes for days. Little nose. Pink lips. He blinks at people and they melt.
“Oh my god, is he shy?”
“He’s so precious!”
“Aww, he’s like a little bunny!”
LIES.
Baby is a demon.
A predator.
A horrible little shit who absolutely uses his face as a weapon.
Don’t even get me STARTED on his voice. It does not match him. At all. It’s low and slow and filthy, like it’s meant for whispering horrible things directly into your ear. And he knows it. He uses it. He’ll say your name in that voice, right behind you, when he wants something. And every time it works, you hate yourself a little more.
You hate him.
You want to climb him like a tree.
You’re the problem.
He likes you though. He really does.
He doesn’t say it. Obviously. But you know.
He shows up at your window at 2 a.m. and does not leave you alone, that’s his love language. You wonder what Gwi-Ma thinks about that. Does he insult the poor boy in his head? Leaves the topic alone? A wonder, really.
He doesn’t care about people. Not really. Not like you do.
He’s selfish. Bratty. Condescending.
He never says “I love you.” Never writes sweet notes. Never says “I miss you” or calls you beautiful.
But he stays. He lingers. He lets you run your fingers through his hair when he’s tired. He lets you sleep on his chest when you both sneak off after dark. He lets you see the version of him no one else gets to.
You’re not sure if this is love, or madness, or both. But you keep crawling back. Keep letting him tug you close. Keep pretending it’s not dangerous, even though it’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done.
Yeah.
He’s terrible.
But you like him that way.
Anyways, your room is big. Like, stupidly big. The girls fought tooth and nail for this penthouse, and somehow, you ended up with the one room that had its own damn sitting area, fireplace, and balcony. Probably because you “never bring people over.”
Ha.
Right now, you’re sitting on your bed, one leg bent, your hair damp from a shower, some oversized shirt slipping off your shoulder. You’re glowing, content, the kind of comfort that only comes when your secret demon boyfriend is stretched out across your silk sheets.
Baby, flat on his back, hoodie pushed up just enough to expose his stomach. He’s got one arm under his head, and the other lazily dragging over your thigh.
And you’re telling him a story. Some stupid one from earlier. About Zoey trying to cook eggs and somehow setting off the fire suppression system, and Mira slipping in the foam and cussing in three different languages, and Rumi trying to keep everyone calm.
He doesn’t say much—he never does—but every once in a while, he makes this little “hn” sound that means he’s listening. His eyes flutter closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks, and you gently run your fingers across the curve of his bare stomach as you speak.
Just light touches. Lazy, mindless. Your thumb sweeping around his navel. Tracing the faint v-line that disappears under his waistband. And he just takes it. Like he deserves to be pet.
His hips shift just slightly, subtle little rolls into your hand. His lips twitch. He hums.
“You’re distracting.” you mutter, dragging your fingers down his side.
“Mhm.” He doesn’t even open his eyes. Just tugs on the hem of your shirt like he wants it off but can’t be bothered to do it himself.
You laugh a little and lean over him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He lets you. He always does. Touchy and spoiled and acting like he’s the one doing you a favor by being here.
His fingers brush the back of your knee. Slide higher. God, he is so touchy. Not in a Romance kind of way, not in a flirty, dirty whisper way. Just clingy. Needy in a wordless, bratty little way. Always tugging at you. Always reaching. Not because he wanted attention, but because he expected it.
You’re just about to crawl into his lap when he suddenly opens his eyes—not startled, not alarmed, just blank. “Behind you.”
You blink. “What?”
“Door.”
You frown, confused. Turn to look, and your soul leaves your body.
Zoey. Mira. Rumi. Peeking through your bedroom door, all crammed into the tiny sliver they must’ve pushed open while you were distracted. All of them with their mouths slightly open. Eyes wide.
They must’ve been watching you for minutes.
Baby waves to them lazily.
The second your eyes meet theirs, they jerk back like they’d been slapped and slam the door shut.
SLAM.
Silence.
You stare at the door.
Baby stretches behind you, unfazed.
“You forgot to lock it.” he says, yawning like this is the most boring turn of events that’s ever happened to him.
“You watched them watch us!” you hiss, slapping his chest.
He shrugs. “You looked cute. Figured they’d agree.”
You launch a pillow at his face. He lets it hit him and doesn’t even blink.
You shoot to your feet like you’ve been lit on fire. You’re not even fully dressed, just the shirt, some thin little shorts, no bra, and your heart is thrashing in your chest because oh my god they saw. They saw everything. “You couldn’t have warned me earlier?!”
He gives a lazy shrug. “Didn’t think they’d stay.”
You smack him in the chest, hard.
“OW—what?!” he complains, still not even bothering to sit up. “You were telling a story.”
“Get out.” you whisper-yell, frantically waving your hands. “Go, go, GO!”
He groans dramatically, sitting up like it physically pains him. “You’re so loud.” he mutters.
But he stands anyway, tugging his hoodie down and making zero effort to look guilty. His hair’s a little messy, lips pink, eyes smug. He’s glowing like a man who’s very satisfied with his life choices. He is casually stretching his arms over his head. Right before he leaves, he pauses, looks at you, and then? Then he raises his voice just enough for the hallway to hear: “BYE GIIIIIRLS.”
He snorts to himself, satisfied with how he fucked up this for you even more, and leaves you there. Alone. Staring at the spot he just vanished from.
Okay, yeah, alright. You take a deep deep breath and walk over to your door to open it.
Rumi. Zoey. Mira. All standing in the hallway, backlit by the soft pendant lights. Their expressions? Zoey looks like she’s on the verge of tears but holding it together with sheer willpower. Mira’s pacing, fists clenched so hard her knuckles are white. Rumi is just staring at you, arms crossed, completely still. That’s the scariest part.
“Okay,” you say, voice cracking like the ice you’re walking on. “that was—”
“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.” Mira explodes. Her hands fling up like she’s physically restraining herself from throwing them at you. “You had him in your room?! While we were home?!”
“It’s not like I—”
“Don’t.” Rumi says. Soft. Controlled. Dangerous. “Don’t say it’s not what it looked like.”
It was what it looked like.
Zoey finally speaks. Her voice is so small it hurts. “You… you’re with him?”
“I didn’t—” you start, stepping forward instinctively, “I wasn’t gonna— I mean, I was, I just—” You sigh and rake both hands through your hair. “Yeah. I’m with him.”
Silence.
Rumi’s brows lift slightly. “For how long?”
You look at the ceiling. “A while.”
“Did he brainwash you?” Mira snaps. “Are you cursed? Are you fucking STUPID—”
“Mira.” Rumi’s voice cuts like a blade.
“No, I wanna hear her say it.” Mira hisses, rounding on you. “Do you even care that he’s a demon? That he’s probably feeding off you? That he’s probably laughing with the rest of those Saja freaks about how easy it was to get a Hunter to spread her legs—”
“Shut the fuck up, Mira.” Your voice isn’t loud, but it lands.
Mira steps back.
“…I know what he is.”you say softly. “I know what we are. I’m not confused. I’m not cursed. I’m not being controlled. I know what I’m doing.”
Zoey’s lip trembles. “Then why?”
You glance away. Chew your lip. Feel your chest ache. “Because he’s not what I thought demons were. Not all the time. Not with me.”
Mira scoffs. “Oh, my God.”
Rumi stares at you, then she says, “Go to your room.”
“I—what?”
“Go. To your room. Now.”
You pause for half a second, wanting to argue. Wanting to stand your ground. But you’ve already shredded the ground beneath your feet. So you do as you’re told. You walk back in. Close the door. Sit down on the bed.
The sheets still smell like Baby.
MYSTERY
You like him. God help you, you really do.
It started during one of their meet-and-greets. A crowd full of obsessed fans screaming over them, while you stood in line like a regular human, hair tucked under a cap and sunglasses on your face, just scoping the scene.
That’s when you noticed him in the back. Standing off to the side like he wasn’t even part of the group. His mic wasn’t on. He wasn’t smiling. Just kind of… existing.
You don’t know what possessed you, maybe it was the odd way his hands were twitching around the prop mic, or the slight crease in his brows as he watched the crowd, but you stepped toward him. Just a little. Close enough that he looked up. Or at least, lifted his chin.
He was holding a lightstick upside down.
And god, something about that made your heart ache. Because he looked so confused. So detached. So alien in that moment. Like he didn’t get what any of this was for.
So you’d whispered, “Turn it around. Other way.”
He blinked. Glanced at it. Turned it slowly, obediently.
You reached out and twisted his fingers to hold it right. “There. Like that.”
He didn’t speak. Not yet. But he watched you. All of you. Your hands, your mouth, your face.
And when you turned to go?
“…Thanks.” he said. So small. So low. Barely audible.
After that, he kept noticing you. You’d catch him watching from across rooftops during a hunt, or from the shadows of backstage areas. Silent. Unmoving. A presence. He never approached you directly—you had to do that—but he let you. Which, coming from him, was kind of massive.
You started sneaking around. Sitting next to him when you knew the other Saja boys wouldn’t be around. Leaving stupid little notes for him where you knew he’d find them. One time you brought him a chocolate bar and he ate it. Quietly. Slowly. Then murmured, “Too sweet.” and handed the wrapper back.
You’ve learned to read his silences. Every little shrug or pause or twitch is a language now. One you understand. But he also talks, like:
“You smell good.”
“Don’t go yet.”
“You looked sad today.”
He didn’t have to be sweet with you. Or quiet. Or gentle.
He just chose to be.
Once you were in the alley behind a club where both your crews had performed. The others were still inside fighting. But he had slipped out. And so had you. Not nice, you know, but it felt right.
He had his back against the wall, shoulders relaxed.
You had asked him, “Why are you always so quiet?”
He shrugged. “Nothing to say.”
You rolled your eyes. “There’s always something to say.” And then you turned toward him, shoulder brushing his, and whispered, “Like… if you wanted to kiss me.”
His breath stilled.
You watched his lashes lower behind his heavy hair. You could barely see his eyes, but you could feel them.
And then, softly:
“…Can I?”
You nodded.
He kissed you. No tongue, no hands, no hunger—not at first. Just lips.
Then you leaned in harder. Slid your hand up his chest.
Then he moved.
And after that? It was on.
It was a relationship—even if the word felt too loud, too bright, too human. You didn’t label it. You didn’t talk about it. But you felt it every time he waited for you. Every time he slipped into your space. Every time he murmured your name.
Don’t even get me started on the patterns on his dick. It’s weirdly attractive.
WHO SAID THAT?!
And then you got caught.
It had been weeks. The girls were suspicious, but they hadn’t figured him out yet. The others? Sure. But Mystery? Who could tell what he was even thinking, let alone who he was touching?
So that night, you got bold.
It was late. Everyone else was asleep. You were in the upstairs sunroom, one of your favorite places because it overlooked the whole city. Mystery was curled up with you on the wide window ledge.
Your hand was in his hair. His breath was on your neck. You had just whispered something—you don’t even remember what. Something dumb and soft and sweet.
He turns his face to you and said, “I like it when you talk.”
You blink. Smile. “That so?”
He nods once. “Your voice is warm.”
And you arw about to say something else when Zoey’s voice rang out behind you:
“…You’re kidding me.”
Your whole body jerks.
You turn so fast you almost knock Mystery out the window.
Zoey stands in the doorway, hoodie sleeves pushed up, jaw slack. Mira right behind her, looking like she was about to throw up. And Rumi is staring at Mystery.
And he—fucking audacious—is just sitting there. Calm. Not moving. One arm still around you.
He’s kinda evil so he’s definitely doing that on purpose.
“Okay—okay, listen—”
But Mira is already marching forward, murder in her eyes. “You’re sleeping with him?!”
“He’s not what you think—!”
“He’s a DEMON!”
Zoey looks betrayed. Like it physically hurts her to see you like this.
Rumi just says: “Leave. Both of you.”
Mystery doesn’t move until you move first. He stands slowly, brushing off his shirt. Then he reaches out, tucks your hair behind your ear, and whispers: “I’ll wait.”
Then he vanishes.
You walk back into your room, listening to Rumi. Like your best friends didn’t just see you wrapped up in one of the five you’ve all sworn—sworn—to destroy.
You don’t cry. You don’t know if you can. It’s just this huge, pulsing silence in your chest, like someone rang a bell inside you and then walked away.
To Rumi, this was personal.
We know why.
And she just saw you—her best friend—wrapped up in the arms of something she sees as rot.
Of him.
It’s not even about him being a Saja Boy. Not completely. It’s the idea that you’re letting something like that close to your heart. That you’re flirting with what her bloodline forced on her.
And she’s scared.
You sit there for what feels like forever.
Mystery’s scent still clings to your collar. You wonder if he’s out there waiting like he said. You wonder if the girls will ever look at you the same again.
You wonder if you even deserve it.
#kpop demon hunters#kpdh#kpdh x reader#the saja boys#saja boys x reader#saja boys#abby kpop demon hunters#abby kpdh#baby kpdh#baby kpop demon hunters#jinu kpdh#jinu kpop demon hunters#mystery kpdh#mystery kpop demon hunters#romance kpop demon hunters#romance kpdh#huntr/x
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I need an au where Batman doesn’t reveal his identity to the Justice League until after Nightwing joins. But it’s just Bruce who takes off the cowl, maybe during a meeting where Nightwing was busy with Blüdhaven or Titans things and couldn’t attend.
It had been after a huge family meeting. A series of family meetings, really, held in the Batcave. Because the batkids want everyone to know (several select friends on their respective teams already knew but were sworn to secrecy), and they were tired of wearing masks all the time (both figuratively and literally, especially during downtime team bonding sort of situations).
So Bruce Wayne is revealed to the Justice League. And the whole Batfamily relaxes, because Bruce has insisted, always insisted, that if one of them revealed their identities, the rest would follow like dominoes. It was so obvious, Bruce insisted. They didn’t work with complete morons, he said.
Then one day an abrupt meeting is called, they received urgent intel on a case they’d been tracking for months now. But Bruce and Dick had been at a charity event, so they decided to just show up in civvies since most others would no doubt be arriving in a similar fashion. It was an abrupt meeting, yes, but as of now there was no plan to immediately head out and act on the intel. Besides, they can always use the spare suits the keep on the Watchtower.
But then when they arrive in the meeting room (last, unfortunately, because they’d been held up by reporters), the whole room goes stiff.
“I know you told us your identity,” Green Lantern huffs, muttering and it’s still really weird under his breath, “but you can’t just bring your kid up to our headquarters!”
There are many murmurs of agreement, and Bruce scoffs while Dick lets out a snort of a laugh.
Bruce is so offended that:
Hal Jordan thinks he has any right to try and scold him
Hal Jordan is trying to tell him where he can and cannot bring his kids when Bruce funds damn near the entire Justice League out of his own pocket
And that Dick is now looking at him with the smuggest smirk he’s had on his face in years.
“So you were wrong,” Dick says in a sing-song voice. “What have you been telling me for YEARS now? You can’t tell your friends, Dick, it’s not just your secret! You said. You can’t tell anyone or else the whole family will be found out, Dick! You said. We don’t work with a bunch of complete morons, Dick! You said. Puh-lease.”
Dick is smirking at him, and Bruce covers his eyes with a palm, resisting the urge to groan.
“Don’t say it.”
“I’m gonna say it!”
“Don’t say it, Dick.”
“I told you so!” Dick says in his snottiest voice. “I told you so, I told you so, I told you so! Jay and Timmy both owe me two-hundred bucks! I’ve been telling you so since I was eight years old!”
“The Justice League didn’t even form until you were ten.”
“That’s beside the point!” Dick says flippantly, then skips over to the pair of chairs Batman and Nightwing usually sit in. He plops down in Nightwing’s usual seat, still smirking, and throws his feet up on the table while the gaggle of superheroes watches him with their eyes bugging out of their heads. “Nice to formally meet’cha, without the mask of course. I’m Dick Grayson, but you all know me as Nightwing.”
Bruce lets out the most exhausted sigh they’ve ever heard, and he sits down heavily in his usual seat.
“Please tell me Damian was not included in your little betting ring.”
“Oh of course he was. Jason and Tim both owe him a hundred dollars. I get double since I’m the one who got to prove you wrong.” Dick is already texting Damian to get the security footage as proof. They have to keep it separate so Tim can’t delete it.
“Wait a minute,” Flash says, “are all the Waynes vigilantes?”
Dick snorts, then giggles, then looks at the constipated look on Bruce’s face and giggles some more.
“It’s a family tradition!” Dick says. “Gotta train your pre-pubescent kids to follow after the Bat, after all.”
“That’s enough,” Bruce grunts, and it’s so jarring for them all to see him use Batman’s tone with Brucie’s face. “Don’t we have intel to discuss?”
“Right, right,” someone says, then clears their throat. “So our inside source got us these documents…”
The meeting continues as normal, but Dick looks over at Bruce after a couple minutes and wiggles his eyebrows. Bruce slaps him upside the head and tells him in a hushed whisper to pay attention.
“How did we not know that was his dad?” Hal whispers to Barry.
Barry just shrugs. Bruce glares at both of them, and they shut up instantly and turn back to whoever’s presenting. Dick is practically giddy.
#dick grayson#bruce wayne#batman#nightwing#Justice League#I feel like I’ve read several fics with a similar concept#but I can’t think of any specific fics to rec rn#fic ideas
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Hi, I love your writing style, and I was hoping you could write a Jason Todd x reader? Where the reader is a sexual menace, even though Jason was her first. Jason hadn't really told his family he was dating anyone. So when Barbara was out one day, going about her day, she saw Jason shopping with a woman[reader], and so being the person she was, she followed them around and from what she could see, the woman was a kind and sweet person so she snapped a pick and left unnoticed. She showed the fam the picture when she got home. A few days later the mystery was eating away at them specifically Dick. So he decided to pay Jason a visit in the middle of the night, only to hear Jason and the mystery woman going at it.
HE RUINED THAT GIRL ( Jason Todd! )

Summary: The family is eager to meet Jason's sweetheart, but Dick is the first unlucky one to meet her.
pairing: jason todd x fem reader
tw: some smut
open request - Jason masterlist
You and Jason had been dating for less than a year, but he had fallen really hard the first day he met you. At that moment, you seemed to him a beautiful woman, with a gentle presence, a calm smile, and a sweet voice. A serene, elegant, almost angelic person. Jason thought that maybe he had finally found something normal in his life.
But when he really got to know you, he realized that you were the complete opposite of what your appearance showed, everyone saw you as an educated, sensitive and innocent woman, too pure for this cruel world, but you were nothing like that.
You were brazen, intense, unbearably provocative. Your constant double entendre jokes, your caresses that were far from pure, and every time you smiled innocently, it was right after you'd said something that left him breathless, uncontrolled, unable to keep his face straight.
Jason used to say you were a problem with your long legs and dangerous lips. But he never meant it as a reproach because he loved you for being that way; he truly enjoyed the relationship you had.
The truth was, Jason didn't know how he'd survived so long without you. Your energy contrasted absurdly with his: where he was tense, you helped him calm down; where he tried to maintain control, you knew exactly which button to push to tear him to pieces.
And you always did it with an innocent smile, as if you didn't know what you were doing. As if you weren't aware of how his eyes darted to you as he watched you walk by, or how his sighs escaped him every time you laughed and caressed the back of his neck with those fingers of yours that showed not a shred of mercy.
The funniest thing is that Jason had been your first everything, and you had turned out to be a sexual threat in an angel's disguise, you were a lethal combo.
"How can you be so damned if I was the first?" he'd once said to you, his breath coming in short bursts, after you'd dragged him from the kitchen to the couch as if he owned it.
"As if you hadn't seen my books," you had whispered in his ear, licking his earlobe before mounting him as if the world was about to end.
He kept you away from the family out of self-preservation. Because if they ever heard what you said when you had him up against the wall, the jokes would last for years. And if they ever saw him melt with just one look from you, he'd lose all credibility as the cold, tough guy of the group.
Too bad Barbara Gordon had perfect aim, or you guys just didn't have very good luck.
Barbara had just stepped out for coffee when she saw Jason. Or rather, she saw you. A pretty woman dressed exactly like Jason, a white blouse, black pants, and cute, delicate boots that she'd no doubt look up online later. You were leaning against Jason's big arm like it was your natural place to be. Laughing at something he'd said, your eyes were sparkling, your hand in his, and Jason had a grin that stopped Barbara in her tracks.
It was a soft smile, something the family didn't receive; they could only settle for that condescending smirk he show at family dinners.
Curious, Barbara followed them from a distance, watching and analyzing their movements in detail. Trying to figure out who the hell had managed to win Jason Todd over without him saying a single word.
She watched you two browse books, check out vinyl records, and end up at a coffee shop ordering pastries and cappuccinos. You seemed like a really sweet and kind girl, maybe too much so for a guy like Jason, but from what he was seeing, you didn't really know Jason at all.
Barbara took a photo from a distance and left unnoticed. She was going to use all her knowledge and training to learn more about you and what was happening.
That was three days ago.
▬▬▬▬▬▬
"Okay, I need someone to explain this to me" Barbara put her cell phone on the table in front of the boys, the screen lit up with the photo."Did anyone know Jason had a girlfriend?"
Dick leaned forward. “It can’t be.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “Is that… Jason?”
Damian frowned as if he were witnessing a crime. "What's that grimace on your face? Is he... smiling?"
"Yes, Damian. He's smiling." Barbara crossed her arms. "Smiling and holding the hand of a woman we don't know. And I swear, he looks... happy."
“He’s mesmerized,” Damian murmured.
Barbara sat down, resigned. "I couldn't identify her. I already ran a facial recognition search on the database, but nothing. She's completely clean, too clean."
"So why didn't he tell us anything?" Dick asked, frowning.
"Could it be that he knows how we are and that's why he's hiding it from us?" Tim raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.
"You mean because we're invasive and emotionally dysfunctional?" Dick looked at him sideways.
"Exactly."
"We have to show her she can trust us, maybe that way she'll let us get to know her," Barbara commented, in that reasonable tone she used when she was trying to sound less nosy than she really was.
Damian snorted. “That’s not going to work. Jason doesn’t even trust his reflection.”
"He's right," Tim agreed. "The guy skips family gatherings, leaves the group chat every two weeks, and the last time I asked him how he was doing, he replied with a picture of a gun."
Dick jumped up, with that impulsive energy that always got him into trouble. "Well, that's all. I'm going to stop by her apartment tonight. Big brother surprise. Casual conversation, not at all intrusive."
“That’s invasive,” Tim told him.
"Not if he doesn't find out," Dick replied, already moving towards the door.
"You're crazy," Barbara muttered, shaking her head but not stopping him. "He'll kill you if he finds you."
"What if he doesn't find me?" Dick smirked. "I go in, take a look, see if he's with her, if he's okay... and that's it. Five minutes."
Damian followed him with his eyes, like someone watching a man headlong into his own funeral. "When you're done, be sure to send us your location, in case we need to recover your body. "
Dick winked at him and disappeared down the hall. He was going to find out; curiosity was eating him up. If Jason had a girlfriend who could make him smile like that, he needed to know what kind of woman could do it.
Even if that meant sneaking through his brother's apartment window in the middle of the night.
The city was silent as Dick climbed the fire escape with the same agility as always, moving through the shadows, barely breathing. Jason's apartment window was barely ajar.
Perfect .
He crouched down, peering carefully through the cracks.
Inside, there was no sound at first. Everything was pitch black. Not a voice, not a laugh, not even the sound of the television. And for a moment, Dick thought it had been a terrible idea. Maybe Jason was sleeping, or had gone out, or just...
"Fuck... baby, where did you learn to do that?" Jason's voice was barely a growl against your neck, deep, hot, ragged.
Dick froze. He didn't move, he didn't even breathe. Because that clearly wasn't the sound of friendly chatter. Not even remotely.
"I imagined it..." your voice came seconds later, muffled by gasps and laughter. "I spent weeks imagining what it would feel like to do this to you. And I wasn't wrong."
In response, he heard the mattress creak loudly. There was a wet sound, a raw gasp, and another shove. Dick closed his eyes, wishing he'd stayed home, or been born deaf.
“Fuck yeah, like that. You’re so good for me. So perfect. So fucking dirty with that innocent little slut face…” Jason growled through gritted teeth against your neck. “Every time you open that mouth, I want to see you taking my cock and those wet little eyes.”
Dick jerked away from the window, tripping over his own foot. His heart was pounding. He didn't know if he was hyperventilating, having a panic attack, or both at the same time.
"I can't. I can't be listening to this. It's not real. It's not real," she repeated to herself, while the sounds inside the apartment grew louder with each passing second.
"Please," you begged, slurring your words in the sweetest, most provocative voice, completely dizzy from how close you were. "Don't stop."
Jason groaned from deep within his chest. He gripped your hips with both hands, changing the pace, the angle, everything, only to hear you moan his name again, and you did so, your voice shaky, clipped, intense. “Jason… God, yes, yes, just like that.”
That was enough.
Dick left without looking back. He jumped two stories as if he were escaping a nightmare. He ran. He flew. He didn't stop until he reached the mansion.
When he came in, he was pale, disheveled, with a blank expression.
"Well?" asked Barbara, who was waiting for him on the couch next to Tim and Damian.
Dick opened his mouth… and closed it again.
"Did you meet her?" Tim insisted.
Dick just slumped back in the chair as if he'd been shot in the soul. His gaze was fixed on a fixed point on the wall, as if he saw something the others couldn't.
"Barbs," he murmured, his voice hollow. "You told us she was an innocent girl."
"Well... she looked like that," Barbara defended herself, crossing her arms uncomfortably. "She's very delicate and... smiley. She seemed... nice."
"She was... until Jason corrupted her," Dick said, still not blinking. "The things I heard can't have come from that poor girl."
"Dick, what the hell are you saying?" Barbara looked at him indignantly.
Dick turned toward him slowly, his eyes open, his voice low. "She seemed good..." Dick repeated, his voice low, like a traumatized echo. "She seemed good. Until she told Jason she wanted him to finish inside her while he growled that he wanted to see her on her knees, her eyes moist."
Absolute silence fell over the room.
Tim blinked several times, unsure whether to laugh or throw up. Damian turned his face toward the window, as if hoping someone would save him from being in that room.
And Barbara... well, Barbara needed a few long seconds before she found her voice again.
"Dick… did you hear that?"
“I heard everything!” he exclaimed, raising both hands as if he needed to defend himself from the images in his mind. “Every fucking second. Sound effects included, every word, every shove, every fucking obscenity Jason said.”
"Maybe she wasn't as innocent as we thought," Tim muttered, clearly struggling not to laugh.
"I refuse to believe that," Dick shouted, dramatic as ever. "She looked so sweet and delicate. She had an angelic smile, Tim. And now... now..."
"Now what?"
Dick looked at him, with a broken expression. "I'm going to sleep, I don't want to think about this anymore". Dick disappeared down the hallway, still muttering things like “watery eyes” and “damn mattress,” while the others watched him in silence.
▬▬▬▬▬▬
The next morning seemed like any other, the whole family was sitting at the kitchen table, ready to begin, until the door to the mansion opened.
Footsteps and laughter could be heard in the hallway, and a female voice, sweet, casual, almost musical “This house is huge! Does it always smell this good?”
"Yes, it's Alfred, he's going to love you," Jason replied, in a low tone, with a barely contained smile. "Try not to be scared of the rest."
The four in the room turned at the same time.
And there they were. Jason with a calm expression and a hand on your waist, you wearing a pretty dress, a bright smile, sparkling eyes, and that completely charming aura that made no sense given the things Dick had said to everyone last night.
Dick couldn't take his eyes off you, not Tim, not even Damian. Dressed simply, delicately, with a serene smile and a soft voice that said, "Nice to meet you."
"Is that her?" Tim whispered under his breath, completely shocked.
"Yes," Dick growled. "That's her, the one who said she wanted..."
"Dick!" Barbara cut him off in a quick whisper, kicking him under the table.
"What's wrong?" you asked with a smile, noticing the whisper. Your innocent eyes darted from one to the other, sparkling with curiosity.
"Nothing," Jason replied, tightening his grip on your waist. "They're just... nervous. They're not used to such pretty girls around here."
"Master Jason?" Alfred said, coming in, pausing briefly upon seeing you. "And this young lady?"
"My girlfriend," he replied with a calm smile. "I told you I was going to bring her."
"Oh, finally. Nice to meet you, miss," Alfred said with an elegant bow. "Would you like some tea or coffee?"
"Tea, please," you said, gently settling into the chair Jason offered you. "How kind of you."
Dick stared at her as if he were facing an optical illusion. "It can't be," he muttered, as he watched you and Barbara laugh at an innocent joke, take the cup with both hands, and thank Alfred for the tea as if you were a damn fairytale princess.
"Are you sure about what you heard last night?" Tim asked, lowering his voice to a whisper.
Dick glared at him. "I swear by all that is holy, that voice..."
Damian swallowed. "It can't be. She seems like she wouldn't break a plate."
"Exactly!" Dick burst out in a low voice. "And yet she destroyed Jason last night!"
Jason raised an eyebrow at them whispering, but decided to ignore them. Meanwhile, you leaned slightly toward Barbara, smiling. "Is Dick okay? He looks a little pale..."
"Oh, don't worry. He's just... digesting something," Barbara replied, swallowing a laugh.
Jason came up behind you and absentmindedly stroked your back as he talked to Alfred, not noticing that Dick was watching him as if he were watching a wildlife documentary.
"The traumas are fresh," Dick murmured. "He's touching her as if it were nothing. As if he didn't say he wanted to see her on her knees with wet eyes less than eight hours ago."
Tim nudged him. “Well, at least he’s happy.”
"He's obviously happy! He had a good night, the bastard," Dick said.
Barbara laughed softly. “Dick, I beg you. That girl can’t be…”
#dc masterlist#dc x reader#jason todd x reader#imagine jason todd#jason todd smut#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd x fem reader#jason todd x fem!reader#jason todd x y/n#jason todd masterlist#redhood x reader
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❥⼺ still wakes the drowned god
⸻ summary: Your life as the Witch of the Abyssal Rift is turned upside down when the Kraken God awakens from his cursed slumber deep within the Abyssal Trench and seeks you out with one simple request: "Come to me."
The subsequent seduction and beckoning that follow will either lead you into a trap, or bind you in a deal you can't back out of. But it's too late now. You're already a reef fish curling into the silk of an anemone, thinking it found a bed, not teeth.
⸻ warnings: dream sex (consent is there but i will still add dubious consent just in case), ritual sex, tentacle sex (consentacles), he is AN OCTOPUS WAIST DOWN, freak shit, monsterfucking i guess, badly depicted witchcraft and deity work im so sorry if any witch or pagan reads this pls it's fictional 😭
⸻ before you read: this is based on the 4-star fragrant dream card and that one line in forgotten sea about lemurians turning into monsters without light. you don't have to read fragrant dream to understand this, though. the rafayel depicted here is also the sea god rafayel in his myth(s) and not current canon rafayel, so he might read differently. I took liberties with the sea cursing them both, so it's technically alternate universe canon divergence. the majority of this was written before tears of romirro dropped, so any similarities (such as rafayel being chained in the trench 😭) are NOT intentional. seriously, check my blog.
also, i would like you to shut your brain off if you're somehow knowledgable about the ocean and sea animals and ecology in any way shape or form. magical kelp grows where i say it grows and fantasy animals exist at which depth i deem they can exist. this is a tentacle monsterfucking fic don't look to me for scientific accuracy. if i see one person go "an anglerfish can't go that deep" i will delete my entire blog. thank you.
⸻ author's note: this fic absolutely DEVOURED my life to the point i went mia on my own blog. i damn near lost my mind writing it like this is my first time prewriting and publishing a work this long.
because of this, you will find the entirety of the work chapter by chapter on ao3, published at the same time. i really can't be bothered with posting them here one by one because the interaction drops dramatically and only the chapter(s) with smut get traction. so. boom. get cozy, get some snacks. or don't and pace yourself and finish it slowly, but i hope you enjoy!
please please let me know what you thought! i dont know when this'll go live and if it'll come out around his new myth but happy late mermay i guess LMAOOOOOOO (note to myself: yes this is dropping after the myth. look up at the fuckass banner you had to make so rafayel's tits wouldnt get sent to superhell by tumblr.) divider modified from here.
⸻ word count: 97K
❥⼺ READ ON AO3
#love and deepspace#rafayel x reader#rafayel x you#rafayel smut#rafayel#lads rafayel x reader#lads rafayel x you#l&ds rafayel x reader#lnds rafayel x reader#lads rafayel#l&ds rafayel#lnds rafayel#lads#lnds#l&ds#qi yu#rafayel qi#qi yu x reader#rafayel lads#rafayel l&ds#rafayel love and deepspace
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Thinking about how Yandere Outlaw! Geto wakes up the first morning after he took you from your home, only to find you standing over him, barefoot and still in your thin little nightgown, with a pistol pointed right at his face.
Wasn’t quite the greeting he expected. But damn if it isn’t cute.
You’re trembling like a leaf, tears still clinging to your cheeks from last night. Puffy eyes, soft sniffles, messy hair. Poor thing. Still trying to act brave.
He blinks up at you from where he lies on the floor, shirtless, hair down, the loose strands falling across his face looking just like his wanted poster. Slow to sit up, arms raised just a little, he gives you that lazy, wolfish smile, all white teeth and trouble.
“Well now,” he drawls, voice rough with sleep and just a hint of amusement, “that any way to greet the man who gave you the bed?”
He watches the way your grip shakes, how your lip wobbles like you're about to cry again. The pistol in your hands, he recognizes it, of course. His own. Not even loaded. He saw to that last night. You really thought he wouldn’t plan for something like this? A little filly like you, spittin' and kickin'? He'd be dumb to keep a loaded gun around. Can't have you spookin' the horses.
“Don’t want a girl like you handlin’ somethin’ that heavy,” he murmurs, voice dipped in honey and warning. “Might hurt yourself.”
You don’t back down. Not yet. You glare at him with all the fury you can muster, arms quivering, teeth gritted.
“Take me home,” you manage to say. Cracked. Raw. Pleading.
And Geto just laughs, low and slow, a dangerous sound that curls in your stomach. Just like the first shot of whiskey you ever took.
“Take my sweet little filly home?” he repeats, cocking his head slightly. The dim morning light catches on the curve of his jaw, on the shadowed scar near his temple, the tousled strands of inky black hair falling around his face. He looks carved from sin, kissed by dust and blood. “Now sugar… that ain’t gonna happen.”
His gaze darkens just a touch, but the smile never fades.
“See, I’ve killed a man for lookin’ at me wrong,” he says softly, like he’s telling you what time it is. “And here you are - pointin’ a gun at my head. Ain’t that somethin’?”
Your face twists, confused and terrified, but still you don’t pull the trigger. Can’t. And he knows it.
“We all got our vices,” he continues, easy as ever, “and you just so happen to be mine.”
In a blur, the pistol’s out of your hands and clattering to the floor. You barely get a breath before he’s got you scooped into his arms like a bride, the scent of gunpowder and pine and leather clinging to him. He tosses you back onto the bed with zero ceremony, even as you wriggle and squirm against him.
“Oh, hush now,” he murmurs, one large hand pressing your wrist down against the mattress, the other cupping your cheek with almost painful gentleness. “Chickens ain’t even awake yet, and here you are throwin’ a tantrum.”
He presses a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth - soft, unearned, possessive.- and curls around you, a heavy arm wrapped around your waist. A man like him? He doesn’t worry. He doesn’t chase. You can kick and scream all you want Sugar.
You’re not going anywhere.
“You’ll come around,” he whispers into your hair, lashes brushing your temple as his eyes close again. Ignoring all your cryin'. You'll tire yourself out eventually. "Now I think you need some sleep, tame that little attitude of yours."
More yandere outlaw! Geto here!
#Started playing RDR2 for the first time#And it got my carnal need for outlaw geto back#He just thinks you're so cute for acting strong around him#yandere jujutsu kaisen#Yandere jjk#Yandere geto suguru#Yandere geto#Yandere suguru#Yandere geto suguru x reader#Yandere suguru geto x reader#Yandere geto x reader#Yandere suguru x reader
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Capital 'T', Capital 'M': The Manager
Saja boys x Gender Neutral! Reader
Content warning: Job Application
Chapter 1: Associate's Degree in Minding Your Own Business
Authors note: Sat down. Read through the Saja Boy x Reader tag. Thought: "Man, I wish there were more manager stories. I eat these up." Paced, possessed for 2 hours while listening Your Idol on repeat. Thought: "Be the change you want to see in the world." Blacked out. 4k long, first chapter
Summary: If anyone were to come up and tell you that the Saja Boys are a bunch of demons, you would laugh in their face and tell them to get out. That's because the Saja Boys are totally normal humans. Nothing odd about them at all. That's just their quirks from how harsh the idol life is. What's wrong with temporary tattoos? You don't like their newest stage concepts? The media thinks the Saja Boys are a group of absolute, adorable and perfect, bunch of angels. The world believes you and your boys got where you were through luck, willpower, and skill. They praise you, The Manager, for being so open and honest about their struggles through idol-dom. Everyday you get better and better at cultivating the ultimate Professional Persona. Of course, if you're actually honest, then why are your pants on fire? No really. These pants are on fire. You and your boys got where you were because you saw the boys lay out a perfect pair of pants and heard them discuss how it needs to be lit on fire. Then, you put them on and lit them yourself. And if anyone were to run up and scream that the Saja Boys are a bunch of demons, you would laugh in their face and tell them you'd do it all over again.
Chapter 1: Associate's Degree in Minding Your Own Business
Your bedroom reeks. It’s nearing the rainy season, and already, the humidity has been hitting hard. Your A/C unit begs for mercy as it miserably chugs along, dangling precariously from your apartment window. Powdered flavoring and oils stick to the letters of your keyboard. Your monitor and pulsing PC lights are the only things illuminating the bags under your eyes. Thumping bass can be heard through your taped over window along with the roar of thousands of fanatic music enthusiasts. Tonight is the Huntr/x’s last performance before they go on an undisclosed hiatus.
The rhythmic beats pound away at your already frayed nerves. You close your eyes and pray to anything that can answer as your email loads your latest messages. Junk. Junk. Junk. College asking for money. Junk. Tracking number for latest purchase. Food delivery receipt. Junk. Junk. Junk. Jun— Hang on!
Re: Job Applicant
It’s from one of the job listings you applied to. One of many. Many. MANY. MANY!
You cross your fingers over your mouse as you click to open it. Please. PLEASE. PLEASE!!!
Of course. It isn’t an offer. Why would it be? That’d be really silly. It’s not like you haven’t applied to nearly a thousand job listings in hopes for something. But… It isn’t an outright rejection. The email informs you at the bottom with size 8, gray font a different listing within their company, ‘Better suited for your skillset’. The overtly friendly wording pisses you off, but you grumble and follow the link anyway.
It takes 5 minutes to create a new account, despite already having made one for the other job listing. It takes 1 minute to upload your resume, bullshitted cover letter, and appropriate licensure. It takes another 5 minutes for the website to actually load and accept the files. It takes 12 minutes to re-enter all your relevant information. Something that can be easily seen on your resume. That you had been forced to upload. It takes 22 minutes of crying and bashing your fists on your desk, ‘God damn it! God damn it! God damn it!’, as you struggle for nice things to say in the mandatory 2k word essay. The application website has the audacity to demand you beg and sing their praises. Demand you explain why you felt destined! to work at this low paying job.
Thud. Thud. Thud. goes the beat of the music. Chug. Chug. Chug. goes the hospiced air conditioner. Whirr. Whirr. Whirr. goes the struggling fans of your computer.
The scream you let out is completely silent, and for a moment you see pure red—then blue!—then black! You hold your breath, trembling with a slew of broiling emotions and watch as your monitors and computer system attempts to reboot itself. Luckily, it takes less than a minute to come back, and you’re able to safely restore your tabs. All is OK. It’s OK. You’re OK.
Except you’re not. You’re so very not OK. The application website, which took 2 minutes and 26 seconds to buffer and refresh, informs you with an absolutely pathetic ‘ :( ‘, letting you know in a bastardized version of comic sans that you missed the window. They have already hired someone else.
The scream you unleash is buried by the cheering over taking the city air. You shriek until your lungs are burning and your eyes stop watering. Checking the time, you decide to call it quits for the night. With a sniffle and a snot filled HONK! into a tissue, you shrug your jacket on and fumble for your keys. Slipping on some sandals, you miss your door’s key hole several times before finally, shakily locking it.
It’s time for a little sweet treat. You deserve a lil’ sweet treat. You need a sweet lil’ treat, or you’re going to pass out.
With a whoosh the automatic door to the convenience store opens, and you step easily over the threshold. You furiously blink your swollen eyelids as your face is assaulted by their industrial A/C. Shuffling further in, you grab a small basket and make a bee line to the refrigerated drink section.
Faced with 5 door’s worth of options, you pause and consider your choices. Mist curls around you as you squat to inspect a can. Too focused on envisioning its artificial taste on your tongue, you miss the several, ‘excuse me!’s coming from behind. You only move, just to fall flat on your ass, with a flinch as a burning hot hand sears into your shoulder.
“Oh my goodness! I didn’t mean to startle you!”, apologizes the man above you with the perfect face. No really, that dark black hair and smooth face is uncannily perfect. You ignore the hand being offered to instead grip the rubber siding of the door. With a zombie-like groan, you haul your aching body up.
“S’all good.” You mumble out, fiddling with the zipper of your jacket instead of making eye contact with the handsome stranger. That’s when you notice three more pairs of shoes by you. You twitch, slamming the fridge door closed, and stumble back into the slightly exposed abdomen and legs of a fourth pair. A set of uncomfortably warm, burly arms steady you, and you nearly flush with fever yourself.
“While we have you~” purrs another equally good-looking gentleman. They sport a unique cut of pink hair and step too close into your personal bubble. Something cold touches the underside of your chin, and you're forced to look up into their face. “What is this?” The object moves from your skin to reveal itself to be a beverage can.
“Uh…” You stupidly say, leaning back into the hot, supple chest behind you in an effort to clearly read the label being shoved in your face. “Soda?”
“What’s it taste like?” asks the boy to your left with blue hair, hugging a party sized bag of chips like a life line.
You look over the vibrant packaging, and thankfully, it’s a brand you have the unfortunate luck to recognize. Intimately. There was a dark, dark time back in college where you drank enough to make a little christmas tree from the recycled tabs.
“Chemically sweet. Exactly like—” you gesture with a semi-restrained limb to the can’s exterior. “You would expect the color, ‘icy blue’, and the name, ‘Coastal Tundra’, to taste like.
“Is that… a good thing?” asks the original, beautiful stranger. They look slightly off kilter, and you take a moment to survey the cluster of absurdly handsome young men. The heat radiating by your back feels obscenely good as your muscles cease their insistent ache.
With a long huff, blowing an imaginary strand of hair from your face, you lean back on your heels before recoiling to your tiptoes, momentarily forgetting how close they’ve gotten. You let a weary smile grow on your face and look straight at the nutrient label of the displayed soda.
“It is if you want a new vice.” You laugh with exhaustive experience. “55 whoppin’ grams of sugar and over 150mg of caffeine. Enough to kill ya’ and then raise your anxiety-filled corpse back from the dead.”
Immediately after you let the casual joke spill from your lips, you regret it. Swiftly, all 5 men dart back as if burned, and you shiver in place, resisting the urge to turtle into your jacket.
“Sorry! I’m just gonna—” You swing open the door nervously, nearly whacking the dark haired man in the face, and dart down into a squat. As you grab your chosen beverage, you gently close the now fogged up door and turn around to find all exits blocked off.
Khisssss! sing both the icy blue can and the sealing fridge door. Your thoughts flatline as you watch Mr. Hot Muscles crack open the drink and chug it back into one go. After a moment, he sputters and chokes. You gulp down thick saliva as the clear, carbonated soda dribbles down his thick adams apple. He folds over in a near perfect bend, gasping for breath. His pink haired friend slaps him on the back several times while a look of confusion passes over the man’s face.
“So?” demands the blue one, shuffling closer to reach for the can that’s been placed on the freshly waxed tile.
Finally recovered from choking, the man straightens to an impressive height and smacks his lips in consideration. Pondering with a sculpted hand on his chin, he announces to his fellow, pastel-wearing monkeys, “They’re right.” He nods his head sagely. “It’s exactly what you would expect that color to taste like. I can’t think of any other way to describe it.”
“But is it good?”
“No… but yes?” Smack. Smack. Lickkk. “It was honestly painful in my mouth, but the after taste has me craving more.”
“That’s how they getcha.” You comment, reminding the circus of your existence before realizing your error and slowly backing away. No luck though, as you’re roughly yanked to the side. Suddenly, you have the blue haired boy slung over your shoulder.
“What’d you recommend?” He asks, voice slithering through your ear in a ticklish whisper.
You look up through your lashes at the gang and struggle. Despite their interesting choice of bright colors, they’re giving off seriously, drop-dead gorgeous vibes. Are these rich lil’ boys coming down from their castles to play with the common folk or something? Everything about their appearance screams Money, but none of them have that kind of nepo-baby air about them. If anything, they feel more like a clamoring bucket of small crabs, moments away from being speared through as fish bait and intimately aware of that fate.
“What’s the vibe?” You try and shrug the sweltering weight off, to no avail.
“Vibe?” mumbles one to another.
“Mood? Theme? Aura?” You attempt to take a step further, wriggling your shoulders with a gnash of teeth. Can this guy get off you? You do not want anyone to be so close to you right now. Not when you’re so miserable. Not when you’re so tired. Not when your poor nerves are so fried and your tears have all but dried up. You take a shuddering breath as you successfully dislodge your clinger and turn to face the misty fridge once more. Your head throbs from stress and dehydration, and you press your forehead against the cool glass in search of relief.
“Heh. Whatever a bunch of out-of-touch demons would enjoy,” jokes the pink one from directly behind. He’s snuck close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, his hips and chest hovering just out of touch.
You tilt your head to press the left side of your face into the door and regard the black haired one with one fatigued eye.
Eyebrows raised in a challenge, you hum. “I like that. Original.” Eyes dart back to the shelves to scan for a good recommendation. Torn between two, you find yourself asking, “Freshly arrived or been here for too long?”
Nobody says anything for a moment, and you distract yourself from your own emotional constipation by doodling a smiley face in the condensation. Immediately, it reminds you of the ‘ :( ‘ from the stupid, awful job website, and soon, you're sporting a frown to match it.
“Freshly arrived.” declares a previously unheard voice. You glance at the man with hair shrouding most of his face, but his lips are quick to fall into a deliciously neutral position, as if he never spoke.
With a thumbs up, you sidestep and whip the door open. This time, you actually hit the dark hair stranger. With a horrific, sickening crunch, chilled plexiglass makes contact with a perfectly sculpted nose. Before he can stumble away, you close the accidental weapon and lunge for his arms that rise to shield his damaged, no longer pristine, face.
“Oh fuck! Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” you cry out, wrapping your fingers around his forearms. The skin burns under your clammy palms, but you hold firm and keep him from escaping. “I know first aid! Let me take a look!”
Then, a second round of crunching and popping occurs, muffled by taloned hands. A pair of watering, glowing eyes peeks at you through bloodied fingers. With the strength of someone two seconds away from truly Mc-freaking-losing it, you rip his hands away and take in the fully repaired cartilage. He uses your momentary hesitation to pull away completely, and you watch him tug his sleeves further down his arms. Just like your dying PC back at home, glowing tattoos pulse in a steady pattern from beneath his shirt and up his flaming cheeks.
“Holy shit. Those are sick as hell.” You dumbly compliment, leering down at any inch of exposed skin, only to be met with swift disappointment as it returns back to its typical, normal human tone.
Everyone is silent yet again, and you start discretely shuffling towards the candy aisle.
Unsure of what to say, you’re rewarded with a whispered, “Uhhhh, thanks?” from him. You wordlessly pass him the chosen drink with a nod, and start step, step, stepping away.
Dipping around the corner, you successfully get the hell out of that dodge and can now put your mind towards better things than properly socializing. Like minding your own god damned business and focusing on something sour, sweet, or savory. Down the ways, you can hear a quiet argument break out.
“What the fuck was that, Jinu?”
“You think I planned to get my face smashed in?”
“So much for us being discrete and blending in.”
La la la. You love minding your own business. It’s just that there are so many options, and you’re standing here dutifully looking at them all. Still as stone so as to not bring attention to your proximity.
“And you didn’t think to charm them or anything?”
Oh wow, what a steal! Buy 1 get 4 free for a mix and mash of this brand’s candy!
“I’m not about to charm someone this soon! We’re trying to not catch any attention from hunters until we get ourselves established.”
Hm. This nutrition label is very informative. You could stand here in this exact spot all day.
“And how are we supposed to gain a name for ourselves if we keep this up? We can’t just magic our way to fame you know!”
“Maybe they didn’t notice?”
“Are you kidding?! They totally noticed! They even complimented him!”
“That was a compliment?”
It’s so awesome that these sour snacks have jokes written on the back. It was like they knew someone would be forced to suffer through a critical enough situation that one must kill time by reading microscopic font. It’s so incredibly interesting because you are totally here minding your own business.
“Hang on if we can’t just charm our way through this plan, where are we supposed to even start?”
“I bet Jinu doesn’t even have a plan.”
“I have a plan!”
“Ok then. What’s the next step, oh leader of this-is-a-stupid-idea-that’s-totally-not-going-to-get-our-asses-scorched-by-hellfire.”
“First… We need to get a… manager?”
“Why was that a question?”
You just can’t choose. Do you go for the share sized chocolates or the 3 discounted packs of salted chews? It’s a really difficult decision, and you have to stand perfectly still and contemplate such a monumental choice.
“It’s hard to properly do research from the other side of the barrier! I’m pretty sure the best place to start would be to get a manager!”
“This is because you couldn’t figure out how to use that… Not-spider web thing… What is it???”
“The internet?”
“Yeah, that!”
“Well, what do we have to do to get someone for a manager? Pay for a newspaper ad? They still have those right?”
“I saw some for sale by the entrance. It’s really impressive how far printing presses have come.”
“I know right? I was shocked when I saw how colorful everything is!”
The tile by your foot has been placed upside down. You believe this because the spacing and cluster of small dots is more pronounced on one side, than the other and thus ruining the flow of the nonexistent linoleum pattern. It is very critical that one takes the time to notice these things. So important, you think you’ll just continue to chill here and check the ceiling tiles as well.
“Guys. We’re getting off topic. Manager.”
“What kind of qualifications does a manager even need to have?”
LA! LA! LA! This is the region of Minding Your Own Business.
“And how much do we even pay them?”
You’re holding your breath because you’re totally in your own world and not listening to the goings-on of other people.
“Honestly, it doesn’t even matter. We really just need someone who can be a human front for us to help get hunters off our backs.”
“Ha. And make sure we don’t show our age.”
“...and show other things, but we’ve already messed up once. How are we going to handle working that closely with a human and keeping up appearances?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“So basically, we’ll hire based on… vibes?”
“Please don’t start using modern slang. You’ll actually reveal your age.”
Wowza! This store should really replace the middle left, second down, in the far upper corner, light segment. It’s been flickering ever so slightly as you work on finding your inner zen at this exact moment in time and space.
“Ok, so from the sounds of it… literally any human will do as long as they are willing to hold up some sort of charade?”
“Yeah. That’s about right.”
“Where are we even going to find someone like that? None of us can use this age’s technology easily, and I really don’t think newspaper ads are the way to go.”
“Well, do you have any better suggestions for the job listing? I think it’s better than doing nothing right now. It’s not like you can expect a manager to appear out of thin air or something?”
“Hey guys.”
“AHHH!”
All five jump and flinch in on themselves as you lean your head around the aisle’s end cap display. All sport various, perfectly handsome, guilty looks, like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. Twisting your back with a crack! you round the bend and stand a few meters away.
“I guess, first, for the record, yes. I totally noticed. BUT—!” You stress, holding your hands up as the light around them darkens, and you're treated to 5 pairs of smoldering eyes pinning you in place. “W- W- Whu- Was. Oh my god— AHEM!— Sorry… Was that a job offer that I just overheard?”
5 pairs of glowing eyes look amongst each other in bewilderment before they all nod their heads synchronistically.
“Great!” You say with a near manic smile, a twitching right eye, and a cute clap. “How much are you willing to pay me and when can we start?”
“Uhm.. the sooner the better.” replies the dark haired man awkwardly. Slowly, they all straighten out from their hunched, crooked postures, and resume their model-like posing in the back of the convenience store. “As for pay… uhhh… how does…”
“$14?” offers the blue haired one.
“$14? How does $14 sound?” the leader of the troupe says with much hesitation and a perfectly perfect smile.
“$14.” You glower. “$14-a-what?”
“A day?” suggests the buff guy.
“A DAY?!” You shout a little too loud. A feverish hand clasps over your mouth and suddenly, you’ve swept back into the inner ring of their cluster. You can’t tell if they’re actually hissing at you or shushing aggressively.
“What’s wrong with $14 a day? Isn’t that good with today’s inflation?”
You easily shrug the hand from your face and clasp the muscular shoulder of the gentleman in front of you. The only thing you can hear is your own breathing and the staticky jingle of some ad through the store’s overhead speakers.
“Brother.” You warn with a full toothed smile, sinking your nails into rock hard flesh. “A dozen eggs are like $10. Five pounds of rice is like $12. I want a livable wage, not a barest minimum wage.”
“Damn! That’s so expensive.” You hear softly exclaimed behind you.
“We— We, uh. We honestly don’t have that much money right now.” The black haired man admits, rubbing the back of his neck.
“How about this?” You begin, relaxing and removing your hand only to have it snatched by the stranger with the mop of silver hair. You huff to yourself and reluctantly let them inspect your smart watch, cringing only slightly when they aggressively sniff the wristband. “You help charm folk. I introduce you to the wonders of credit card fraud and spear phishing scams. We find a really swanky place for our base, and you pay me… hm… 14? Yeah. 14 percent of your earnings as you gain popularity and make it big.”
“...and in return, you’ll become our manager and help us become world famous idols?” He asks.
“Yup. Something like that. I guess I can help with your totally normal human stuff and not at all nefarious plans as well… as long as it’s within reasonable working hours, or I’m compensated with a sweet treat. Sound like game plan?” You throw them a double thumbs up for good measure.
“I guess. Uhm, welcome aboard..?” He sticks his hand out and tilts his head in search of your name. You laugh and try to shake hands with the opposite one, having your dominant taken up by Mr. Sniffers over here.
“You know what they say is better than a devil you don’t know?” You grin, offering your full name before giggling. “A devil you do. Nice to meet you, and you are?”
“Jinu.” He says with a pearly white, perfectly blinding smile.
“I’m Abby.” solemnly declares the handsome hunk.
“Romance~” says the pink haired one, stealing your hand from Jinu’s and kissing it lightly like a chivalrous knight. You recoil your arm back into your chest and try to discretely wipe the boiling hot saliva from the back of your hand.
“...Baby.” grumbles the blue haired boy. The chip bag in his hand is nearly empty, and you watch him adorably pout down into the remaining crumbs.
“And that’s Mystery.” announces Abby with a jerk of his thumb and a hot hand on your shoulder.
Before you can put your foot in your mouth some more, you feel a blistering tongue lave up your palm and all the way to the crook of your elbow. You twitch and shudder from the odd feeling, eyes widening at the realization of what he just did.
“Did?! Did you just?! Did you just lick me?!” You squeak out, body curling in on itself as if to protect your soft stomach.
Romance tsks and shakes his head while Jinu tries to stamper out a professional apology. Both go ignored as another realization hits you with a dramatic gag.
“Bleugh! Grosssssss dude!” You whine, slipping from Mystery’s grasp and furiously wiping the hot, menthol-like feeling from your skin. “I took public transport to get here. Who knows where my hands have been or what they’ve touched!”
“That’s the problem here?” One of them whispers to another.
Arm and hands finally free of weirdly warm, totally normal, human saliva, you cross them and think for a moment.
“Ok so you guys want to be idols. Do you have a name in mind?” You question with a tap, tap, tapping of a foot, sandals hitting the humid, waxed tile with a damp plap.
“Yes.” Jinu perks up, relieved to steer back into a conversation he’s mentally prepared for. “The Saja Boys.”
“Saja Boys?” You hum to yourself, twisting open the drink that’s been in your basket and taking a swig. You look between all the colorful hair surrounding you before your exhausted eyes fall back to the group’s leader. “Hey, can I get a cool, fake band name too, or do I have to stay boring like Jinu?”
“Did you have something in mind?” Baby asks over Jinu’s soft, ‘hey!’.
“Yeah. I wanna be known as The Manager.”
“The Manager? Really? That feels too literal.”
“Like your names aren't? Also you have to say it with a capital ‘T’ and ‘M’, like ‘The Manager’.”
“Wh- You can’t capitalize sound when you talk. What’s even the point?”
“Hey man, if ya know ya know.” You grin smugly with a shrug, pivoting on your heel and heading towards the door. “Now, it’s just past midnight. The day can’t get any younger. Let’s go transform you bunch into some spiffing popstars. First thing’s first. We’re going to catch you up on modern pop and idol culture.” You blatantly walk out without having purchased any goods, holding your stolen drink high in the air. The plastic reflects the twinkling lights of the electrified city, and your eyes glimmer with life. “To an internet cafe!”
#am I cross posting this from my ao3? why yes. yes I am#my writing#kpop demon hunters#kpop demon hunters x reader#saja boys#saja boys x reader#x reader#reader insert#kpdh#im tired im not gonna try and hit every character tag#anyway dont forget. to be cringe is to be free
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Oscar x reader who is rly stressed and overworked one day he comes home from a triple header and shes like doing her and hair and sobbing and he just completely comforts her and finishes her hair for her while whispering comforting words to her and being rly physical.
THIS IS LONG IK IM SORRY
cw: use of y/n and pet names (baby), not proof read
Between schooling and work, the stress had been piling on your shoulders day after day. Worst of all, your usual support person had been gone for three whole weeks.
Meant to go out with friends later in the day, you were putting your hair into a braided bun. It wasn’t working, though. Frustration built, and everything you’d been holding in broke free. Hands shaking, tears flowing down your face faster than you could process. Ugly, broken sobs rang out.
You hadn’t heard Oscar come through the door. Hadn’t known that he was home until he was hugging you as hard as he could, tucking your head into his chest and placed a kiss on the top of your head.
Letting your hair fall, you clung onto his arms. Nails dug into his skin as if to make sure he was actually there.
“You’re alright. It’s alright. I’m here.” He whispered into your ear, his hand stroking your back. “I’m here.” He repeated.
You sobbed harder. He held tighter.
More words were whispered into your ear. “What’s wrong, baby? What’s wrong? What happened?” He tried. You only shook your head. “Come on, talk to me.”
Another shake of your head. You hid your face in his arm. “I can’t. I can’t.” Was all you offered him.
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t do it! I can’t do it anymore, Oscar!” Your nails started to draw blood. He didn’t care. “Work and- and school- I-“ hiccup “and my hair. I can’t do it anymore.” Your breath shuttered “I’m so burnt out. My brain can’t function anymore Oscar I-“ a sigh. “I can’t.” A broken whisper, one that sounds like giving up.
He shook his head. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here, that I left you to-“
“No, don’t. Stop. Stop apologizing.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m-“ he cut himself off, the sorry dying in his throat. “What’s wrong with your hair, baby?”
“I can’t get it to look right.” You sputtered between sobs.
He pulled away slightly, but kept his hands on your shoulders. He stood behind you now. “What’s wrong with it? What do you want me to do with it?” His words were so gentle, his soft eyes looking at yours through the mirror.
Your frowned deepened, and you tried to wipe the tears away. They just kept coming anyway. “You don’t have to. I don’t wanna-“
“Y/n.” It was one word, but the way he said it communicated everything. He was there for you. Would do anything if you just asked it of him.
A choked sob as you tried to reign in the tears. “A loose braided bun.”
“Okay.” He chuckled, trying to ease you. “I can do that.” He nodded, his hands in your hair before you could say anything else.
Even though he was so concentrated on making your hair look perfect, he didn’t skip out on the reassurance.
Everything is going to be okay. He whispered and kissed your temple.
It’s just temporary. He squeezed your arm.
Take a day off if you need. Your brain more important. And to make his point, he kissed the top of your head.
See? One thing out of the way. He whispered when he was done, his arms wrapped around you. You’ll get through it. I know you will because you’re too damn stubborn to let this make you quit.
You gave a weak laugh at that, leaning your body into his, letting his body heat bring you comfort. “Thank you.” You said, looking up at him. “For… for everything, really.”
He frowned. “Anything you need. Ever. Just call me. I’ll always answer, even if it’s the dead of night for me.”
A heavy sigh passed your lips, tears pricking your eyes again at feeling so loved. You nodded, a hand threading through his hair to pull him down to meet your lips.
#f1#formula 1#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#f1 blurb#f1 fluff#f1 x you#op81#f1 angst#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri angst#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri one shot#oscar piastri imagine
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Also I really want to add: there is a lot of shows that I hold very dear to my heart and recently I‘d been wondering why those shows are all either at least ten years old or 90% comedy. But reading this made me realise it‘s because of filler episodes.
Like, let‘s take BBC Merlin as an example. I love that show so much but it can be downright heartbreaking at parts. If I‘m having a god awful day and I just need something, anything, that gives me love and comfort to calm me down I can always pop on one of Merlin‘s „filler“ episodes – because they‘ve got all the fun character dynamics I love so much and provide a familiar environment I can lose myself in without worry.
Now let‘s apply that to a more modern show: I loved Arcane a LOT but I would and could never turn it on if I was having a bad day. There‘s ALWAYS something stressful happening to the characters and you‘re always on edge because the plot is moving at light speed and you‘re constantly reminded of your favourite characters eventual fate (if you‘ve already watched it). It wouldn‘t calm me down, it‘d rile me up way more and make me even more upset. That‘s not to say it‘s bad, because I still really like it, it just stayed with me way shorter than shows that do have some breather episodes and casual points in their story, because even though it‘s exciting and fun it doesn‘t provide the same comfort, the same opportunity of escaping to a safe space that AtlA, or tng or Merlin can give you if you just know which episodes to watch.
And I think that‘s a damn shame. There‘s many good and fun shows out there that I liked watching, but ironically the thing keeping them from being great and becoming part of my all-time favourites is the lack of light-heartedness, the lack of seeing the characters relaxed for once, the lack of getting to see the character‘s true personalities, the lack of what back then was used as critique – the lack of fillers.
genuinely one of the worst things that’s happened to television in the last few years (exacerbated by streaming services) is death of Filler. going from 20 episodes to 8 because “we didn’t really need that episode where the main characters went to the beach right? it had no long lasting effect” but we DID!!! we needed to see how they act without the Big Bad Plot and to establish the dynamics between the characters and lay in the sun (do they forget sunscreen? how do they react to a thieving seagull? do they get buried in the sand or do they do the burying?). the plot isn’t everything. the action doesn’t hit as hard without the quiet moments. give us character development and our little scenes back
#Kind or a long rant#but this literally just dawned on me when reading this post#and I only found it cause I just saw the inner light for the first time#that thing wrecked me so good I wanted to see peoples takes on it#very glad to see it‘s widely loved and very highly regarded#because it honest to god is just amazing#Ironically enough though it REALLY doesn‘t fit the type of episodes I‘ve just said I miss lmao#star trek tng#atla#bbc merlin#arcane#actually just all my fandoms lol
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hey!!! Could you please write some jealousy with the jjk men!!! Thanks and have a good day!
I got you 😉 I love little jealousy fics. They be so good sorts hope we can add this to the list of “good”
💢 “You’re Mine.” — JJK Men When They Get Jealous | SFW + NSFW
You catch someone else’s attention—and suddenly the man who claimed you makes it very, very clear you’re not up for grabs.
⸻
💙 Gojo Satoru
He was already smiling when he walked in. That cocky, lazy smirk that made people either swoon or shrink. But the moment he sees you laughing—too comfortably—with someone else across the room?
That smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.
“Oh?” he hums, strolling over like he’s got all the time in the world. He throws his arm around your shoulders, tugging you against him so hard your balance stutters. “Making new friends, pretty girl?”
His hand slides casually down your waist—possessive, playful. He kisses your temple, eyes never leaving the person you were just talking to.
Later, his tone is velvet against your throat as he pushes you up against the door of your bedroom. “Bet they didn’t touch you like this. Bet they didn’t know how loud you get.” His hips press in. “I do.”
That’s how Gojo gets jealous. Laughing. Grinning. Teasing.
But underneath it? He’s deadly serious.
⸻
💼 Nanami Kento
He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t interrupt. But when he sees your coworker standing just a little too close—smiling too hard, fingers brushing your arm in conversation—he quietly sets down his coffee.
He waits. Watches. And when your eyes flick to him from across the room?
You see the fire behind the calm. The slow, precise tension in his jaw. The twitch in his brow.
When he finally approaches, it’s quiet. Firm. “We’re leaving,” he says simply, fingers brushing your lower back.
At home, his hands are slow. Heavy. “You’re mine,” he whispers against your shoulder as his lips drag lower. “I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”
Later, when your voice breaks under his touch, he doesn’t stop until you forget the name of whoever made him jealous in the first place.
⸻
🔪 Toji Fushiguro
Toji doesn’t say a damn word when he sees you being flirted with.
He just watches.
You feel it—burning into your spine, that predator’s stare from across the room. Cold. Calculating. Daring you to keep entertaining it.
The second you’re alone, he’s on you. One hand pinning your wrist, the other sliding under your shirt like he owns the fabric. “You wanted attention, huh? That why you were laughing like that?”
He doesn’t kiss you. He bites. Sucks. Leaves marks so deep your skin will sing for days.
“Next time you want someone to touch you,” he growls against your thigh, “you ask me.”
You’ll never need to be reminded again.
⸻
🖤 Fushiguro Megumi
He doesn’t make a scene.
But god, you feel the chill in the air when he’s pissed.
He stands behind you, silent, arms crossed. His eyes—normally calm and soft when they look at you—are narrowed into something that would make a curse flinch.
Later, in private, he speaks low. Carefully.
“Was I… not giving you enough attention?” His voice falters, just slightly. “Because if that’s it, I’ll fix it.”
You realize then—it’s not anger. It’s fear. Fear of losing you. Of not being enough.
So you kiss his frown away. And that night, he holds you closer than he ever has, fingers tangled in yours like he’s never letting go.
⸻
🍓 Yuji Itadori
Yuji doesn’t even notice at first.
Until someone else puts a hand on your shoulder. Until you start laughing at a joke that he didn’t tell.
Then he’s at your side in an instant. Grinning, but nervous. “Hey, babe—miss me?”
He slings an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek a little too loud. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
That night, he wraps his arms around you like a human furnace, head tucked against your shoulder.
“…You wouldn’t leave me, right?” he says suddenly, voice soft. “I know I’m not the smoothest guy, but I—I really like being yours.”
And just like that, you realize: he wasn’t jealous.
He was scared to lose you.
⸻
👑 Sukuna
He watches it happen. Doesn’t interfere.
But the second you’re alone?
You’re slammed into the nearest surface, his tongue dragging possessively across your throat. “You think it’s cute,” he growls, “letting worthless insects breathe your air?”
His claws are cold against your ribs. His grin is cruel.
“You’re lucky I don’t carve my name into your skin for them to see.”
He takes you apart—lips, teeth, rough thrusts.
You don’t even remember who made him jealous by the time he’s done.
You only remember this:
His voice in your ear, dark and feral—
“Mine. Mine. Mine.”
⸻
🩸 Choso Kamo
He stands awkwardly nearby when someone flirts with you—shoulders tense, eyes wide, expression blank.
You think maybe he doesn’t care… until you catch him later in the kitchen, staring into his drink like it just insulted him.
“Do you… like them more than me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Your heart shatters.
You pull him close. Tell him he’s your only one. Over and over until his body relaxes, arms locking tightly around you like he’s scared you’ll vanish.
He doesn’t speak again for a while. Just buries his face in your neck and holds you through the silence.
You fall asleep that way—wrapped in warmth, soft breath against your skin, and a whisper:
“Please don’t leave me.”
⸻
☁️ Suguru Geto
“Mm… bold of them,” he murmurs, watching the conversation unfold across the courtyard. You’re laughing. Someone’s leaning in. Too close.
He walks over slowly, confidence in every step.
Wraps an arm around your waist.
“Darling,” he says silkily, “Who’s your new admirer?”
You can hear the danger behind his voice—but his smile never fades.
Later, he guides you to bed, kissing you slowly, worshipfully. “Let me remind you,” he whispers, brushing your thighs open with a practiced hand. “No one adores you like I do.”
His jealousy isn’t fire.
It’s silk and smoke and poison—and it burns just the same.
#smut#mature themes#anime smut#read#yurmomsawh0r#yumomsawh0r#jjk#anime#jjk smut#nanami x reader#jjk suguru#jjk toji#jjk sukuna#jjk choso#jjk x y/n#jjk angst#jjk nanami#jjk x reader#jjk gojo#jjk x you#jjk fluff#jjk geto#jjk fanfic#jjk yuji#yuji itadori#sukuna smut#jjk megumi#megumi fushiguro#toji fushigro x reader
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When you made him cry.
Angst
Includes: rin itoshi, sae itoshi, isagi yoichi
Rin itoshi:
It was dumb argument.
Atleast it started out that way.
Something about how you spent too long talking to another guy who was obviously flirting with you but suddenly, it didn't seem like that anymore. It went from topic to topic and the argument wasn't coming to an end,
"You don't really give a flying fuck do you?" Rin said bitterly, his shoulders clenching by his side and his jaw flexing. His hair covered most of his eyes for now, and he wasn't in any mood to put them away, just angry.
You twitched, your hands clenching by your sides, "what the hell are you talking about?? If I really didn't give a fuck I'd never even go out with you!" You thought that was the best argument you couldve made that could've gotten him to shut down.
"Just like that, huh?"
Rin murmured immidiently, his fists are now unbleached, "just like that you'll just throw our relationship around during arguments?" Rin asked, but it wasn't really a question it was more of trying to wake you up.
His voice wasn't loud anymore, it didn't go deeper, it went.. and you feared,
Shakier.
You furrowed your brows, breathing in slowly, "you know that's not what i-" "but it's always like this." Rin interrupted you, his own brows knitted together as he suppressed his feelings.
"You're always..-" he gulped, and you looked him straight In the eye suddenly where you got the realization.
His eyes full of tears, none of them daring to pour out, he coughed, turning away.
Your heart dropped.
"Rin.." "you always do this!" He yelled but his words were mostly shaken, "you-you just throw it all around and you can toss words so easily that you don't even realize hurt people!" You flinched at his sudden high tone. "Just leave me alone, okay?" And he steps back.
Your mouth opens, you want to tell him sorry, you want to tell him to stay and you want to stop but the words die in your throat when he steps out the door and it shuts behind him.
Sae itoshi:
"I was going through the worst time of my life." Sae continued, his voice lacking in emotion or anger just.. pure sadness. Like he wanted to say he was sad.
"And I needed you." His voice shook, and he breathed in, rubbing his jaw in frusturation at himself more than anyone else.
"you didn't say anything! You didn't tell me, how was I supposed to know that you-" "that what? That I was on the verge of death? It was so clear. All the signs were there. And you? You weren't." He breathed out.
"And- and, and everytime. Everytime I'd talk to you, try to talk to you, you'd brush it off and be all its gonna pass don't worry." He stammered infront of you for probably the first time in his life.
"Because it was! And it did, didn't it??" You argued, slamming your hands over the table. "So just get this God damned conversa..." your words trailed off,
His eyes heavy with emotion, eyelashes heavy with wet tears.
"I loved you." His voice shook.
"And I still do. But you can't put in any effort for me. Its always sae you don't do this, you do that but this time, I'm the one complaining." He breathed out.
"You're always... just talking about yourself and its always 'sae take care of me' but what about me? You won't come to me when I'm at my lowest?"
He stood up from the chair.
"I'm sorry but no, I can't do this."
"Sae, sae! Wait!" You grab his sleeve but he shoves you off.
"I'm breaking up with you."
Isagi yoichi:
"How could you do that to me?"
Isagi asked, shoving his bag onto the table of his apartment. You scoffed lazily, glancing at the mirror infront of you, "dont be so sensitive yo-chan, it wasn't.. it wasn't even bullying. You were just sitting there you didn't even tell us to stop."
Isagi scowled, glancing at the mess of his hair in the reflection, you and your little group of friends had suprised you for your birthday but cracking an egg and putting flour, salt, sugar, chocolate, blah blah all the cake stuff on isagi and presenting him to you like some trophy. In the middle of the hallway, by the way.
You just stood there and laughed along side them.
"You do know that I'm not responsible for that right? They did it not me-"
"You knew how I felt about unnecessary attention and that's what you do?? Are you fucking with me?!" He yells, and you groan "isagi! It's just som ingredients over your- pfft.. hair. So just stop it, just take a shower or something."
Isagis eyes watered, the water dropping down to his cheek, "why are you so mean to me?! You're always so mad at me and everytime I talk to you you make me get out the room, you let your friends group up and make fun of me, what is wrong with you?!"
"What's wrong with you?" You rolled your wyes and faced him
"It's not that deep. Stop being so sens-"
His eyes twinkled with water and you blinked and stopped ro a moment. "Isagi.. you know, I-"
"I'm breaking up with you."
You freeze.
"What?..."
"Don't ever come in here ever again." He walks past by you
UMMM I was thinking of a like a uhhh i forgot what I was gonna say oh YEAH it was like reader's gonna be the one crying gbut then I was like nahh men look so hot when they cry so yes slay maleboss
Anyway ts was so amazing 😁😁😁 leave a commentoooo plPLEAPSLPLEPLEPLSPSLPLSPSL
#fyp#blue lock#blue lock x reader#fanfiction#rin itoshi#itoshi rin#rin itoshi x reader#itoshi rin x reader#sae itoshi x reader#itoshi sae x reader#isagi yoichi x reader#yoichi isagi x reader#rin x reader#sae x reader#isagi x reader#angst#bllk angst#bllk rin#bllk sae#bllk isagi
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One other really WILD take I've been seeing here lately is an idea that Mensah is going to go off on Gurathin or has 'finally had it' with what he's doing. I don't want to blame it on Mensah being a female character and therefore obligated to babysit everyone, but I think that might play a part. Either way, I don't think so, fam.
For one thing, Ayda Mensah has WAY too much common sense to get in the middle of whatever the fuck is happening with those two. If she goes off, it'll be at both of them, because they're both being shitheads. But I think it's way more likely that she'll stay out of it. They don't need lectures on morality. She's not their mother. They need to figure their own shit out.
(Also, Gurathin has rejection-sensitive dysphoria and is halfway to feeling replaced already. The last thing you want to do to someone in that situation and that state of mind is yell at them.)
But the biggest point, and one I think we need to face here, is that Gurathin is doing exactly what Mensah wants him to do.
Look at them. They've been friends for six years. Mensah agreed to him coming on the mission, and says she's glad he's here, and you know what, I believe her. David has described their relationship as codependent in interviews. Codependence means you're both using each other for something, even if it's not malicious, right? Gurathin uses Mensah for comfort, and as a moral compass. We already know this. What does Mensah use Gurathin for?
Well, what's the one thing Mensah isn't great at doing? Being an asshole. Being harsh and uncompromising. Being suspicious of other people's goodwill.
Gurathin, in all his paranoia and belligerence, is doing his job. Going too far in some cases, and she almost certainly wishes he'd chill out a bit, for his own sake as well as Murderbot's. But there is a reason she listens to him, and it's not because she feels sorry for him or has no backbone (she's told people off when she needed to, a few times now) or he's some kind of Wormtongue influencing her thoughts. Honey, no. She listens to him because he might be right and because she knows her own weaknesses. She's too trusting, sometimes straying into naive. And he is there to balance that out. There's the bunch of hippies, and Gurathin. The designated bastard. The ruthless sonofabitch who will make damn sure they don't get killed by their own kindness.
And despite stress and jealousy and spite sometimes compromising his judgment, he's still right more often than he's wrong, and some of the things he's wrong about haven't been proven yet. So his usefulness continues. Of course it does. He's from the Company, usefulness is all he thinks he has to offer. She knows he'll continue to be useful until his last breath if needed. She can count on that, in a way that she can't count on Murderbot (yet).
Mensah, god help her, wants Gurathin exactly the way he is. Otherwise she'd have done something about it by now. It'd be easy to write him off as a blind spot in her judgment, but no. She knows he's Like That, and that's the whole point.
#murderbot tv#ayda mensah#gurathin#when gurathin interrogates it in the newest clip and catches its bullshit#mensah just looks at it expectantly. like 'well? answer the damn question'#they are a team. I can't stress this enough#he's like a smoke detector. he occasionally gives false alarms but it's still better to have him around bc eventually he'll save your life
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I have had an unfortunately large volume of arguments with people who have tried to present to me the idea that trans is a very complicated topic and there are like a hundred things that technically fall under it.
And one of the things that they told me is that you can be half trans or a third trans or two-thirds trans and that's what it means to be non-binary......... I'm to the point where I'm fed up with this entire movement. The same way I'm sick and tired of communists lying about what words like Nazi and fascism means. Is the same amount that I am sick and tired of gender activists trying to say that words in the language of gender and sex have no meaning.
Asexual, means that you have zero sexual attraction to other people. This doesn't mean that you can't find pleasure in things. It just means you don't have sexual attraction. I forget the word off the top of my head but there is a sexual attraction to a romantic partner. And then there's sexual attraction to intelligence. And frankly speaking, I absolutely loathe the fact that we are so far along with this entire ideology, that we are destroying the lives of young people. Young here, is also to include young adults.
But what's even more frustrating is the fact that people want to get half transitions, or 1/3 transitions, and they want to do it without any amount of therapy. I talked to a person who said that they were 4'10 with DDD's and they wanted to get bottom surgery in order to have a penis. And that the only reason they have not done it is because they would have to change their entire wardrobe. But otherwise they identify as male. But it sounds like they would only be adding a penis. And to my understanding not removing their breasts.
And at this point I'm just sick of all of this. I'm sick of this twisted ideology that tells people that they can expand the definition of words to a degree that they mean absolutely nothing. Which fun fact about that, gets to the point where it eventually invalidates consent. And, it's significantly more dangerous than even that. Because it puts people into tiny little boxes where they're consistently creating new and smaller boxes. And then they're trying to make everyone outside of those boxes seem bigoted and that they are morally good for being that thing.
In other words they're pulling a pansexual. Which is to say a bunch of lunatics and morons who wanted to feel special who had same-sex and opposite sex attraction, but wanted to feel a bit more morally superior to everyone else around them. And so rather than call themselves bisexual they called themselves pansexual. As if no bisexual people would ever be willing to date a trans person. Which is just fundamentally not true.
And then they tried to call bisexuals bigots because they only date one or the other and not people who identify as both? And that's my entire issue with the majority of the movement. It doesn't stop. Pansexual literally was created so that they can treat a different part of the LGBT community, who already has dealt with vast quantities of bigotry, like they were awful people. Because The number of gay men and lesbian women who generally don't like bisexuals is too damn high. I really just can't with all of this. And it's not because I'm a bigot. It's not because I'm afraid. It's not because I'm a phobic of some kind. It's because words should have meanings. If non-binary means you exist outside of the male female binary that does not mean you land somewhere on the spectrum of that binary and therefore are one third trans. If you want to be an IRL futanari be an IRL futanari and call yourself one I don't care. But my all-time favorite dynamic of all time is a supposed non-binary female and a male to female trans-woman that never gets surgery. Who date one another and are in a heterosexual relationship where hormones and surgeries never enter into the mix.
And even more hilarious than that is they act stereotypical to their sex. I know people are going to be angry at me for saying this, and I honestly don't give a shit....... But people are literally just doing this to feel special. Not all. But unfortunately a lot of people are doing this as a fad. Or they are doing this because of trauma that they've never sought out help for. Or they just want to feel special and are taking the new trends of social changes and adopting them for literally no good reason.
And it gets further than that too, because it invalidates men and women generally speaking. And I'm using men and women here and their traditional definitions of adult human male and adult human female. If you want to fall outside of the gendered social norms, be gender non-conforming and just be done with it. But what makes me lose my shit over all of this, is the fact that the gender ideology community are the ones who have the strictest standards for what is supposedly male and what is supposedly female. And hyperstylize those ideals. Do you think all women feel feminine and pretty and soft all the time? No they probably don't. Does that invalidate them as women? No. Do you think all men feel hard and brooding and masculine all the time? Absolutely not. They're not robots. Does that make them less of men? No it doesn't.
Let me make one thing abundantly clear with this post. This is not pointing any hate towards male to female trans people or female to male trans people. If you want to identify as non-binary I personally don't care. Do I think that non-binary is literally just gender non-conforming with more steps? Yes. So this has nothing to do with most of all of you.
My ire is pointed directly at the activist types who have sought to desecrate and destroy language. The people who have sought to put everyone inside of a hyperstylized, special box. Boxes that get increasingly smaller every passing day with more supposed strict standards, and a finger pointed outward in every direction at how everyone else is significantly less good. And that you're less bigoted for being X y and z new thing.
Because as I alluded to above, when you invalidate language you invalidate consent. And while I am very aware that the entire movement aren't a bunch of self-aggrandizing groomers, there are too many who are. And they are unfortunately being allowed to shift the entirety of the conversation. I feel like the term, "less is more", is something we need to get back. If you want to be a female in a relationship with a male and neither of you want to technically fall under gender norms be non-conforming together. But when I see a hardcore fangirl that likes yaoi, who's horny for men all the time, and has very common kinks to the majority of those types of women, but you prefer to call yourself a Man for whatever reason.......... You're allowed to do whatever. But that doesn't mean the entire world has to adopt your ideals (It's also because who cares what people call you. Be you.) . Because all you're trying to do is make language mean nothing. You might not think that's what you're trying to do, but you are.

Imma just leave this here.
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Chrysos Heirs as Romance Tropes !
Content: GN!Reader, (mostly) fluff
🌹 Note: I am not well versed in romance as a genre, so forgive me if some sections are a bit wonky! I ended up watching several romcoms for inspiration, lol
Aglaea
Meet-Cute & Strangers to Lovers
I think that Aglaea is someone who struggles to get closer to others because of her reputation. The other Chrysos Heirs know that she's a loving person, often to the point of being meddlesome, but to those who do not walk the path of fated sacrifice? To them, Aglaea is both as beautiful as she is inhuman.
Because of this, I believe that the most fitting romance trope for her would be the kind of trope in which the other person 1.) realizes that Lady Goldweaver is in fact not as scary as rumors make her out to be, and 2.) decides that they want to spend as much time as they can learning more about her.
A meet cute at the marmoreal market is the perfect place for Aglaea to stumble into her future spouse by complete accident. Perhaps they're short on cash for a gift they want to buy for a loved one, so she decides to buy it for them; maybe they fumble a sentence and trip over their words in front of her, and Aglaea finds herself endeared enough to tease them a little more.
Whatever the case, they catch her eye (or she catches theirs!), and she decides to get to know them better after that. :3
Phainon
Friends to Lovers & Mutual pining
Phainon isn't stupid, but he also isn't very bright when it comes to others feelings– Or maybe it's more accurate to say that he chooses not to read too much into what others do or say, because he doesn't want to psychoanalyze them or misinterpret their intentions.
The kind of love that can potentially blossom between dear friends is the perfect romance for Phai, because he's someone who takes quite a bit to put 100% of his trust into someone, and because he feels more confident in being able to accurately guess what his friends are thinking.
It doesn't matter one way or the other if Phainon's potential love interest is more soft spoken or outgoing, or if they show their love via kindness or competition; once Phainon's decided to trust them implicitly, it's as if he can read their very thoughts through their eyes alone.
After that happens, it's only a matter of time before Phainon prepares to confess either through a sparring competition or through a stupidly over-the-top romantic picnic on one of the many rooftops in Okhema.
Castorice
First Love & Opposites Attract
Cas has spent most of her life in shadows; not out of fear of the light, but out of fear that she'd somehow manage to extinguish it just by existing. Because of this, she's never really entertained the idea of romance to begin with; Cas could barely allow herself to daydream about friendship as a young girl, she couldn't bear to taint romantic love with her fantasies as well.
For this reason, I believe that first love + opposites attract are definitely the tropes for her. Meeting someone more boisterous and passionate than her would give Cas the courage she needs to actively seek joy in others and in herself (something that she never thought she could do to begin with).
If her love interest could manage to break down the walls that Cas has built over the course of a thousand years, then she will absolutely take her chance and confess to them (looming prophecy and eternal loneliness be damned).
Falling in love is almost always terrifying (doubly so for Castorice), but realizing that someone in the world actually feels that way about her would do wonders for her self-esteem and confidence.
Mydeimos
Power Couple & Star-Crossed Lovers
Mydei is someone who gives as much of himself as possible for others safety, so I believe he'd benefit from a relationship in which his partner were his equal on that front; someone who, like him, is willing to (and has proven to) risk their life for the things they want to protect; someone who sticks to their ideals and doesn't back down (especially when those ideals are challenged), is the kind of person that Mydei would end up being drawn to the most.
Despite fate dictating that Mydei and his love interest won't be together for much longer, he deigns to be selfish just this once, if only to find a moment of security and companionship in someone that truly loves him.
In the end, even if it's only a temporary safe haven, it's one that I think Mydei would manage to bask in nonetheless. Is it cruel on his part to indulge in romance after fate has penned such a tragic finale for him? Maybe, but it's not like his love interest is ignorant to the risk either. Whatever happens, the two of them have already made peace with the fact that they'll both burn for their choices.
Anaxagoras
Miscommunication & One-Sided Pining
OKAY!! Hear me out, I just think this one would be really funny. Imagine for a moment a scholar who decided to sit in on one of Anaxa's lectures out of sheer curiosity. His prosing speeches are almost indecipherable to them, so whenever he addresses these rambles directly to them, they simply stay silent and listen to him speak (just like me fr).
Anaxa, ever the egoist, initially takes this silence as a lack of interest, and point blank tells this scholar to stop coming to his lectures. It isn't until after Anaxa saves them during the attack on the Grove that the scholar finally confesses: they do care about Anaxa's research (because they care about HIM), they're just fucking stupid!!! And they need him to dumb down what he's talking about!
I believe that since Anaxa is such a benevolent and patient teacher, he would end up giving the scholar a second chance at proving themself to him. If anyone were to ask why he did that, Anaxa would be silent for several moments whilst coming up with some kind of excuse because he doesn't actually have an answer.
(It's the way their eyes light up when he finally gets through to them and the way they look at him when they think he doesn't notice. How interesting it is to see them smile like that.)
Cipher
Rivals to Lovers & Forced Proximity
Thievery comes easy to the Chrysos Heir whom has the blessing of Zagreus, and in all her years (of which there are many), she has never had competition in being the absolute best at deceiving others. Until one day, word reaches Okhema of a mortal who has managed to swindle almost every noble family still standing out of over half their coin!
In any other context, Cipher would've looked the other way and shrugged off such a blatant challenge for her crown (and she really did try to at first). Until one day, a certain gift that sweet Castorice was making gets swiped, and it isn't Cipher's doing this time!
The little game of cat and mouse (hah) that ensues after comes to a head when Cipher and her love interest RIVAL end up trapped in a half collapsed ruin near the outskirts of Castrum Kremnos, where, rather than fighting (or perhaps in the midst of it), the two end up getting to know more about each other whilst awaiting rescue.
Cipher ends up realizing that her love interest is way too fun to kill or best, and since she so loves to play games, she deigns to allow them to keep thieving alongside her.
#hsr x y/n#hsr x gender neutral reader#hsr x you#honkai star rail x you#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr cipher x reader#cipher x reader#aglaea x reader#anaxa x reader#castorice x reader#mydei x reader#phainon x reader#chrysos heirs x reader
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₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ rockstar!eddie munson x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
eddie reassures you that you’re the only one for him
1.5k words - cw: mention of groupies and cheating (neither in detail)
You don’t usually travel with them.
It’s not like you don’t want to, but being an adult is hard. You have bills to pay and a job to go to; you don’t have the time or funds to travel coast to coast with Eddie and the boys. Tonight is different. The tour has brought Corroded Coffin close to home, and Eddie had asked you to come with a wide smile and a kiss. It would’ve been hard to say no even if you wanted to.
So here you are, tucked backstage while the boys finish their set, adrenaline pumping through the venue. You can hear the last song wrapping up Eddie’s guitar loud over the crowd. You’re wondering whether that's because he is loud or if your ears are just attuned to him when a girl comes up to your side.
She’s already looking at you when you turn. She's pretty. Tall and blonde. Looks like she could be a model if she wanted to, but she’s more likely one of the college students that stick with the band, hoping for one of the boys to notice her.
“You with the band?” Her voice competes with the loud music as she perches on the arm of the chair beside yours.
You nod and smile politely. “Yeah. I’m Eddie’s girlfriend.”
She looks you up and down, eyes lingering on your clothes. Shifting uncomfortably, you watch the door, waiting for Eddie’s entrance to come and save you.
“You go on tour with them?”
Your eyes are still on the door as you listen to the outro to their last song. Tonight’s crowd is loud and rowdy; you had seen as much when you peeked out to look. Shaking your head, you say, “No, I have a job.”
The girl lets out a low whistle, raising her brows in surprise. “That’s brave.”
Your own brows go up in confusion, turning your head to look back at her. “What do you mean?”
She sips a beer that she must’ve grabbed from the cases stacked behind her. “It’s no offense, I just don’t see that many girlfriends letting their men go off on tour without them,” she says, twirling a long piece of her light hair. Her eyes roam around casually, as if what she’s saying isn’t causing beads of sweat to form on the back of your neck. “Y’know, the whole rockstars and groupies stuff. Can’t have one without the other.”
You’re saved from responding when cheers leak through the now open door, the band members coming in one by one. They all buzz with that post-performance energy, bounding across the room. Eddie is full of the same, eyes searching for something. You, if you had to guess.
When his eyes do find you, he lights up like a damn match. You’re already standing when he makes his way over to you, wrapping his sweaty arms around you, pulling you against his lean body.
“Did you hear the crowd?” He asks, astonished, against the warm skin of your neck. You feel and hear his smile rather than see it. His hands squeeze your hips, palms warm enough to seep through your shirt.
His excitement is enough to rid your mind of the girl from before temporarily. Your fingers curl into the damp fabric of his shirt.
“You were amazing,” you say, and you mean it. The crowd must agree with you, their energy still ringing through the walls and along your bones.
Eddie comes out of your neck to look at you, eyes sparking with adrenaline and affection blended together. “I had to play my best, my girl is here.” He pushes your hair back as he says this, following it with a quick kiss to your lips. You hum, but the feeling starts to fade, the love swelling in your chest turning into dread when you think of her words.
Rockstars and groupies. Can’t have one without the other.
You trust Eddie, you really do, but now the thought is there, lingering like the smoke from a blown-out candle.
He hasn’t seemed to notice, though, too busy with saying goodnight to the boys. They peel off in different directions, some for a drink and others for their dressing rooms. Eddie comes back to your side, fingers loosely holding onto the back loop of your jean shorts.
He kisses the side of your head. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”
You allow him to guide you to his dressing room. As you walk, he talks animatedly, most likely retelling something that happened on stage. You struggle to pay attention though, replaying every phone call and visit between you and Eddie the last few months. No way, you tell yourself. This is Eddie.
He tells you everything. He calls you every night. He sends you postcards from truck stops and brings you little trinkets from cities you’ve never even heard of. He writes songs about you. He cries over you. He carries a photo of you in his wallet like you’re some kind of lucky charm.
Inside his dressing room is quieter. Dim lighting hums overhead, casting a soft glow over the limited furniture and clothes spread sporadically throughout. You sink into the couch, ignoring the spring you feel beneath your thigh.
“You okay?” He asks, grabbing a towel from its hanger to pat himself dry of sweat.
You force a small smile. “Yeah. Just a long day.”
Forgetting about the towel, he comes over to kneel in front of you, loose strands of his hair tickling your bare thighs. Reluctantly meeting his eyes, you read his face immediately. The look of concern mixed with I can read right through your lies, sweetheart.
His hand finds your knee, giving it a squeeze. “You sure? You’re quiet.”
You hesitate, opening and then closing your mouth. You could tell him. Let it out, let it ruin nothing or everything. Would it be better to know, to rip the band-aid off and get it over with?
“There was this girl…” you start slowly, watching as worried creases start to appear on his face: between his brows, at the corners of his lips as they tug downwards into a frown. “She just started talking to me about how rockstars and girlfriends don’t really mix well. Because of… well, groupies.”
Eddie’s expression turns cold and hard. “Who?” He asks, his voice low. “What girl?”
You shake your head quickly, letting out a small sigh as you cover his hand with yours. “It doesn’t matter. Really. It just stuck in my head.”
He doesn’t look mollified. He’s still staring at you, brows drawn, like he’s trying to read between every word you’re saying. Eventually, he exhales, shoulders relaxing.
“Baby,” he murmurs, both hands now sliding up your thighs. “You know I’m yours, right?”
You don’t say anything yet, assuming that he isn’t done. You’re right.
He rises from the floor to sit beside you on the couch, facing you completely. “I know that I’ve been on tour for a couple months, and being away from you sucks ass, but it has always been just you.” He huffs out a breath, searching for the words. “And I’m not stupid. I know where I belong.”
You look down, eyes burning as you blink quickly. He leans over to kiss your brow softly.
“I don’t care if hundreds of girls throw themselves at me after every show,” he continues. “Because none of them know me like you do. They don’t know how I like my coffee, or that I cry during that one Pink Floyd song you love. But you do, sweetheart. It’s only you.”
You inhale a shaky breath, raising your head to look at him. Reaching out to stroke his cheek, you say, “I know. I trust you Eddie. I really do. She just… got in my head.”
He holds onto your wrist so he can kiss the center of your palm. “I get it, baby,” he says softly. And it hits you now, how you get a version of Eddie that the rest of the world doesn’t. They get the loud guitarist, while you get the boy who paints your nails and kisses your tears away.
You don’t say anything for a second. Just let your hands rest on his cheek as he kisses it again.
“I missed you,” You whisper.
He exhales like he’s been meaning to say the same thing. “Missed you so much that I was going crazy. Told Gareth I was gonna tattoo your name on my ass if I didn’t see you soon.”
A laugh sneaks out of your throat, watery but real. “Please don’t.”
His grin is boyish, all dimples and relief, nose brushing against yours. “Fine. I’ll just write more songs about you, then.”
You shake your head, smile pulling wider as you ask, “Don’t you have enough?”
His face looks like you’ve hit him and then said some outlandish statement. Before he can go on a rant about how you are forever his muse and that you inspire him everyday, you kiss him. To shut him up, yes, but also because he is yours.
criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙
i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙
#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fic#eddie x reader#stranger things fic#stranger things fluff#eddie munson x you#eddie x you#munson x you#self insert#fluff
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I'd gone into foster care and for the most part had no contact with my dad but every now and then id reach out to him of Facebook just to ruin his day. I was a bitter young adult, okay? Didn't want him to forget he didn't deserve to be happy.
And the very last of those times was back in 2018. I was grown, had a job, a kid, wasn't in foster care, etc. I was doing pretty alright.
Anyway, my mom had told me that my dad just started a case for child support because he had my brother but she knew damn well he had a trucking job that paid really well and so she was sure he was just trying to fuck her over. She said he even lied saying he was unemployed on the papers.
She didn't have to ask me to take care of it.
As it happens my dad left some comment on my sisters Facebook about how he was such a good dad so I decided to do what I do, maybe even hit 2 birds with 1 stone. Help my mom and fuck up his day.
I messaged him about how awful he was and how he isn't the person who gets to say if he was good or not, his kids do and we all fucking hate him. I had examples, receipts, attacks on his ego, his fragile masculinity. I went in, you know?
Well my dad is a giant baby and this all is a massive hit to his ego so he starts talking about how shitty I am and how much better he is than me because comparing himself to someone 20 years his junior to make himself feel big was just the kind of man he was. So that's where I use the info I was given by my mom "yeah, yeah, you're hot shit but you're on welfare and getting mom for child support cuz you can't afford that new car."
This fucking idiot proceeds to send me not 1, not 2, but 3 recent paystubs to show me how good he has it. "Look at the fucking dates" he says. "You'll never see this money. I don't need your mom's fucking money."
I said "are you entirely sure it was the best idea to send ME proof that you lied on the child support papers?" He didn't even blur out any information. Had his whole paystub. Bank account for the direct deposit and everything on there.
The fact I'd sell this man for used cigarettes was no secret to him and he just... Sent that? To me?
So I sent my mom screenshots and as you can imagine she did not end up paying child support to a guy that could easily afford a house in California and said himself that he didn't need her money.
And yeah that was also the last interaction I had with him.
We as a collective need to brag about how we fucking owned our abusive parents as kids. Mostly because I specifically was very funny and it’s a shame there were no witnesses to appreciate it
#sometimes i think about this and i still just think “fucking idiot” to myself about him#like im not even full of rage at him anymore cuz its hard to be when that interaction just cemented him as Pathetic Moron in my mind
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