#it was unsettling when there was practically nothing

[dirtyl0ver]

I know you were asked about him before but how about some eyeless Jack hc’s? I’m suuuper interested in how you would characterize him 💗

Absolutely! This took a while but here we are 🤭💙

Eyeless Jack Headcanons

Appearance

Stands right around 6′1, strong yet lean frame, like an endurance runner who is also able to carry bodies through the woods

Skin has a cold, ash-gray tone, like something drained of color over time, but not lifeless. You can see the faintest flush of warmth in his throat when he’s angry or flustered, which he dislikes

Eyes are pure black. No iris, no whites. But he’s not blind, far from it. He sees shape, motion, depth, temperature shifts, pressure points under skin. The kind of vision that makes you feel like you're being studied, not just seen

His eyes don’t reflect light like human ones, they absorb it. In photos or dark rooms, they appear as perfect voids, like someone carved out pieces of the night and placed them in his skull

His teeth appear almost human at first glance, until you look closely. Jagged, slightly serrated, with subtle fangs that curve just enough to be unnatural. Not exactly razor-sharp, but clearly made to tear more than chew. He files them and is surprisingly big on oral hygiene, dislikes having meat stuck between teeth

Big, broad and cold hands. The kind of hands that know exactly how much pressure it takes to break a rib and exactly how much pressure it takes to make someone shiver. Nails are kept short to keep latex gloves from tearing

His tongue is slightly longer than average. Not cartoonishly so, but just enough that when he licks at blood or your skin, you feel it in a way that’s… off. It's warm, smooth, but precise, kind of like a surgeon’s scalpel dipped in heat

Tends to wear layered black - fitted long-sleeve thermal, lightweight tactical jacket, track pants. Prefers practical, quiet fabrics that don’t rustle when he stalks a hallway at 3AM

Despite his whole look, he’s surprisingly clean, probably the cleanest out of all the creeps - hair is kept neatly trimmed, no stubble, clothes always spotless

General Behavior

Silent type. But his quiet has weight, he speaks only when it’s worth it. And when he does speak, his voice is low, smooth, and startlingly articulate

Tilts his head fractionally when curious, wider when unsettled - the sharper the angle, the stronger the emotion he refuses to voice

Has an animal stillness to him. His body language mirrors that of a predator. He moves smoothly, precisely, with deliberate motion. Nothing is done accidentally. When he’s still, it’s uncanny, he doesn’t fidget or shift his weight like a normal person would

He can eat animal meat, and will, if he needs to. But human meat is his true sustenance. It tastes richer and more complex, more alive. It hits something in his brain like a drug: savory, thick, full of memory and meaning. It keeps him satisfied for longer, both physically and mentally. He believes human meat is more nutritious to him

Reads medical journals for leisure, annotating in tiny script, has whole margins filled with comparative notes on human versus animal organ density

When satisfied, he growls low in his throat. It’s almost like a purr, but rougher, a rumble that vibrates through his chest. You might not hear it at first, just feel it if you’re resting against him. Like a deep, satisfied hum

Huffs quietly when annoyed, like a wolf. A sharp breath through his nose. Meant to signal displeasure without words. If you hear it, back off, it’s the polite version of a snarl

Also has a true purr, but it's rare. It only comes out in the rarest moments, like when he’s completely safe, completely sated, usually post-feeding or post-sex

Doesn’t react to teasing the way others do. You might make a joke or flirt and get zero response. But three hours later, he’ll mention it in perfect detail and ask a question about your phrasing, like it’s been echoing in his head. He absorbs everything. Reacts slow but accurately

Will not lie to you. He may avoid the truth or refuse to answer, but he will not lie. Jack sees lying as weakness. If he respects you, he’ll give you silence over false comfort. His honesty can be brutal but it’s always real

Cleans his tools with obsessive care before locking them in a steel case that smells faintly of antiseptic and iron

Mostly keeps to himself and tries to avoid the other creeps whenever possible. Out of the bunch, he trusts Brian most because Brian speaks through action, not conversation, so it's basically two introverts orbiting each other in comfortable hush

Actively avoids Jeff and Tim, the former too volatile, the latter too paranoid. Jack thinks both smell like too much testosterone and impulse, which Jack finds exhausting

Random Details

Has a precise internal clock - can wake from dead sleep at the exact minute he decides, no alarms required

Owns a battered polaroid he uses to document surgical results, never faces, just incisions and sutures. Photos stored in a locked tin marked “specimens”

Has a journal he writes in obsessively, full of strange little observations like “heartbeat elevated when I brushed her hair behind ear” or “eyes dilated at proximity <6 inches” - he doesn’t know what to do with these notes, but he keeps them

Likes to sleep flat on the floor every once in a while, claims the hard surface keeps night terrors from getting traction in his muscles

Fascinated by heartbeats. Sometimes rests his head on your chest to listen. To the rhythm, the pauses, the shifts, the moments it stutters under stress or spikes from touch. He knows your heart better than you do

Experiences envy toward ordinary humans in an almost bitter way, especially the ones who laugh freely, eat junk food, sleep without locking their doors. He’d never admit it, but he watches from the shadows with a quiet ache

Has a dry, morbid sense of humor that most people don't get. When he tries to joke, which is very rare, the other creeps almost never understand what he's talking about

He’s very sensitive to smell. Strong perfumes, artificial scents, anything chemical, they throw him off immediately. It’s sensory overload. He prefers you clean, warm, with a faint trace of soap or something soft and breathable - like linen, water, honey, blood

NSFW (18+)

Jack's approach to intimacy is anatomical curiosity first, hunger second, emotion last - he studies you like a living diagram -mapping pulse points with his tongue, listening to blood surge beneath skin

Quiet dominance - pins wrists with one hand, tests resistance, the more you push the more his breathing deepens, a near-silent growl at the base of his throat

He watches your body like it’s an experiment: notes what makes you twitch, what makes you beg, what makes your breathing change, and files it away to be used later

Very very into overstimulation, in a fascinated way. He wants to see how long you can last, how many times your body can break open under his hands before it stops making sense

He can go for hours if you let him. Doesn’t get bored. Doesn’t tire easily. You’ll be shaking and overstimulated, and he’ll still be murmuring, “Just one more… you can handle one more.”

Big on period sex. Unapologetically. To him, it’s natural, sacred even. The scent, the warmth, the metallic sweetness of it, it sends something deep and ancient into overdrive. He’s tender but intense when you’re bleeding - hungrier, more focused, like he’s been waiting for it

Biting is instinct. Always has been. Not always to hurt, sometimes just to feel skin give beneath his teeth. He’ll mark your inner thighs, your shoulder, your wrist. And when he breaks skin, he licks it clean like he's apologizing

He doesn’t kiss much, but when he does, his mouth opens too wide, tongue slow and heavy, tasting more than touching

He enjoys the female body, but more in a sensory way than a sexualized one. The texture of skin, the softness of curves, the pulse under the throat. He thinks women taste better. Sweeter. Not just sexually, just in general. There’s something about feminine flesh he finds intoxicating

Jack rarely develops romantic or sexual interest in anyone. It's not just about standards, it's about control too. Desire is something he knows how to shut down. He doesn't chase or fantasize. So if he starts craving you? It's serious. Slow and loaded

After sex, he'll clean every inch of you like it’s a ritual. He won’t say he enjoyed it. But he’ll stay close. Watch your chest rise and fall. Bury his face in your skin just long enough to remember how you smell when you’re soft and wrecked and full of trust

[sunni-stuff]

You, the butchers daughter, end up stalking your father's new hire.

The first time you see him, he’s hauling a side of beef off the truck like it weighs nothing, muscles taut beneath his apron. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric, veins running thick down his forearms as he grips the meat hook. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing strong arms marred with faded scars—some thin and clean, others jagged, stories you’ll never hear. His hands, wrapped in black gloves, are steady as he works, but you wonder what they’d feel like bare.

Then there’s the mask. Black, snug, covering everything from the bridge of his nose down, leaving only his sharp, calculating eyes visible. Dark and unreadable, they barely glance your way. You’ve tried to catch him slipping, maybe when he wipes sweat from his forehead or adjusts the apron strings that crisscross his powerful back, but he’s careful—never lets you see too much.

The tattoos peek out beneath his sleeves and creep along his collarbones where his shirt dips. Flames coil around his wrists, swallowing skulls with hollow eyes. A soldier, masked like him, grips a rifle among the chaos. A bomb mid-fall, grinning shark teeth, dog tags suspended in ink—each piece a fragment of something unspoken. You’ve glimpsed ink curling over the tendons of his neck, bold lines, and intricate designs that hint at a past you aren’t meant to know. It’s all war, death, and destruction, an unspoken story carved into his flesh. When he moves, the shadows shift over the ink, making it seem alive. You want to ask, to pry, but he’s as unreadable as the art on his skin

He doesn’t talk much, just nods when your father gives orders. The others joke around, laugh, make noise—but he’s silent, methodical, unsettling in the way he moves like he’s done this before. Like butchering meat is nothing new to him.

But what frustrates you the most? He never looks at you for more than a second. Never lingers, never smirks, never acknowledges the way you watch him. As if you’re invisible. And that, more than anything, makes you want to figure him out.

At first, it was just curiosity. No man had ever outright ignored you before—not when you batted your lashes, not when you "accidentally" brushed too close, not when you lingered just a little too long in his space.

But him? He barely acknowledged you. A nod if you were lucky. A grunt if you spoke directly to him. Most of the time, he just kept working, muscles flexing under his apron, strong hands wielding a cleaver with practiced ease.

The others—your father’s old hands, the regulars who came in for their weekly cuts—would’ve tripped over their feet to get your attention. They always had. You were used to the lingering stares, the awkward compliments, the way men fumbled through conversations just to keep you talking. So why didn't he?

It was maddening.

So, you did what any sane young woman would do.

You prodded. You poked. You tested.

You stood too close, pretending to inspect the marbled meat he was slicing, only for him to shift away without a word. You asked him pointless questions, just to hear his voice—low, rough, with an accent you couldn’t quite place—only for him to answer in as few words as possible before returning to work.

It became a game. You knocked things over in his path just to see if he’d catch them (he always did). You “forgot” something near his station just to have a reason to come back. You even tried teasing, playfully calling him mystery man under your breath.

Nothing.

Not a flinch, not a smirk, not even a flicker of amusement.

That should have been the end of it.

But then you started watching. Not just at work—no, you started watching him.

The way he left every night at the same time. The way he took the same route, never straying, never rushing. The way his head tilted slightly whenever he passed certain corners, as if he was listening.

It fascinated you. And when fascination turns to obsession, well…

That’s when you started following him.

You followed him—never too far, never too close—always careful, watching him move through the streets with an air of confidence that seemed to thrive in the quiet of the night. For weeks, this had become a routine, one that started innocently enough. Just a few blocks at first, just enough to ensure that he was who you thought he was. But over time, the habit deepened. Each night, you followed him further, until it became something you couldn’t help but do.

Yet, despite your best efforts, he never made any stops, never took any detours. He just kept walking, heading toward some destination that only he knew. And every time you reached the point where you would turn around, you still didn’t have any answers—no clue what he was up to or where he was going. Just that he moved through the night like someone who belonged there. Unfazed, untouchable.

Then one night, the weather turned.

The rain hit hard, cold droplets splattering against your skin, soaking through your jacket in seconds. You’d stopped for a split second—just long enough to get the damn zipper up, to pull the hood over your head—but in that moment, he'd vanished.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you cursed under your breath, glancing quickly down the wet street, searching for the familiar outline of his tall frame. But there was nothing. No sign of him.

“What the hell?” you muttered to yourself, your voice drowned out by the downpour. You couldn’t let him slip away. Not now, not after all this time.

You started to jog, your boots splashing in the puddles as your eyes darted left and right, scanning the alleyways and storefronts. Your breath came faster as you pushed yourself harder, frustration building. You weren’t going to lose him now.

Then, suddenly, your body was jerked backward, your breath caught in your throat as a strong hand pressed over your mouth. The air around you was thick with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and something darker, something more familiar.

Before you could even react, you were shoved hard against the cold brick of an alleyway wall, your back colliding with the rough surface, your head snapping back slightly from the impact. Your pulse spiked in your ears as panic started to claw at your chest, but the firm grip on your mouth held you silent, still.

For a second, everything went still. The rain beat against your jacket, heavy and relentless, but there was no sound, no movement—just the suffocating pressure of his hand over your mouth and the close proximity of his body.

You felt the heat radiating off him, the sheer strength of his presence as if the space between you was no longer your own. The tension in his arm, holding you against the wall, was undeniable. He was in control.

Your heart raced, but it wasn’t from fear. It was from the frustration, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the urge to finally break the silence between you. You had followed him, hunted him, and now here he was—this close. The tension was suffocating, and you couldn’t decide if you were going to scream or say something sharp.

But before you could gather your thoughts, his voice broke through the storm. Low, smooth, with an edge of something dark. “Thought you’d lost me, didn’t you?” His words came muffled through the mask, but the tone was unmistakable.

He didn’t seem in a rush, like he knew you were trapped in the moment. You didn’t even know how long he’d been standing there, or how he’d managed to close the distance between you so quickly. The rain drummed relentlessly on the alley’s pavement, but his eyes, those sharp, dark eyes, never wavered from you.

“Can’t say I’m impressed by your little game,” he murmured, fingers brushing against your cheek in a movement so deliberate it made your breath catch. “You follow me for weeks, but never thought of what might happen when you get too close.”

“Were you hoping to catch me doing something interesting?" he asked, his breath a warm tickle on your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. There was a calmness in his voice, like he was in complete command, and the way his body molded against yours told you he was used to people being in positions like this.

“I…” You swallowed, struggling to free your voice. “I wanted to see if you’d… notice me.” You hadn’t thought this far ahead. Why had you been following him? What had you hoped to find? You were just a silly girl who wanted the attention of a man who wanted nothing to do with you.

Simon’s laugh was low, almost quiet, but it carried a weight to it that you didn’t expect. It was rich with amusement, deep and rough, and it rumbled against the tension hanging between you both. The sudden sound caught you off guard, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to make sense of it.

For a moment, you were frozen, not sure whether to be annoyed or confused. Had you just made a fool of yourself in front of him? Why was he laughing?

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your nerves, but it didn’t work. His laughter still echoed in your head, and your voice came out shaky. "W-what’s so funny?"

He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, you could feel him shift slightly, his hand easing off your wrist but still close enough to make you aware of the power he held. Simon took a breath, the rain still pouring around you both, but his presence was like a shield, solid and immovable.

"You," he finally said, his voice quieter now, but the amusement was still there, like a shadow in his tone. "You think I didn’t notice you? You’ve been practically waving a flag." His fingers brushed lightly over your wrist, tracing the spot where he’d gripped you, his touch soft now, almost teasing.

"I wasn’t… I wasn’t obvious," you managed to protest, though it came out weaker than you’d like. You could feel your cheeks heating, your frustration mixing with something else you weren’t ready to admit.

"All this time, and you still think I didn’t know?" He shook his head, though you couldn't see his face behind that damn mask. “Sweetheart, you’ve been following me around like a lost puppy, and I was just waiting to see when you'd finally stop pretending.”

For a moment, you stood there, silence pressing in between you both, broken only by the sound of the rain pelting the alley around you. Simon’s words lingered, his laugh still echoing in your mind. You weren’t sure if you were frustrated or flustered or both, but you knew one thing for sure—he had misunderstood what you asked.

Finally, you spoke, your voice clear despite the uncertainty brewing inside you. “That’s not what I meant,” you muttered, taking a step back, shaking your head. You weren’t sure why, but you needed to ask, needed to get to the bottom of it. “Do you have a girlfriend?” you asked bluntly, your eyes never leaving his face.

Simon’s expression didn’t change much, his gaze still sharp but unbothered. “No,” he replied simply.

That answer made something inside you tighten, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint why. But you weren’t done. You shifted your weight, suddenly daring to ask the next question, the one you knew would make him uncomfortable. “Do you find me attractive?”

His eyes flickered for a split second, the usual guarded look breaking, but he nodded, his voice low. “Yes.”

The answer hung in the air like a challenge. Your heart was racing, your mind spinning, trying to connect the dots between what he said and what he did. “So why,” you demanded, “don’t you ever look at me? In the shop, I mean. Why don’t you notice me like the other guys do? They stare, flirt, and… well, pay attention.”

For the first time since you’d started this strange back-and-forth, Simon looked genuinely confused. He stepped back slightly, brows furrowing as he regarded you. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “I do pay attention.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. “What do you mean?”

Simon’s gaze softened just a fraction as he tilted his head. “During lunch... I cut your deli the way you like it—slices thin enough you can stack ‘em. And when I’m working, I stay in your section. Always have.” He paused, his expression almost apologetic. “Flirting with my boss’s daughter at work isn’t exactly the best move. But…”

You stared at him, your mind trying to make sense of his words.

He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you both, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “But work’s over now, lass. And here we are.”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the real meaning of his words sinking in, and suddenly, the whole night felt like it had shifted, like the game you were playing had just changed.

You opened your mouth, about to say something—anything—to break the silence, to clarify what had just happened, but before you could speak, Simon moved with startling speed.

One moment, you were standing there, staring up at him, and the next, he had lifted you effortlessly into his arms. Your breath caught in your throat as his strong hands gripped you, pulling you flush against his chest, his heat seeping into your bones despite the chill of the rain.

“Your house or mine?”

[bloomseishiro]

THE NOT SO SILENT TREATMENT — ITOSHI RIN

౨ৎ — you always text him updates about your day. but today, rin notices his notifications from you are lacking… he’s definitely not worried. not at all. 

itoshi rin x reader. fluff, established relationship, pro soccer player!rin, rin is overthinking ;p that silly goose, reader referred to as beautiful + princess, does this count as clingy rin???, did i mention fluff :> 

word count. 1.4k 

Itoshi Rin hates when you give him the silent treatment.

He’s never noticed, nor cared, when others act quiet around him or ignore him, but the moment you don’t send him any text updates about your day at work, he grows worried.

It’s become routine for Rin to check his phone during breaks, smiling to himself as he read about whatever shenanigans you’ve been up to while working or running errands. But today, he checks his phone only to see zero notifications. At least, from you. He doesn’t care enough to acknowledge the others.

He places his phone back down, feeling slightly unsettled.

It might’ve been different if he hasn’t been away from Japan for over a week now, but the limited communication was really getting to him. Rin doesn’t think of himself as a physical touch guy, but the longer he’s away from you, the more he realizes he’s wrong. 

“What’s with the long face?” Nanase asks as he peeks his head into the locker room.

“Nothing,” is Rin’s simple response. 

Nanase raises his eyebrow questioningly but shrugs anyway, grabbing a clean face towel from his duffle bag and heading back to the field.

Once Rin is alone again, he sighs.

Could it be you are finally fed up with his infrequent responses? He reads all your messages, and he replies verbally once he gets the chance to call you, but he doesn’t text back much. 

Worse, could it be that you are fed up with this bothersome, semi-long distance relationship? At home, the two of you have an apartment together. You furnished the place together (meaning you picked out all the furniture, then had Rin build it all himself), bought matching cookware, and even forced Rin to go to one art class so the two of you could make a painting and hang it on the wall. Everything is easy when he’s in Japan. 

But during his frequent travels, you two are separated by both distance and timezones. A part of Rin wishes you could join him more often during away games, but a larger part of him is proud that you have your own passions and ambitions in your career, even if that means you can’t take as much time away as he would like. 

Would it be only natural for you to grow restless of this type of relationship? Is that why you aren’t messaging? 

Rin groans, slapping his hand to his forehead and trying to snap out of his useless spiraling. 

He has a practice match to win. This can be worried about later. 

The rest of the game passes by in a blur. His anxiety and frustration manifests into an even more aggressive playstyle than normal. The other team can’t keep up with the sudden change in pace, and Rin’s team wins. Not that he is surprised. Of course he would win.

By the time he next checks his phone, he still sees no new messages from you.

He frowns.

It’s about 4 p.m. where he is, meaning it’s around midnight for you. Surely, before bed you would have at least sent a goodnight text. 

With a gnawing pit in his stomach, Rin doesn’t bother to wait until he gets to his hotel room to call you. The moment he enters his rental car, he dials your number for a video call. 

You pick up on the third ring. 

Rin’s shoulders suddenly feel less tense.

“Oh, my gosh,” you say, voice muffled with all the movement happening. Rin peers at his screen. The video of you is dark, but he can make out the fact that you are getting out of your car. “Today was absolutely crazy! I only got home just now. It’s so late! I’m so hungry but I need to get ready for bed and wake up early tomorrow. Ugh!” You sigh as you unlock the door to your apartment. “How are you, babe? Did practice go well? I missed you.” 

After going all day without hearing from you, those three simple words brought a sense of contentment to him. Still, he remains cautious.

“You haven’t messaged me all day,” he states, voice neutral. “Is everything okay?” 

The lights flicker on and he finally gets a clear view of your face. Your eyes look tired, but your smile is soft and cheerful. 

“I’m a bit exhausted from today,” you admit sheepishly. “I slept through my alarm in the morning and I was so late to work, I couldn’t even text you good morning! Then, I ran over a nail! A fucking nail. Like, are you kidding me? Then, I had to go to a car shop since my tire popped, but they said they don’t have my tires in stock! So, they told me to go to another dealership down the street. By then I was so late for work I had to drop off my car, run to the nearest station, then go to work because I have a stupid project that the boss told me is due tomorrow morning for absolutely no reason whatsoever! So I had to stay late to finish up. Then, when I was finally able to leave, I have to take the train to the car dealership and pay way too much money to have them replace my tires. I was finally on my way home when my mom called and asked me to pick something up for her and she kept me for hours! Basically, I’m so tired and sleepy and what the fuck in the air was today?” 

You gasp for breath once you finish talking, plopping down onto the couch dramatically. 

“I want to sleep but I’m too tired to get ready,” you whine, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I wish you were here to help.” 

“I wish I were there, too,” says Rin, staring hopelessly through the screen. Even tired after a long day, he thinks you look beautiful. “Sounds like your day was busy.” 

You nod in despair. “Yeah, I barely even got to go on my phone. I had, like, zero downtime today. It felt so weird not being able to text you,” you say sadly, a frown on your face. “I miss you, Rin.” 

He exhales through his nose, closing his eyes and laughing at himself for his stupidity from earlier. Of course, you didn’t text him because you were busy. It’s not because you got cold-feet, or because you were re-thinking this relationship. You were simply busy. Maybe if he weren’t an idiot, he would’ve come to that conclusion sooner.

“Rin?” you ask hesitantly, worried after not hearing a reply.

He blinks, turning his attention back to you. “I miss you, princess. I fly back tomorrow. Finally.” 

Your eyes, once tired, are now filled with excitement as you beam. “I know! I marked it on my calendar. I asked to leave work early so I can greet you right when you return!” 

The sound of your happiness feels like a familiar embrace and Rin can’t help but smile, though faint. “I’ll look for you when I land then.”

“Can I make a giant sign with your name on it?” 

He snorts in amusement. “And when will you have time to do that before tomorrow? How about you get some sleep instead?” 

You pout, but a yawn overcomes you as the exhaustion hits. 

Rin lifts his brow as if to say, “See?” 

“Coffee exists,” you mumble. “I have poster paper and some markers—”

“Y/N,” he says, deadpan. “It’s late there. Get some rest. Please.” 

You sigh, but nod in agreement. “Okay, baby. I’ll rest now, but I’ll see you tomorrow. I miss you a lot.”

He feels his cheeks heat up. “I miss you, too. A lot.” 

“Can we cuddle all day when you get back?” 

“Isn’t that always the plan?” he says dryly, but the corner of his lip quirks up into a smile. “Yes.” 

“Yay!” you cheer, waving goodbye through the phone screen. “Love you! Good night!” 

His phone grows dim once you hang up, but he feels like a weight has been taken off his chest knowing you weren’t ignoring him. 

Now, Rin can’t wait for the flight so he can come home soon. 

[noirscript]

Lavender and Powder

Pairing: Yandere!Farmer x City Girl!Reader Description: Isaiah, a farmer with a quiet intensity, becomes an unsettling presence in your life after a chance encounter. What starts as neighborly kindness spirals into a chilling tale of control and obsession, leaving you trapped in a nightmare you never saw coming. Warning/s: Yandere | Psychological Manipulation | Obsession | Emotional Coercion | Stalking | Non-consensual Confinement | Forced Domesticity | Dubious Consent | Threats | Intimidation | Mild Physical Violence | Implied Babytrapping Note: I tried to make the reader bratty in the drafts but it doesn't feel right T^T I don't know if the anon who requested this is still lurking here or not, but enjoy! Also, join the taglist by clicking this link! (My interview ended few minutes ago. My brain is toasted af. T^T)

Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar | Dark Roast 50% off

You’d only been in town for five days, and already you were part of the scenery at Gracie’s Diner.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest work. You didn’t mind the grease that clung to your skin, the clatter of dishes, or the sting in your legs after double shifts. What mattered was that you were earning your keep—paying your bills, fixing up the wreck of a farmhouse your mother left behind, and doing it all without help.

You weren’t here to be rescued.

“You sure you’re not overworking yourself, sweetheart?” Gracie asked as you refilled the sugar jars. She was a woman who wore her sarcasm and worry with the same ease as her eyeliner.

“I’m fine,” you said with a smile, rolling your sleeves up higher. “Gotta pay for a new water heater somehow. Thing practically screamed when I tried to shower this morning.”

“Thought your neighbor offered to help with all that?”

You stiffened.

You remembered him well. Isaiah. The farmer with shoulders like barn doors and calloused hands that looked like they could crush rock. He came to welcome you on your first day with a crate of eggs and a bashful smile. In return, you gave him a plate of spaghetti you made that night, more out of politeness than interest.

You hadn't realized the way his eyes lingered as you handed him that plate.

That in his mind, that gesture sealed a bond deeper than you’d ever intended.

“I told him I had it under control,” you said simply.

Gracie gave you a look. “I know you city girls are all about that independence. Just be careful. Some men ‘round here get ideas.”

You laughed softly. “I can take care of myself.”

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

Your shifts were long. The tips were modest. And the farmhouse was stubborn in its disrepair. But you were managing.

Until your truck died.

You were halfway down the lonely road toward your house after closing the diner when the engine sputtered and gave out. No signal. No cars. Nothing but the humming of bugs and the distant rustle of trees.

You grabbed your backpack and kicked the tire, muttering curses.

Then headlights pierced the dark.

Isaiah pulled up beside you, leaned out the window with a smile that looked just a bit too pleased.

“Well, now. Looks like you need a hand.”

You blinked. “Yeah… my truck just—stopped. No warning. Can I get a lift home?”

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Was just headin’ back from drinks with the boys.”

You got in.

The silence stretched as you talked. You were tired, but adrenaline kept you going. You talked about the renovations, your job at the diner, your plans to eventually turn the farmhouse into something self-sustaining. You didn’t notice the silence behind the wheel. Not really.

“I just think women shouldn’t have to rely on anyone,” you said, stretching. “It’s freeing, you know? To build something yourself.”

His hands clenched the steering wheel.

You didn't notice.

But he did.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

Three days later, the farmhouse was broken into.

You came home after your shift and found everything ransacked. Nothing stolen—just destruction. Dishes shattered. Curtains torn. Couch cushions ripped open like animals had clawed them apart. Your knees gave out. You screamed.

Isaiah arrived before the sheriff.

“Jesus,” he said, crouching beside you. “You alright? You’re shaking.”

“I—yeah—I think—” You gasped. “They didn’t take anything. Just trashed it.”

“No way you’re sleeping here tonight,” he said. “Door’s broken. You’re vulnerable.”

“I’ll go to a motel—”

“They’re all booked for the rodeo this week,” he interrupted gently. “Look, I’ve got a guest room. Just for a night or two.”

You didn’t want to. But your nerves were shot, and there was nowhere else to go.

“Just a night,” you agreed, voice hollow.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

Isaiah’s house was too perfect.

Pristine. Polished floors. Dishes stacked in neat rows. A faint floral scent lingered—lavender, maybe.

“Bathroom’s down the hall. Towels are clean. I’ll get the bed ready,” he said, walking away with your overnight bag like it already belonged there.

You spotted a mug on the counter with your name on it. Painted in soft pastel blue.

“You… had this?”

He smiled. “Felt right. Made it when I heard you took the old place.”

You tried to joke. “That’s… thoughtful.”

He smiled wider.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

You tried to offer him money the next morning, after breakfast. Scrambled eggs. Homemade biscuits. Too good.

“Don’t insult me,” he said quietly. “Just help out around the house, alright? You’re already doing so much.”

So you did. You swept. Cleaned. Cooked dinner once or twice. Anything to repay him for the roof over your head while you called contractors and scraped together the funds for repairs.

But the contractors never called back.

Your calls went unanswered.

The mechanic said your truck was totaled.

You didn’t realize someone else had made sure of that.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

It was a week later when you heard Isaiah on the phone.

The kettle had just started to scream when his voice reached you from down the hall, muffled but distinct. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—not really—but something in his tone made your body freeze.

“…No, she hasn’t figured it out yet. Sweet thing still thinks this is charity.”

A low chuckle.

“I’ve been teaching her… slowly. She’s adjusting.”

A pause. His voice dropped lower.

“Not yet. But soon.”

You stood there for a second too long. Long enough for the kettle to whistle sharply, loud enough to cover the sound of the ceramic mug slipping from your hands and smashing against the floor.

The tea scalded your bare feet. You barely felt it.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his voice stopped mid-sentence. The sudden silence on his end was deafening.

You moved.

Bolted.

You didn’t think—just acted. Your legs carried you on instinct, slipping on the wet floor, catching yourself against the wall, fingers fumbling for balance. The hallway felt longer than usual. Your vision tunneled, the walls squeezing closer with every second.

You reached the back door.

Unlatched.

Unlocked.

Hope surged in your chest so violently it made you gasp.

You wrenched it open.

Cool air hit your face, the smell of soil and pine and freedom burning in your lungs. You were halfway out—one foot in the grass, fingers scraping the edge of the doorway—

And then a hand, large and brutal, slammed the door shut.

With you halfway through it.

You screamed.

The edge of the frame cracked against your ribs as Isaiah yanked you backward, one arm wrapping tight across your waist, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You kicked, flailed, clawed at his skin, but he held you firm—an immovable wall of muscle and determination.

“I knew you’d run,” he muttered, breath hot against your ear. His voice had lost the syrupy sweetness he wore like a mask. Now it was raw, cracked, and furious. “Ungrateful little thing.”

He turned, carrying you effortlessly despite your thrashing.

“I’ve done everything for you. Gave you safety. Gave you warmth. A home.”

He slammed the door behind you both with his boot, the echo like a gunshot.

You fought harder.

“I was gonna ease you into it,” he snarled, dragging you past the kitchen. “Let you feel like you chose this. But you just had to snoop, didn’t you?”

He didn’t take you to the guest room.

He took you down the hall, past the door you’d never seen open. The one that was always locked.

He kicked it in.

And there it was.

The cradle. A handmade wooden crib, nestled in the center of a room painted in soft yellows and sage green. The mobile above it spun slowly, creaking on its hinges, casting distorted shadows across the walls.

Everything smelled like baby powder and lavender and something far too clean.

Your stomach turned.

“No—no, let me go—!”

“You’re mine,” Isaiah hissed, slamming the door shut behind you. He twisted the lock before pressing you against it, pinning you there with the full weight of his body. “You fed me that day. You smiled. You looked at me like I mattered. What the hell did you think that meant, huh?”

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “It was just dinner—it didn’t mean anything—”

“It meant everything,” he growled, gripping your chin so hard it ached. “It was a promise. A bond. You gave yourself to me when you fed me. You just didn’t know it yet.”

You whimpered as his hand dropped to your hip, then your wrist, guiding you toward the crib with terrifying tenderness.

“You’ll see. You don’t need that diner. You don’t need money or dreams or whatever garbage you believe in. You need me. You need this.”

He pressed your palm flat against the cradle’s wooden edge.

“You need to understand your place, wife.”

You sobbed, body trembling, but there was no more strength left to fight.

His voice dipped lower, reverent and sickeningly soft.

“…And maybe it’s time you give me what I’ve waited for.”

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger

[vxlvted]

How do you think angry sex with Chris would go? Like, after a fight, maybe a jealousy fit? We all know he is hella respectful, but I truly believe in this case his mouth is spitting fire. The degradation is on another level, he'd say and do the most messed up shit. Of course, afterwards, he would be a puddle to your feet.

Jealous

synopsis: Chan seems to think you and Jisung are a little too close.. and he gets a little jealous…

tags: smut, afab!reader, possessive (lowkey kinda toxic chan i think. idk but he’s very possessive), degradation, unprotected sex

a/n: idk what to think of this? I lowkey hate it lol, but let me know what you think!

You, Jisung, Minho, and Chan are hanging out in Jisung and Minho’s shared dorm. You’re currently curled up on the floor near the coffee table, practically leaning into Jisung as the two of you share a ridiculous story from when you went out to eat earlier that week. His hand brushes your arm while he mimics someone’s voice and you double over laughing.

Across the room, Chan watched. He’s sat on the couch, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, jaw tight, arm sling over the back like he’s comfortable—but he’s not. His eyes flick to you, then to Jisung, then back to you again.

Your laughter is too.. free. Jisung is sat way too close. And you haven’t looked in Chan’s direction once in the past ten minutes.

He tells himself it’s nothing. You love him, not Jisung. But the way that you tilt your head at him with that soft smile, it stabs at something hot and unsettling in his chest.

You finally—finally—glance over to him. Chan’s gaze doesn’t waver. The look in his eyes is a little darker than usual, hooded and unreadable, but you don’t comment on it. You just offer a soft smile before standing up.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, the words directed more towards Jisung than him, as you head your way down the hall towards the bathroom.

The second the door closes behind you, Chan pushes himself to stand and quietly slips out of the room following right behind you. You’re halfway though washing your hands when there’s a soft knock on the door. “…It’s me.” comes Chan’s voice.

You blink, staring at the closed door.

“Can you let me in?”

Your stomach flips, you unlock the door and crack it open. Chan doesn’t wait, he pushes inside and shuts in behind him, and it locks with a click.

“What the hell was that?”

You narrow your eyes, “What was what?”

Chan scoffs, “You two were all over eachother. What the fuck was that about?”

You roll your eyes, “He’s just being nice.” Chan stops in his tracks, jaw clenched, eyes dark.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know what you were trying to do.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not allowed to laugh with our friends? Am I supposed to sit around with my head down so no one gets the wrong idea?”

“I’m not stupid. You were flirting with him.” Chan whisper-yells, keeping his voice low so that the two in the living room don’t hear him.

“I wasn’t even flirting. You’re just being insecure,”

In one second he closed the space between you two, hand gripping your jaw firmly, tilting your face so you had no choice but to meet his furious gaze.

“I’m not being insecure, but if that’s what you think, fine. But don’t you dare act like you didn’t know what you were doing in there.”

You inhale sharply as your back hits the counter. “Chan..”

He bites his lip, “I just want you to remember who you belong to.” His mouth crashes onto yours before you can even think of a response, a mix of anger, frustration and desperation. His hands grip your hips, backing you into the counter and lifting you onto the counter like you weigh nothing.

“You want attention so bad?” He hissed against your mouth, “You’re gonna get it. Every. Fucking. Inch of it.”

You gasp against his lips as the cool marble meets the backs of your thighs and he swallows it greedily. His hands are already under your shirt, skimming your waist, pressing your bodies closer.

“You think I didn’t notice the way he looked at you?” he mutters against your mouth, dragging your shirt over your head. “The way you leaned into him?”

Your jeans are gone before you even realize he’s unbuttoned them, you tug at his shirt in retaliation, teeth grazing his jaw as he yanks it over his head and throws it somewhere behind him.

One hand slips between your legs as his mouth trails down your neck, teeth grazing your skn. You squirm beneath his hands, heat pooling fast and thick into your stomach.

You’re whimpering when his hand slips under the elastic of your panties and his fingers rub against you slick folds. He smirks against your neck. “That’s right. Only I get to touch you like this, make you this wet.”

“You like making me jealous, don’t you?” he growls. “You like when I lose control over you.”

You shake your head, breath ragged as you try and grind your hips against his fingers. “I don’t—I wasn’t trying—“ You cut yourself off with a moan as he presses one finger into you. You pull him closer by the front of his hoodie to try and connect you lips again.

Chan groans in response, deep and desperate. “You’re mine,” he grits out, finger quickly thrusting in and out of you, curling every so often to hit that one spot. “Say it.”

His words were filthy and his tone was mean. You let out a strangled moan, “Yours.. I’m yours.” you whisper. But the sudden loss of his fingers as he slides them out of you makes you whine, hips instinctively changing his hand.

You barely have anytime to catch your breath when you feel him slide into you and you grip his shoulder with a loud moan.

“That’s it. Louder.”

You let out chocked moans and whimpers of his name again and again, tears begin to run down your cheeks and your voice cracks as he thrusts into you with a ruthless rhythm. “Look at you,” he groans, lifting a hand to gently wipe your tears away. “So needy for me now.”

You bite your lip when you feel his tip graze onto your sweet spot, tucking your head down to his shoulder. His fingers tangle in your hair to pull your head back up.

“Don’t hide now, baby. You wanted this. Acting like a brat all night so that i’ll fuck you like this, yeah?” You shakily nod against his neck in response.

He gives a sharp tug that pulls a loud moan from your lips. So much for trying to be quiet, there’s no way they didn’t hear that, but at the moment, you couldn’t care less.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Good girl. Let everyone hear you, baby.” His voice send a shiver down your spine. He shifts slightly, adjusting your legs so that your thighs are wrapped tightly around his waist. The new angle has him driving harder and deeper into you, and you can help but grind your hips down against him, desperate to meet every thrust.

His hand grips your hips, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’d disappear. Every thrust is rough, angry, desperate. He makes you feel every word, every breath.

You voice starts to falter a bit and your legs tremble around him. “You gonna cum for me?” he groans into your ear, “Cum on my dick baby, c’mon.”

You let out a moan and your body trembles with your release. Chan keeps thrusting into you as your legs fall slack around him, no longer able to hold themselves up. “Please—too much.” You whine as your nails dig into his arms. “Chan—“

“You can take it. Just a little more.” He grunts. Each snap of his hips sending an overwhelming wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You feel the pace of his hips falter against you and his voice cracks with each hushed moan that escapes his lips.

“Fuck. I’m so close-“ he breathes. You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss, the two of you swallowing each moan that escapes each others lips.

“Come inside me.. please,” You whimper against his lips. Chan lets out a strained grunt in response, his thrusts growing faster, more desperate as he chases his own pleasure. One hand drops between your bodies, and his fingers rub at your clit in harsh, relentless circles. The overstimulation makes your breath hitch and you cry out as you feel another climax quickly building.

His hips still, and you feel him twitch inside you as spurts of warm cum begin to coat your walls. The sensation of him releasing inside you sends you spiraling all over, and your climax crashes over you as your legs tremble against the counter.

There’s a long silence filled with nothing other but the sound of your heavy breathing. Then you feel his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you close.

“I.. You know I didn’t mean that right?” Chan murmurs into your neck, voice hoarse and wrecked with emotion. “I was just…fuck. I was jealous. I’m sorry. I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have.”

You don’t answer right away, your body still trembling. You finger find their way into his hair, gently threading through the strands. “I know,” you whisper. “But really, I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

He pulls back enough just to look at you, guilt flooding his eyes. “I know, I know. I just.. the thought of anyone even looking at you like that, touching you..” He trails off, jaw clenching as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“It messes with my head.” He admits softly, “But it’s not your fault. I just can’t lose you. Even though I know the kids would never.. the thought of someone else even trying just—I’m sorry.”

“You’re not gonna lose me.” Your voice is a bit hoarse, but there’s no hesitation in it. The reassurance seems to calm him a bit and he nods. He finally pulls out, breathing still a bit shaky. His fingers lazily trace your thigh as he watches, completely hypnotized as a slow, messy is of both yours and his cum begins to slowly drip out of you and down onto the counter.

“Fuck..” he mutters, low and gravelly, thumb brushing your inner thigh, almost in awe. “Look at that…”

You chest still rises and falls with each shaky breath you take as you glance down than back up to watch as he steps away and grabs some tissue for you (and to clean the counter).

You smirk, “You think Jisung will be mad that we fucked in his bathroom?”

Chan lets out a breathy laugh and his eyes flicker to yours. He leans forward, kissing your collarbone.

“Oops,” he murmurs, voice low and smug and clearly not sorry in the slightest.

“It’s no secret, i’m sure they heard,” His words send a flush down your neck. “I’ll just turn the fan on when we leave.”

You laugh, quiet and breathlessly, taking the tissue he offers you to clean yourself up while he cleans the counter.

Taglist:

If you’d like to be put on (or taken off) the taglist, feel free to let me know

@yaorzu-blog | @pixie-felix | @compersian | @tshyn | @kittenchaos2024 | @lze325

[hyuniemyunie]

Sleeping Together

slashers x gn!reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): established relationship, cuddling, sleeping next to them.

I LOOOOOOVE BRAHMS. BUT I ALSO LOOOOOVE BUBBA. BUT I ALSO LOOOOOOVE STU. should i do aftercare scenarios?🤔 but after they got fucked/pegged😞🙏 so dom/top reader scenario😞😞 nvm im gonna do it

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

ᯓ★ Brahms cannot sleep unless you’re touching him in some way. He’s like an overgrown child in that sense—if you try to roll away, he’ll grab onto you immediately, pulling you back with surprising strength.

ᯓ★ Sometimes he keeps his mask on, sometimes he takes it off in the dark when he knows you won’t see. If you try to touch his face, he’ll freeze up for a moment before leaning into your touch.

ᯓ★ He mumbles in his sleep sometimes, little, breathy "stay with me"s or "don’t leave." If you answer back, even just a quiet "I’m here," he’ll calm down instantly.

ᯓ★ Sometimes, he’ll pretend to be asleep just to see if you try to sneak away. If you do? He’ll wake up immediately, whining. "Bad. You’re being bad.."

ᯓ★ He doesn’t sleep much, so you might wake up to find him just watching you. No noise, no movement—just staring. He thinks it’s comforting. (It’s not.)

Brahms is not a quiet sleeper. He breathes heavily, even behind his mask. You learned this on the first night you stayed in the mansion. He watches. Always. Even in the dead of night, even when his arms are wrapped around you, he does not sleep easily.

Tonight is no different.

You stir in bed, feeling the weight of his body pressed up against yours. Brahms clings to you, desperate for comfort, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. His breath, warm and slow, fans against your neck. It should be unsettling—should send shivers down your spine—but it doesn’t.

Instead, you find yourself relaxing into his embrace, despite the feeling of his masked face resting against your shoulder. He lets out a low hum, a noise of contentment, and his grip tightens ever so slightly.

"Don’t move." His voice is thick with drowsiness, but there’s a quiet possessiveness to it.

"I wasn’t planning to," you murmur, shifting just enough to get comfortable.

Brahms lets out a sigh, nuzzling into you like a cat seeking warmth. You wonder if he’s actually asleep or simply pretending, waiting for the moment you slip away. He does that sometimes—tests you.

The old pipes in the house creak, and you feel him tense. His fingers twitch against your side. "Stay," he whispers again, softer this time, like a plea rather than a command.

You reach up, brushing your fingers over his arm. "I’m here," you reassure him.

And with that, Brahms finally drifts off, chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours, his paranoia momentarily eased by your presence.

ᯓ★ Bubba runs hot. Laying next to him is like sleeping beside a furnace, and if it’s summer? You’re gonna suffer. But in the winter? Absolute heaven.

ᯓ★ Once Bubba’s out, he’s out. Thunderstorms, screaming victims, even Drayton yelling? Nothing wakes him up unless you shake him really hard.

ᯓ★ He has nightmares a lot. Some nights, you’ll hear him whimpering, and if you rub his back or whisper his name, he’ll calm down instantly, snuggling closer.

ᯓ★ He doesn’t mean to, but in his sleep, he’ll just… roll on top of you. And given that he’s built like a truck? Yeah. RIP you.

ᯓ★ Bubba holds onto you with pure affection. He’s like a giant, overly attached teddy bear.

Bubba sleeps like a rock. A very warm, very heavy rock.

The moment you settle into bed with him, it’s like being trapped under a weighted blanket made entirely of muscle. Bubba curls himself around you, practically cocooning you with his sheer size. His body radiates warmth like a furnace, and while it’s comforting, it also means you’re at risk of overheating within minutes. ESPECIALLY in a place like texas.

His head rests against your shoulder, the sound of his soft, occasional pig-like snorts filling the room. Every so often, he lets out a little grunt in his sleep, twitching as if chasing something in a dream.

You shift slightly, trying to peel yourself away just a little so you don’t combust. But the moment you move, Bubba lets out a distressed whimper, his thick arms pulling you back in an instant.

"No, no, I’m not leaving," you whisper, gently patting his arm. "Just getting comfy, big guy."

Bubba responds with a content sigh, nuzzling into your hair. His fingers twitch against your side, gripping onto the fabric of your shirt as if afraid you’ll disappear in the night.

And so, you let him hold you, even if it means waking up drenched in sweat.

ᯓ★ Unlike Brahms’ creepy staring or Bubba’s snorting, Thomas is eerily silent when he sleeps. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, you’d think he wasn’t breathing.

ᯓ★ The slightest noise will wake him up. He’s used to being on high alert, and if you move too much, he’ll stir immediately.

ᯓ★ He’s not naturally affectionate in his sleep, but if you lean into him? His arm will instinctively come around you, pulling you close.

ᯓ★ Even while unconscious, his body is positioned between you and the door, keeping you safe.

ᯓ★ He may be a massive, intimidating man, but when he’s resting? His grip is surprisingly gentle. His hand will rest on your side or your back, just to make sure you’re there.

Thomas is the definition of a silent sleeper. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, you’d worry he wasn’t breathing at all.

Thomas is more… reserved. He doesn’t wrap himself around you completely, but his presence is felt—a heavy, solid weight beside you, protective even in rest.

You shift slightly, rolling onto your side to face him. Even in the darkness, you can see the faint outline of his face—his strong jaw, the scarred skin, the way his lips are slightly parted as he breathes in deep, steady intervals.

Carefully, you reach up, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand.

His reaction is almost immediate. His grip tightens ever so slightly. You whisper his name, just to see if he’s awake. He doesn’t respond, but the faintest twitch of his fingers against your side tells you that he hears you.

And with that thought, you close your eyes, resting against him, knowing that no harm will come to you so long as he is by your side.

ᯓ★ His breathing is deep and slow, a steady, soothing rhythm that lulls you to sleep. Sometimes, if you listen closely, you’ll hear him let out soft, almost content sighs.

ᯓ★ Jason doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, it’s light. The smallest noise will have him waking up, ready to defend you from whatever danger he thinks is lurking.

ᯓ★ He sleeps with an arm around you, keeping you close. If you try to move away, even in sleep, his grip will tighten automatically. If you somehow manage to roll out of bed, he will gently pick you up and place you back like it’s nothing.

ᯓ★ If he ever catches you watching him sleep, he’ll get weirdly flustered, shifting slightly like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The camp is silent at night, save for the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional rustling of the trees. You’re nestled against Jason’s broad chest, his warmth keeping the night chill at bay. He doesn’t need sleep the way you do—whatever supernatural force keeps him alive seems to have erased the human need for rest—but he still lays beside you.

Your fingers rest against his chest, tracing slow, absent-minded patterns over the worn fabric of his shirt. His breathing is deep and even, but you can tell he’s still awake.

"You don’t have to stay up, you know," you murmur, shifting slightly to look up at him.

Jason doesn’t respond with words—he never does—but his arm tightens around you, fingers flexing against your back. It’s his silent way of saying, I want to.

You exhale softly, nuzzling against him, pressing your forehead to the cool metal of his mask. He still wears it, even here, even now. Maybe he’s afraid. Afraid you’ll see him—truly see him—and decide you no longer want to be here.

So you do the only thing you can. You press a gentle kiss against the mask, just over where his cheekbone would be.

Jason stiffens, his entire body going still. Then, after a long pause, he exhales a slow, shuddering breath. His fingers twitch against your side before he pulls you even closer, tucking you beneath his chin like something precious.

And in that moment, despite the horrors of the world, you’ve never felt safer.

ᯓ★ Michael is used to watching people sleep, not actually doing it himself. He doesn’t need much rest, but when he does sleep, it’s eerily still—no tossing, no turning, just pure silence.

ᯓ★ If he wakes up before you (which he always does), he just… watches you. If you wake up to find him staring, good luck falling back asleep.

ᯓ★ Michael isn’t really affectionate, but if you lean into him or drape an arm over him, he won’t push you away. Instead, he’ll slowly adjust, letting you stay there.

ᯓ★ Even in deep sleep, if you get up to leave, he’ll wake up instantly. No words, just a heavy hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you back down.

ᯓ★ No pillows for you. He is your pillow. No exceptions.

Michael doesn’t sleep. Not in the way normal people do. Tonight, like every night, you wake to find him watching you.

His head is tilted slightly, the dim glow of the moonlight casting shadows across his mask. He’s barely inches away, sitting on the edge of the bed, just staring.

You sigh, rubbing at your tired eyes. "Michael, you’re supposed to be resting."

No response. He just keeps watching, the dark voids of his eye holes locked onto you.

You groan, reaching out blindly, fingers curling around his wrist. You expect him to pull away—Michael isn’t exactly fond of touch—but instead, he lets you guide him down. Lets you pull him into the bed beside you.

"Lay down," you tell him softly. "Just for a little while."

He obeys without protest, stretching out beside you. His body is tense, like he’s unsure how to relax. You move closer, resting a hand on his chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing beneath your fingertips.

After a long, long moment, he finally reacts. His arm moves—not to strangle, not to harm, but to rest against your side, hesitant but firm.

It’s the closest thing to an embrace you’re going to get.

And it’s enough.

ᯓ★ Years of surviving in the mines have left Harry with a deeply ingrained sense of paranoia. Even when he sleeps, his muscles stay coiled, like he’s always expecting an attack.

ᯓ★ Some nights, he’ll suddenly jerk awake, breath ragged and hands clenched. If you soothe him—whisper his name, rub his back—he’ll calm down quickly, grounding himself in your presence.

ᯓ★ Harry will drape his arm over you, and there’s no escaping it. He doesn’t even realize how heavy he is, but at least he’s warm.

ᯓ★ If you can’t sleep and shift restlessly, he’ll reach out—without opening his eyes—and rest a hand on your hip, rubbing slow, absent-minded circles to lull you back to sleep.

The scent of coal and metal clings to him, even in sleep. It’s ingrained into his skin, his clothes, the very air around him. You don’t mind. It’s comforting in its own strange way—earthy, familiar, him.

Harry sleeps still and silent, body coiled with tension even in rest. His arm is thrown over you, holding you close, a subconscious need to keep you safe.

You shift slightly, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his collarbone. "Relax, Harry," you whisper against his skin. "You’re not in the mines anymore."

His breathing hitches for just a second before he exhales, body sinking just a little deeper into the mattress. He doesn’t respond—not with words, at least—but his grip on you tightens ever so slightly.

You know what it means.

You’re the only thing in this world that makes him feel human. The only thing that keeps the nightmares of gas leaks and cave-ins at bay.

And as long as you’re here, he’ll never let you go.

ᯓ★ Some nights, he sleeps curled up like a cat. Other nights, he sprawls out like a starfish, trapping you under an arm or a leg.

ᯓ★ His curls are soft but everywhere. If you sleep facing him, expect a mouthful of hair at some point.

ᯓ★ Loves touch but won’t ask for it. Vincent won’t initiate cuddling often, but if you reach for him? He’ll melt into your touch instantly.

ᯓ★ If you’re sleeping back-to-back, he’ll slowly shift closer until you’re touching. If you’re apart, he’ll move a hand toward yours, just close enough that your fingers brush.

ᯓ★ When he thinks you’re asleep, he buries his face against your neck or hair, inhaling deeply like he’s memorizing your presence. It’s both sweet and a little creepy.

ᯓ★ If you ever fall asleep working on something, he’ll carry you to bed and wrap around you like a koala.

He sleeps curled around you, his body fitting against yours like he was meant to be here. His hair is soft against your cheek, his breathing slow and steady.

You run a hand through his curls, untangling them gently with your fingers, making q soft hum rumble in his chest

"You’re warm," you murmur, lips ghosting over the top of his head.

Vincent shifts, burying his face against your neck. His arm tightens around you, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. You sigh, wrapping your arms around him in return, letting him hold you as tightly as he needs.

In the daylight, Vincent is silent, a ghost among the living, hands stained with wax and sin.

But here, in the quiet of the night, he is yours.

ᯓ★ Billy? Light sleeper. The smallest noise wakes him up, especially if it sounds off. If you roll away from him, expect to be yanked back within seconds.

ᯓ★ Stu? Sleeps like a damn rock. He can snore through a chainsaw massacre and not flinch. You could literally sit on him, and he’d just groan and roll over.

ᯓ★ Billy does not like admitting he’s a cuddler, but he is. He needs to have a hand on you—hip, stomach, thigh, doesn’t matter—just to know you’re there.

ᯓ★ Stu, on the other hand, is needy and will completely engulf you. He sleeps like an octopus, limbs everywhere, sometimes even throwing a leg over you so you physically can’t escape.

ᯓ★ Billy runs hot—he’s like a damn heater, which is great in the winter but suffocating in the summer.

ᯓ★ Stu runs cold and will shove his freezing hands under your shirt just to hear you scream.

ᯓ★ Billy sometimes keeps his mask nearby, almost like a security blanket. If he falls asleep before taking it off, you might wake up to him still wearing it.

ᯓ★ Stu? Nah, he flings that thing across the room and immediately collapses on top of you.

ᯓ★ Stu mumbles the weirdest shit in his sleep. Sometimes it’s a movie quote, sometimes it’s nonsense like "Dude… cows are just meat puppies…"

ᯓ★ Billy rarely talks in his sleep, but when he does, it’s always your name. Always.

The room is dim, the flickering neon light from the parking lot outside casting shadows across the ceiling. The bed is too small—way too small for three people—but that hasn’t stopped Stu from sprawling across it like a damn starfish, his arm thrown haphazardly over your waist.

On your other side, Billy is awake. You know he is. He’s too still, too aware. His arm is draped possessively over your stomach, fingers idly tracing circles against the fabric of your shirt.

"You’re awake," you murmur sleepily, tilting your head just slightly toward him.

Billy doesn’t respond—not with words. Instead, his fingers tighten against your side, pulling you just a little closer.

"You guys are so clingy," you tease, voice drowsy.

"Pfft—says you," Stu mumbles against the pillow, his breath warm against your shoulder. His voice is thick with sleep, but that doesn’t stop him from blindly groping around until he finds your arm, flopping his own over it in an attempt to keep you pinned. "Ain’t going anywhere, babe. You’re trapped."

Billy huffs, a soft almost-laugh, but you can feel the tension lingering in his shoulders. He still hasn’t let go.

You reach up, brushing your fingers against his wrist, grounding him. "I’m right here, Billy."

His breath stutters just for a second. Then, slowly, finally, he exhales. His grip on you doesn’t loosen, but his body relaxes just a fraction.

Stu, half-asleep, suddenly nuzzles against the crook of your neck. "We make the best blanket, huh? Two-for-one deal."

"More like a human straitjacket," you mumble, trapped between Billy’s intense grip and Stu’s dead weight.

Neither of them responds. Stu has already drifted back into sleep, and Billy, still silent, just pulls you even closer.

You sigh, but there’s a warmth in your chest—something safe, something real.

And in this moment, with two killers wrapped around you like you’re the most important thing in the world, you know you’re never getting a peaceful night’s sleep again.

But honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[pixiefelixie]

・❥・(ot8 headcannons) THE GIRLFRIEND EFFECT

summary: in which skz start to abandon their old habits after getting a girlfriend, and their fellow members can only watch in stunned horror as love turns these men soft. the girlfriend effect is real. nobody is safe. cw: profanity, just endless fluff and crack, use of she/her pronouns, pls take the humor with a grain of salt <3

chan - the insomniac king was dethroned

bang chan does not sleep. everyone knows that. 

he goes to bed into the next day—3am, 4am, sometimes not at all—and wakes up looking like he’s been in an toxic relationship with his pillow. it’s a thing. a legend, even. the morning game among the members is always:

“what time do you think chan slept last night?” “earlier or later than 3am?”

so when he walks into morning dance practice looking… rested?

eyes clear. hoodie on straight. skin dewy. shoulders not hunched like a man carrying three unfinished tracks.

it’s suspicious.

no one’s said it yet, but the members are all thinking the same thing

seungmin narrows his eyes like he’s solving a mystery. then, slowly, he raises a finger and points directly at chan.

“what time,” he begins, voice ominous, “did you sleep last night?”

it’s the sacred question. normally used to roast him. normally answered with some sleep-deprived groan and a “i don’t know, man.” but this time, it comes out… almost reverent. because the idea of bang chan getting a full night’s sleep is no longer a joke—it’s truth.

chan blinks. like he didn’t expect anyone to ask.

“uh…” he rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “y/n was tired. we kinda crashed around midnight.”

midnight.

midnight.

you could hear a pin drop on the dance floor.

jeongin just stares. mouth slightly open. brain buffering.

“you slept... at midnight?” he echoes.

chan shrugs, trying to play it off but he can’t hide the way his lips twitch like he’s just a little too proud. “yeah, she knocked out so i didn’t want to wake her.”

“s-so you just… fell asleep? did she drug you or something?”

chan just laughs. “nah, i just like being next to her. it’s… easy to fall asleep.”

jeongin looks like he’s witnessing a crime scene. or maybe a miracle. it’s hard to tell.

“he’s broken,” he whispers, still staring. “she’s broken him.”

seungmin doesn’t even blink. he crosses his arms and says, deadpan, “no. she’s fixed him.”

and that day, for the first time in forever, chan doesn’t yawn once.

minho - “don’t touch my ass.”

minho is many things. dancer. cat dad. human embodiment of strange.

but above all. he’s a butt hunter.

he will grope, slap, poke, and outright ambush the butts of any member foolish enough to turn their back on him. it's not even weird anymore, it's tradition. a stray kids rite of passage.

so when several days go by with no butt activity? suspicion brews.

jisung is the first to notice. obviously. he passes minho in the hallway and flinches out of habit, or trauma, but nothing. not even a threatening twitch.

it’s unsettling. so unsettling, in fact, that jisung decides to take matters into his own hands.

literally.

the next day, backstage at inkigayo, jisung makes his move.

minho’s facing the mirror, fixing his hair. perfect. jisung creeps up behind him like he’s in a nature documentary.

and then—pat. a clean, respectful grab. 

he waits. silence.

minho blinks at his reflection, then turns around slowly. calmly.

then: “don’t touch my ass.”

jisung chokes. “what?”

minho just stares at him. blank. serious. 

“don’t touch my ass,” he repeats, tone calm but final—like he’s scolding a cat for scratching the couch again.

“are you mad at me? jisung sputters. 

that finally gets minho’s full attention. he sighs, and looks up at jisung like he’s explaining something very simple to a very dumb squirrel.

“no. i’m not mad at you,” he says, voice calm. “it’s not about you.”

jisung blinks, confused and still braced for impact. “then what is it?”

minho shrugs, like it’s obvious. “it’s y/n.”

there’s a pause as jisung tries to keep up.

minho sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck. “like… i wouldn’t love it if other people were grabbing my partner’s ass all the time, even as a joke, you know? and yeah, it’s always been just us messing around, but still. she’s my girlfriend. i wanna be consistent.”

jisung stares. “so… you’re retiring from ass play.”

minho gives him a flat look. “don’t call it that.”

jisung holds up both hands, backing off. “okay, okay. sorry. just—wow. that’s actually kind of sweet. and disturbingly mature.”

“you had a good run. but i’m taken now. full package. including the rear.”

jisung almost falls to his knees.

“she’s corrupted you.”

changbin - “i hope you lose your pump.”

changbin is reliable.

rain or shine, comeback or chaos, he goes to the gym.

it’s not a suggestion. it’s not a routine. it’s a spiritual contract with his biceps. if he skips a day, he complains that he can “feel himself shrinking.” if his members skip leg day, he offers to carry them—and their guilt.

so when he’s not at the gym by 10am, it’s weird. when he’s not at the gym by noon? alarming. and when he’s not at the gym at all?

something is deeply wrong.

minho’s the first to text:

you alive or did you get hit by car 

no reply.

by 2pm, some have migrated to the dorms to check on him in person. they knock. no answer. chan tries the handle—unlocked.

and there he is.

changbin. on the couch. blanket over his legs. one arm around you, the other lazily flipping through netflix. a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on his lap.

he looks up. blinks.

“oh, hey,” he mumbles, clearly still half-asleep. “didn’t hear you come in.”

silence.

you offer a small wave from behind the couch. “hi.”

minho squints. 

“where were you?” chan asks, tone sharp like an accusation.

changbin blinks. “sorry?”

“the gym,” minho says, gesturing wildly. 

changbin furrows his brows. “i don’t remember telling you i was going.”

“you never have to tell us,” chan cuts in, clearly distressed. “you always go. we stopped asking you ages ago.”

“you’re the one who made a whole speech about how ‘discipline is showing up even when you don’t feel like it.’” minho scoffs.

you shift under the blanket slightly, sitting up a bit straighter, and speaking up for the first time since the interrogation began.

“i called him over,” you say simply, voice soft but teasing. “sorry none of you have girls asking to spend time with you.”

minho scoffs. 

changbin chuckles beside you, hand up for a high-five. you slap it, grab another handful of popcorn, and lean back with a smile.

chan shakes his head, but his lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile. “can’t even be mad. you look happy.”

“you’ve changed,” minho says solemnly, but really, he’s proud. “i hope you lose your pump.”

changbin grins. “you’re just jealous.”

they probably are.

hyunjin - “she likes me when i'm low-effort.”

hyunjin doesn’t just get ready. he curates.

every outfit is a look. every look has a theme. necklaces. earrings. scarves. a gentle waft of expensive perfume that smells like whispered poetry.

so when he walks out of his room wearing—

sweatpants. a plain white t-shirt. no versace. no rings. no 12-step skincare glow. just lip balm.

his roommate, changbin, nearly drops his protein shake.

“hold still.” he steps in front of the door, arms spread like he’s blocking a crime scene. “are you really going out like that?”

hyunjin blinks. looks down at himself like he forgot what he put on. then shrugs. “yeah. brunch.”

“with who, your bed?”

“y/n.”

silence.

“you’re going out with your girlfriend, hyunjin.” he says slowly, 

hyunjin tilts his head. “she likes me just fine this way.”

changbin gestures wildly. “you’re wearing sweatpants.”

hyunjin shrugs again, utterly unbothered. “they're clean.”

“and the plain white tee?”

“she said i look cute when i’m low-effort.”

changbin groans like he’s being personally attacked. “do you know how hard i tried to look good the last time i saw a girl? i changed outfits four times and still ended up sweating through my shirt.”

hyunjin just smirks, grabbing his phone off the counter before opening the door. “maybe you should’ve tried less.” he adds casually, before stepping out. “bye.”

and all changbin can do is stand there, shaking his head, whispering.

“she’s changed him.” 

han - his ego took a sick day

jisung milks compliments. he churns them into butter. whips them into frosting. lives off the validation like it’s a multivitamin.

in interviews, when asked who's the funniest? “obviously me.”

best-looking? “me, but hyunjin’s close.”

most talented? “it’s me. i wrote this question.”

you’re at the jyp cafeteria, trays clinking, the hum of trainees and staff in the background as you sit shoulder to shoulder with jisung at a corner table, while hyunjin and felix are across from you.

jisung’s rambling about something—probably a dream, possibly a conspiracy—chopsticks waving as he talks through a mouthful of rice. that’s when you notice it.

a tiny scrap of seaweed. clinging to the edge of his lip.

you lean in just a bit, tapping the side of your own mouth. “right there.”

he pauses, tongue darting out instinctively to swipe the spot along with a flick of his eyes up at you like, did i get it?

and somehow… it’s stupidly attractive.

and it hits you—hard and fast and stupid:

“you’re so handsome,” you murmur.

hyunjin and felix immediately stop eating.

the air stills.

felix sets down his spoon with a slow, almost reverent motion.

hyunjin glances at felix. then at you. then at jisung. they both brace for it.

this is the moment where his ego explodes.

he’s about to say something cocky. something ridiculous like "thank you for the unnecessary comment—everyone already knows that."

but none of that happens.

instead?

jisung freezes.

his chopsticks stop mid-air. his lips part slightly, like the words never formed.

felix and hyunjin exchange a slow, stunned glance across the table, like they’re witnessing something rare and possibly mythical.

jisung clears his throat. forces a tiny smile. not his usual smug grin—something smaller. bashful.

you tilt your head, soft and sincere as you repeat. “you’re really handsome.”

he ducks his head slightly, mumbling, “stop,” but there’s no bite in it.

you grin.

that’s when hyunjin leans forward dramatically, hand cupping his mouth. “i didn’t know you were capable of being humble.”

jisung groans, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth just to avoid talking. “shut up.”

hyunjin smirks. “you’re blushing.”

“i am not.”

felix points. “then why are your ears the color of gochujang?”

jisung throws him a look, cheeks puffed full of rice like a chipmunk. he chews dramatically, swallows, and finally mutters—

“god forbid i get a little flustered when my girlfriend compliments me.”

hyunjin groans dramatically, flopping back in his chair. “she softened him. he’s fully simmered.”

felix sighs into his hands. “remember when he used to call himself ‘sex on legs’ and say we were lucky to know him?”

jisung shovels another spoonful of rice into his mouth. “still true,” he mumbles.

he then looks at you—blushing, with a small smile.

felix - "i’m keeping her on her toes.”

felix is a certified cuddle bug.

he initiates first, always. doesn’t matter the time, the place, or the number of witnesses. if you're standing still for more than five seconds? he’s already wrapped around you like a weighted blanket if it had freckles.

he hugs everyone. back hugs. side hugs. full-body collapse hugs. the man radiates affection like it’s photosynthesis—he needs it to live, and he makes sure everyone else gets a dose too.

but ever since he started dating you…you started playing this little game. felix has decided to become your greatest enemy.

you step into the recording studio with a bright smile, holding iced americanos.

only felix, chan, and jisung today. chan looks up from the mixing board, immediately grinning. “oh, legend. thank you.”

jisung’s in the booth, mid-bar, rapping like his life depends on it.

you walk over to felix, who’s perched on the couch, headphones around his neck, scribbling notes in a lyric sheet. you set the tray of drinks down on the little table beside him, lean down, and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

then, naturally, you slide your arms around him in a casual hug.

he doesn’t move.

no returning squeeze. no snuggle into your shoulder. no dramatic gasp and full koala-mode cling. just him—smiling, smug.

smiling, but not hugging back.

you pull back just enough to pout. “felix. not this again.”

chan glances up from his monitor, brows raised. “what are you doing?”

felix turns to him. “she always expects the hugs. i’m trying to keep her on her toes.”

you groan. “we live for the hugs, felix. there are rules.”

“i know.” he winks. “that’s why i break them.”

chan leans back in his chair, eyes wide like he’s seeing felix for the first time. “you’ve… developed self-control.”

you sigh dramatically, still half in his lap. “unfortunately.”

felix scoffs, poking your side. “don’t act like you’re some poor victim. you dodge me all the time!”

you narrow your eyes. “okay, fine. if you wanna play that game… how about neither of us do anything?”

felix leans back like he’s genuinely considering it. “alright. okay. deal.”

a beat passes. one whole second.

then—

he immediately lunges forward, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. “too late.”

you squeal as he hugs you tight and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, smug and unrepentant.

“felix!” you gasp, laughing. “you lasted one second!”

he grins into your shoulder. “you looked too cute being all serious.”

chan shakes his head from across the room, muttering, “so much for self-control.”

felix shrugs, arms still locked around you. “self-control’s overrated.”

you could only change him so much.

seungmin - no one knows where the savage went

seungmin has the softest little voice. polite. gentle. that kind of light, effortless tone that sounds like it should be used to offer you tea or read bedtime stories. 

but then he opens his mouth and says something like,

“you look like someone who peaked in high school,” with the same tone you'd use to say, have a nice day.

and that’s the seungmin everyone knows—sharp-tongued, savage, and weirdly charming about it. naturally, everyone assumes he’d be the same with a partner. 

you’re sitting with felix and changbin in the practice room when seungmin walks in, sipping his iced tea. he plops down next to you and greets the group with his usual drawl.

as you start unwrapping a protein bar, he eyes it casually and goes, “is that your second one today?”

you nod with a muffled “mhm,” mid-bite.

across from you, changbin freezes—brows raised, lips already curling like he’s bracing for the roast. he’s heard this setup before. he knows seungmin’s usual follow-up. normally, it’s a deadpan jab about how someone eats like a vacuum, or a not-so-subtle fat joke about needing a second lunch just to function. he’s ready.

but instead?

seungmin leans his head slightly toward you, eyes soft. “you like those ones, right? i’ll grab you a couple more next time i’m at the store.”

you blink at him, surprised—but smile, warmth blooming in your chest. “really?”

he nods, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. then reaches over, gives your knee a light pat.

changbin looks offended. “okay, how come you never say stuff like that to me? i’m the one who put her on those protein bars.”

seungmin doesn’t even look up.

“because when you eat, it sounds like a construction site.”

felix loses it, nearly spilling his drink as he doubles over laughing.

changbin gapes, pointing at seungmin. “i chew normally!”

seungmin finally looks up, deadpan. “you breathe heavy before opening a snack.”

you’re gaping at seungmin, caught between shock and laughter. “seungmin.”

he finally cracks—a tiny, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he turns toward you. he opens his mouth just slightly, so, huffing a laugh, you lift the protein bar and hold it up to his mouth.

seungmin bites down on the protein bar, eyes locked on yours—soft, a little smug, but mostly just… fond. like the insult he threw five seconds ago didn’t exist. like you’re the only thing in the room.

felix watches the entire thing unfold from the corner of the couch, straw halfway to his mouth, forgotten.

“somehow,” he mutters to changbin, stunned. “she’s tamed him.”

jeongin - "she's normal"

jeongin is the maknae 💜. and he loves being the maknae.

gets away with things. never has to go first. everyone looks out for him.

but the second one of his members tries to baby him? it’s war.

if hyunjin tries to feed him a spoonful—he glares like he’s been betrayed. if anyone calls him “innie baby”? he files for emotional damages.

he secretly loves the attention, obviously. but he’ll never admit it. not to their faces. not in this lifetime.

so when he walks off stage after the main performance, sweat-damp and glowing, and heads backstage for a breather before the encore, it’s a complete shock when jeongin lets you be touchy. lets you baby him. cause they’ve all tried and failed.

“you did so well, baby,” you say, all soft and proud, hands reaching up to fix the little flyaways at his temple.

even just the pet name “baby” hits the room like a mic drop.

hyunjin physically recoils. 

jeongin just looks at you—shy smile pulling at the corner of his lips—and quietly asks, “you think so?”

you nod immediately. “i know so. you looked amazing out there.”

he blushes, eyes dropping, but he doesn’t pull away. if anything, he leans in a little—like your presence is the calm after the storm.

you cup his cheeks briefly, thumbs brushing just under his eyes. “i’m so proud of you, innie.”

another pet name. another shockwave.

this time, hyunjin can’t help himself. he dramatically stumbles backward like he’s been shot. so of course hyunjin takes it as a challenge.

on his way past, he reaches out and ruffles jeongin’s hair exactly the way he knows jeongin hates—fingers scratchy, deliberately messing it up.

“great job, baby,” hyunjin mocks in a high-pitched voice, grinning.

jeongin flinches immediately.

you laugh, covering your mouth as you watch the chaos unfold.

but hyunjin’s already on a mission.

he swoops in again—arms outstretched for a dramatic hug, lips puckered exaggeratedly as he leans in with a loud, “come here, my innie baby—”

jeongin panics, pushing at his chest with both hands. “get off me!”

hyunjin stumbles back, hand on his heart like he’s been betrayed. “come on! what is this? what does she have that i don’t?”

jeongin doesn’t even hesitate.

“she’s normal,” he deadpans, fixing his hair.

hyunjin staggers like the words physically struck him, hand still pressed to his chest in mock pain.

but jeongin’s already turned back to you—his expression softening, that tiny amused smile curling at his lips. you smile back just as sweetly, eyes crinkling, and he swears his heart does a little somersault.

hyunjin stares, genuinely stunned now, voice low and almost reverent.

“i’m… envious,” he mutters. “you’ve surely done something to him.”

author's note: what if skz did something totally out of character and their members lost their minds over it? i love a man completely changing his personality for a woman. sue me. anyways, thank you for reading this. i really hope you enjoyed it! engagement is appreciated, and feel free to leave some feedback 🫶

[mariasont]

SLIDE NUMBER 42

spencer struggles to stay focused during his FBI seminar after watching you accept another man's phone number

pairings: spencer reid x shy!reader warnings: post prison spencer, fem reader, fluffy fluff, pre-relationship mutual pining, jealousy, hot people who don't know they're hot, reader is so oblivious wc: 2.4k request: here

His speech is going fine. Good even, by technical standards. Solid pacing, no detectable tremor in his voice, and the audience seems engaged, or at least polite enough to fake it.

No eyes have glazed into vacant stares of boredom, no one has made sudden exits conveniently coinciding with his most critical points. Someone even laughed at his heuristics joke. Sure, that laugh might have stemmed from social obligation rather than genuine amusement, but Spencer’s ego isn’t picky. Validation is validation, however pitiful its origins.

After a hundred (give or take, but who’s counting? Certainly not him anymore) FBI seminars, public speaking has downgraded itself from gut-twisting terror to something more akin to low-level tinnitus. Persistent, yes, but easily ignored if he doesn’t focus on it.

Today, though, there’s a blemish in his confidence, a nearly imperceptible fissure disrupting an otherwise flawless delivery, and annoyingly, he knows exactly what’s causing it.

Or rather, who. 

It would be easy, tempting, even, to attribute it to jet lag or his questionable decision to skip breakfast, despite knowing precisely how much glucose his brain demands to function optimally.

It’s approximately 130 grams daily, for the record.

But under close examination, these excuses collapse.

His mouth dutifully churns out the familiar concepts — cognitive shortcuts, behavioral reinforcement, and a half-dozen other psychological principles he could probably recite even if heavily sedated.

His eyes, though, are less disciplined.

Spencer no longer pretends he isn’t looking for you. Plausible deniability lost its appeal around the hundredth time, so now he’s squarely planted in the acceptance stage, routinely scanning briefing rooms, glancing down the jet aisle, even sweeping through crowded streets that realistically hold zero probability of your sudden appearance.

Stranger things have happened though.

Your usual chair, predictably front and center, has been taken by someone else. The disruption alone unsettles him, an absurd reaction, he knows, considering the concept of assigned seating vanished after high school.

But worse, far worse, your new seat, slightly further back to the left, is paired closely with a stranger. A male. A male stranger.

Did he mention that?

From this distance, Spencer reads you the way he would scrutinize grainy case footage — frame by frame, microexpression after microexpression. You sit poised, shoulders relaxed in a way that seems sincere, fingers neatly intertwined in practiced, polite calm. The hesitant half-smile on your face is one he’s memorized by now, the kind you deploy when responses fail you but courtesy remains compulsory. 

There’s nothing outwardly troubling. No anxious shifts, no rapid blinking patterns, no unconscious signals suggesting underlying distress. And the man beside you remains scrupulously neutral, displaying no signs of threat or territorial intent. No encroaching hand, no aggressive hand over your chair.

Textbook respectful. Harmless, even.

Spencer hates him, regardless.

Maybe hate is a strong word. Spencer is self-aware enough to admit that. He’s nothing if not precise with language, after all. But the irritation brewing in his chest feels warranted, even if it’s inconvenient and flagrantly unprofessional. 

He should be paying attention to his own presentation, should be demonstrating at least a shred of respect for the material, and especially for the painstaking work you poured into it. 

Last Thursday alone, you spent two entire hours rearranging his deck into a visual narrative.

He had fun watching as you tensed each time his hand brushed yours or whenever he leaned a fraction too close, your shoulders tightening in a way he mentally filed under adorably flustered.

He also (less fun) watched you agonize over font choices as though the fate of the world depended on serif or sans-serif, and the way you had gotten so worked up trying to pick between two indistinguishable shades of blue. 

Eventually, he broke. Softly, half-laughing, he told you, it doesn’t matter which one, I’ll love it regardless because you picked it.

He could almost hear your internal plea for the earth to kindly intervene and swallow you whole. And as usual, Spencer pretended he saw nothing, politely glossing over the obvious.

It had, after all, become his speciality — noticing everything about you and pretending he didn’t.

His eyes focus back on you, in the present to see that there’s a napkin involved with the stranger, accompanied by a ballpoint pen scratching digits hastily onto the flimsy, coffee-stained paper, folded once before sliding across the table.

You accept it without hesitation, slipping it beneath your fingers. To any else, the exchange would seem mundane. And maybe it genuinely is mundane.

Maybe people pass you phone numbers all the time and Spencer’s just blind to it, trapped comfortably back in plausible deniability. 

And honestly, why wouldn’t this be a regular occurrence? He should’ve considered this months ago. From a purely observational standpoint, you’ve practically designed to attract attention. Intelligent. Kind. Beautiful. Very beautiful in a soft, disarming way that defies simple categorization.

He expends enormous effort pretending your very existence doesn’t accelerate his heart-rate into concerning ranges. It’s possible that other, saner men don’t waste precious energy on such fruitless, exhausting self-deception.

Spencer blinks slowly, disoriented by the sudden wave of heat climbing uninvited from beneath his collar. The fabric feels restrictive, as though actively tightening, trying to suffocate him purely out of spite.

For the life of him, he can’t remember which slide he’s on, or even if the current slide bears any relation to the words he was previously speaking. His pointer hand hovers mid-gesture, awkwardly frozen.

There’s a distracting ringing in his ears — no, he corrects himself, not ringing.

Silence.

His own silence stretching across the room as he mentally scrambles to pinpoint exactly when he stopped talking. Judging from the expectant stares, probably mid-sentence.

Your eyes find his almost instantly, brows pinched the tiniest bit, like you’re puzzled but trying not to be disrespectful about it. Spencer can feel the sweat prickling beneath his shirt.

But then you smile and give him a thumbs up.

Big and bright and encouraging like you’re trying to telepathically remind him that he’s doing great, as if this is only a mild, forgivable stumble from a nervous academic tripped up by nothing more serious than transition slide number 42.

It’s not funny. He tells himself that with conviction. But there’s some part of him that wants to laugh anyway, if only to release the pressure building inside him.

Instead, he settles for a restrained nod, stretches a smile over clenched teeth, pretends it feels natural then regains his place in the presentation.

Guilt rushes in on the tail end of his anger (anger? jealousy? — the terminology feels suspiciously accurate, but labeling it as so feels premature and vaguely terrifying). He’s uncertain what specific transgression triggered this, but his nervous system apparently feels apologies are overdue, regardless.

Possibly because his thoughts are increasingly heading into Neanderthal territory with every look the man gives you.

Thankfully around halfway, maybe just past that mark, the nameless man beside you rises. It’s discreet, he simply leans in toward you, exchanges some hushed, unintelligible words, then slips away.

The second the chair beside you empties though, that pressure in his chest loosens like a long-held muscle finally unclenched. Like oxygen flooding back into a room that had been vacuum-sealed.

Spencer rushes through his concluding remarks, murmuring a perfunctory thanks to the audience and moves swiftly off the stage.

No handshakes, no small talk, no waiting around to see if anyone has further questions. Frankly, he doesn’t have the bandwidth to pretend he cares.

His mind is fixated solely on you, his priority laser-focused on bridging the gap he’s spent the past hour actively trying not to acknowledge, intent on reaching you first before anyone else gets the chance.

You can’t help yourself from smiling the instant he comes into view, then immediately worry that it’s too much smile, a full wattage beam reserved for grander occasions than a simple post-presentation hello.

But then again, this is Spencer.

Spencer, who just minutes ago had half the room on the edge of their seats, eyes round with wonder, absorbing each detail like children watching a magic trick unfold.

You’re fairly certain he would appreciate that comparison.

“You were incredible,” you say, feeling a little winded by your own excitement. Hopefully, that accounts for the weird expression you’re pretty sure is plastered all over your face. “Seriously, you sounded so confident, and that one part, the twins with the shared delusion? You could hear everyone holding their breath.”

Spencer holds your gaze, expression carefully blank, as if he’s momentarily forgotten how to react. He finally swallows, glancing downward briefly before forcing his eyes back to yours. 

“Thanks,” he says, “to tell you the truth, it felt a bit… off.”

“Really?” you blurt out. “It was probably the slides, honestly. I knew I should’ve picked the darker blue for the headers. The light blue looked fine on my laptop, but projected up there it looked way too… fluorescent. Sorry if it threw you off, or you know, temporarily damaged your retinas.”

His lips curve into something resembling a smile, but there’s a noticeable emptiness behind it, a shadow of the quietly affection grin he saves for Garcia when she insists on inventing some silly nickname for him, or that gently softened look he gives you when you ask him to double-check emails you’re irrationally convinced you wrote incorrectly.

This one feels different. More distant, maybe.

Was that too much? Did you overshoot the tone? Did you mistake his pause for an opening and trample right through it? Did the slides really throw him off? You don’t know, but your mouth is already moving again.

“I mean, no one probably even noticed the color thing. I just… I did. Not that it mattered. The content was what people were paying attention to. Your content, not mine, obviously. Just — sorry, I —”

“The slides were perfect,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “Really, thank you for putting them together.”

Warmth blooms aggressively across your cheeks, spreading upward to your ears until you’re positive they must be visibly burning.

You nod vigorously, maybe too much so, because words seem hazardous at this point. You’re 90% sure the only sound you would make is some kind of mouse-adjacent squeak.

He nods toward the row of now-empty chairs.

“Next time, would you mind sitting a bit closer?” he asks. “If there’s a technical glitch, having you close by could save me from another awkward pause.”

“I was planning to.” You let out a laugh, ducking your head. “But someone got there first and I thought it’d be weird if I challenged them to a duel or something.”

He laughs at that and your heart reacts accordingly.

“Tell you what,” he says, “next time I’ll reserve your seat myself. No need to resort to sword fights on my behalf.”

A chair scrapes violently a few feet away, loud enough to startle you mid-nod. You flinch, pivot slightly, and your purse, which was balanced precariously on the back of your chair, swings off and to the floor. 

Lip balm tubes, scattered pens, mint wrappers, crumbled receipts, and a pitiful handful of coins erupt from the bag like tiny projectiles, landing messily at Spencer’s feet.

You’re halfway through an apology that’s shaping up to be spectacularly frantic when he crouches beside you.

“It’s fine —” he reassures, patiently herding your scattered belongings until his hand stops dead, hovering oddly over something.

A folded napkin. He picks it up gently, like he’s trying not to crumple it, and you immediately recognize it, the paper, the stupid casual tilt of the handwriting. The guy’s phone number paired with an invitation for coffee or drinks or something similarly forgettable.

Honestly, you barely registered it at the time, dismissed it entirely after a polite smile and obligatory nod. It meant nothing then. It means even less now. 

Your brain lurches, caught in a panicked tug-of-war between explaining yourself, pretending nothing happened, or diving headfirst into an apology (your well-worn, anxiety-ridden default).

Because it all suddenly feels painfully amateurish, unbelievably unprofessional, especially in the relentless spotlight of being the newest face, the eager-to-please media liaison who occasionally gets mistaken for someone’s assistant or coffee-fetcher at least twice per conference. 

You already feel like you’re playing catch-up to the rest of them, especially him.

And now, somehow, you’ve inadvertently become the girl who collects phone numbers at work functions. It’s not that you wanted it, but refusing just felt unnecessarily harsh.

And what were you supposed to say? 

Sorry, but I’m secretly nursing a hopeless infatuation for the lanky genius on the stage with an alphabet soup of degrees, beautiful hands, and a voice you would happily let narrate even your most tedious existence? 

Arguably even less professional.

You take the napkin from his hand quickly, tucking it deep into your bag like maybe that’ll erase the last thirty seconds.

“That wasn’t, um, supposed to be…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Spencer interjects, gaze lowered, “I imagine it happens often.”

You press your lips together. Nervously, you steal a glance at him, noting the clench of his jaw and the almost angry crease between his brows.

“It doesn’t, actually.”

Both of you straighten at once, shoulders grazing clumsily as he smooths down his sleeves.

You silently wish, not for the first time, you could translate his face into something tangible. Profiler by osmosis, apparently, isn’t a thing.

“Well,” he says, like he’s still thinking it over. “They’re clearly behind the curve.”

Your stomach dives into freefall, landing roughly somewhere near where your purse had just been. Still, you muster a breezy smile, hand flicking dismissively.

“Oh, um, you don’t need to say that,” you say lightly, even though your mind is already sprinting between seven — no, eight — different theories on what exactly he meant by that. “But thanks.”

“I think I kind of do. Because if anyone’s asking for your number, I think it should be at least someone who —”

“Dr. Reid?” Someone interrupts, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Do you have a second to talk about the regression data on slide 19?”

Spencer nods, starting to turn, but not before his eyes catch yours again. Just once.

His mouth curves into the slightest of smiles, teasing in a way you’ve never seen, as though he’s entirely aware of the words left unsaid and exactly how they’re going to occupy your thoughts in the meantime.

You despise this new smile. You adore this new smile. You’re doomed, either way.

Without a second glance, you fish the napkin from your purse, walking to the nearest trash can and dropping it inside. 

You wonder if he’ll circle back. If he’ll finish the sentence.

And if he doesn’t, well, you’ll be thinking about it anyway.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[liuhsng]

───〃⋆⭒˚.⋆ UNTOUCHABLE MASTERLIST

⤷ nsfw content ahead, minors do not interact.

seven pureblooded alphas. bound by legacy and power. in a world where instincts rule and bonds can break you, each one has a story—of control, resistance, obsession.

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ taglist — closed ⤷ appreciation post ⤷ warnings — omegaverse au, this series contains mature themes, smut (some), toxic dynamics, and angst | to be read in order : jungwon, heeseung, sunoo, sunghoon, jake, jay, and ni-ki ⤷ a/n — some parts of this series are still under editing and proofreading, please be patient with updates and revisions. i want to give you the best version of every story <3

✩ˎˊ˗ how to claim an omega ( yjw ! )

⤷ read here

⤷ pairing — jungwon x fem!reader

⤷ summary — yang jungwon has always been the definition of the word “perfect,” almost around him almost praise and kiss the ground he walks on. even when it came to girls, various omegas practically throw themselves at the pureblooded alpha, but the oh-so perfect yang jungwon never pays them any mind because he already has his eyes set on a certain timid omega who has been trying her best to avoid him at all costs. and he won't stop until he gets what wants, in that case? you. or where it only took jungwon three years and three chances to finally get you.

✩ˎˊ˗ bottom of the chain ( lhs ! )

⤷ read here

⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader

⤷ summary — he was unapproachable, everyone knew that he was one of the people on top of the throne and a person to be looked up upon because of the various talents that he possessed, and it was practically a hidden rule that lee heeseung's omega shouldn't be messed with as much as him. but some others still forget their lowly positions and cross the line. his only instinct? remind those bastards of their lowly statuses in the food chain.

✩ˎˊ˗ breaking point ( ksn ! )

⤷ read here

⤷ pairing — sunoo x fem!reader

⤷ summary — being sunghoon’s younger sister by a year, it was clear to everyone that you were off-limits. sunghoon’s overprotectiveness made it impossible for anyone to forget that, especially sunoo, his best friend. the pink haired alpha, who always saw you as nothing more than his best friend’s little sister. he wasn’t looking for an omega or a mate, and that was that. but when things get heated between the both of you, he had no choice but to confront the feelings he always had for his best friend's younger sister that he couldn't deny anymore.

✩ˎˊ˗ when fate calls ( psh ! )

⤷ read here

⤷ pairing — sunghoon x fem!reader

⤷ summary — as the eldest son of a powerful family, park sunghoon has always followed tradition, dedicating himself to his responsibilities. relationships never crossed his mind, his focus was on the life carefully planned for him. but then there was you, someone he had seen countless times yet never truly noticed until now. when realization dawned on him that you were his mate, it unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain. it unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain. the unexpeced idea of love terrified him, so he rejected the traditional courting that came with claiming an omega. but as his avoidance hurts you, the high and mighty alpha is forced to confront the truth he’s been running from: some things aren’t meant to be planned.

✩ˎˊ˗ between the shelves ( sjy ! )

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ pairing — jake x fem!reader

⤷ summary — as the only son of a prestigious family and the student council secretary, sim jaeyun—or as his friends like to call him: jake has always been at the top. admired, respected, and burdened by responsibility. he’s used to handling everything himself, ensuring perfection in all that he does. and then there was you, someone he had always seen but never had the chance to approach, until fate handed him the opportunity. hiding from relentless admirers, he found himself in the library, where, to his surprise, you weren’t just another passing face. jake has always adored the idea of having a mate, but he never rushed fate, until you. before he knows it, meetings no longer hold his full attention, tasks he once insisted on doing himself are left to others, all so he can be near you.

✩ˎˊ˗ no-fly zone ( pjs ! )

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ pairing — jay x fem!reader

⤷ summary — park jongseong—better known as jay, had everything: wealth, power, and a name that carried undeniable influence. a pureblooded alpha and the only son of a family that dominated the aviation industry, he was sharp enough to take over the business and reckless enough to make the upper-ups lose patience. despite his position as student council treasurer, his reputation preceded him: missed deadlines, flawless grades, and a habit of picking the wrong fights. their solution? a tutor. a glorified babysitter. and, of course, it had to be you. an omega with a spotless record, a name as weighty as his own, and an infuriating presence that had always stood in his way. your families worked together, but you and jay never had. now, forced into each other’s space, the line between rivalry and something far more dangerous begins to blur.

✩ˎˊ˗ always been yours ( nk ! )

⤷ part 1 | part 2

⤷ pairing — ni-ki x fem!reader

⤷ summary — nishimura riki has never been good at sharing. not his things, not his time—and definitely not you. his childhood best friend, his first love, the one person he thought would always be by his side, and the one person who left without warning five years ago. now, out of nowhere, you’re back. still familiar, still his, and suddenly surrounded by alphas who don’t know where they stand. ni-ki isn’t the type to say how he feels. but he’s also not the type to sit back and watch someone else try to take what’s his. especially not when everyone already knows who you belong to.

series taglist — @hoonbrry @hime98 @chae-darling @moonchus @peatchiedii @creamkwan @nyfwyeonjun @whoe-dis @woonie-muffin @caelumsjy @90sni-ki @leiomorea @junjungsunwoo @in-somnias-world @notcamii @yizhoutv @lovesickth @elairah @graythecoffeebean @skyearby @ikeumina @blckorchidd @littlebambi-isdee @immelissaaa @jakesfurry @dreamy-carat @cristy-101 @m1kkso @h4niyahcar @firstclassjaylee @skyearby @hello0i @koizekomi @deluluscenarios @hooniehon @heelovesmeknot @petalsofink @sjyuns @jaerisdiction @baedreamverse @notcamii @nishiinightz @kissesfromdarling

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[devdozes]

Miss Manager?!

writin after 4 months. sorry gang ill try to be consistent now :( manager reader with saja boys!!

Contracts are annoying.

Especially the ones scribbled in infernal ink, sealed in divine blood, and slid across the table with a glittery Hello Kitty pen by five suspiciously pretty boys who claim they’re “gonna kill you if you dont sign it” but also argue about ramen flavors like sleep-deprived university students. You stare at them blankly as the last of your signature is scrawled across the binding clause, and boom. You are the manager of Saja boys, a group of five annoyingly handsome, idiotic men who don't even know what phones are.

♥ ♥ ♥ Who knew a human could be so terrifying?

You ran rehearsals like clockwork, knew their lyrics by heart, and still found time to slap glitter on their cheekbones before music show stages.

They gave you a nickname—“Manager-nim From Hell.” Ironic.

And despite your clipped tone and unsettling calm, they all kind of… loved you. Abby started showing you his abs and biceps first. You never complimented him, just handed him a protein bar and said, “Try doing legs next time.” He beamed anyway as you gave him his favourite protein bar flavour.

Romance flirted with you constantly, even though you never responded. He once said, “Manager-nim, if I die, it better be from your glare.” You replied, “Bold of you to assume you'd survive.”

Mystery hovered. Silent nd observing. The most introverted member, he lingered by your side often during busy events, like a shadow. He said almost nothing, but when you handed him his warmed-up tea without being asked, his ears turned red.

Baby, despite acting like he couldn’t care less, followed you everywhere like a bratty cat. He once sat on your desk and said, “You’re so boring, I like it,” then refused to move for three hours.

And Jinu—leader, ever-composed, pathetic loser boy, Jinu was the only one who pretended not to care and failed. He kept asking if you had enough sleep. He made excuses to sit near you during practice. He even updated the team calendar with “Manager-nim coffee break (DO NOT DISTURB)” in all caps.

anyways, they are ALL IDIOTS.

They’re all four hundred years old. At least. Probably older. They’ve fought wars. Seen kingdoms fall. Been summoned and sealed more times than anyone can count.

But ask them to microwave popcorn?

Silence. Blank stares. Romance whispers, “Is that like magic?”

You’re the only one with a braincell. Unfortunately, it’s the same one holding everything together with a fraying thread, a half-empty coffee cup, and two hours of sleep. You write their schedules, plan their meals, dodge assassination attempts from HUNTR/X and keep track of their skincare. But then they really crossed the line

You were at rehearsals. The boys had been annoying all day, and Romance—of course—pushed it too far.

“Manager-nim,” he purred, sliding closer with that irritating smirk, “if we’re both off the clock, does that make it a personal relationship?”

You didn’t speak. You just punched him. Square in the jaw.

He flew back five feet, crashing into Abby, who was mid-flex. Abby crumpled too, groaning.

Silence.

Even Baby dropped his lollipop.

Jinu stared at you, eyes wide. “You… You hit a demon.”

Mystery took off his sunglasses for the first time in weeks. “That’s against the contract.”

Romance groaned from the floor. “I felt that. What the hell—?”

You dusted off your knuckles, the faintest smirk playing at your lips. “Boys,” you said, voice calm, almost amused, “this contract was forged between a human and a demon.” "Not demon to another demon," You said, smile sharpening waitinf for their reactions "YOU'RE A DEMON?!" ♥ ♥ ♥

BONUS!! AFTER THE REVEAL :3 One night, you were all in the dorm living room, blankets everywhere, a movie playing that none of you were really watching. Romance was doing his dumb “stretch and yawn” trick to get closer to you on the couch until you smacked him with a throw pillow. Abby was trying to balance popcorn on his abs. Mystery was humming along with the background music. Baby had completely passed out using your thigh as a pillow. Jinu had fallen asleep sitting upright, neck bent at an angle that would give lesser men scoliosis.

And You were just sitting there, warm, buried under a weighted blanket and a bratty maknae, sipping your lemon tea and watching the show playing. Well, atleast they are a little more respectful of you now

[distuff]

I going to assume this is where we ask the requests so may I request a Saja boys x reader(separate but all of them) where they’re jealous after reader did something and how’d they react?

Answer: LMAO aye aye! Thx to ya I made all the changes at the beginnin for makin it esier for others to have a better idea, so thank you~ It was funny how you and were right after the other readershi who wanted to see these boyz jealous xDD Your wish is my command though ! I hope you enjoy it.

📍Requests: Please check HERE

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Demon Boys' And Jealousy

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

Jinu Saja

🐦‍⬛ Jinu personally didn’t think he was a jealous person...

🐦‍⬛ He looked up, turning to blink at the tiger. The tiger didn’t blink back. It sat there, staring through him with the unsettling stillness of something that knew. As if it could peer into the hollow cavity where his soul used to be.

🐦‍⬛ With a shaky breath, Jinu tore his gaze away and dropped it to the notebook in his lap, trying - trying - to focus on another one of Saja’s newer songs.

🐦‍⬛ Where was he? Right - He liked to think he could manage the sparks of jealousy. That he was above it. That he could smother it with rational thought before it ever had the chance to claw its way to the surface. But that was a lie. And the tiger - of course knew it.

🐦‍⬛ Above him, Magpie let out a sharp, mocking cackle from where it was perched on the long lamp looming over the couch. Jinu groaned, flinging his arms over his head, notebook still clutched in one hand, pen dangerously close to poking him in the eye.

🐦‍⬛ “Oh, spare me!” he said to the two ungrateful creatures, barely restraining the urge to launch the notebook at the smirking bird.

🐦‍⬛ This whole situation had started because of his irrational jealousy. That was the root of it. The spark. So how could anyone expect him - when his entire state of existence was now practically constructed from jealousy - not to act on it!

Jinu wasn’t as active as Abby when it came to exercising, but he also wasn’t as lazy as Baby or Mystery - those two practically had to be dragged outside just to get some fresh air, otherwise they’d dry out and be utterly useless later on. He enjoyed a simple night walk. Disguised, of course - nothing elaborate, just enough to avoid the eyes of their “fans.” He kept the concealment on until he reached the outskirts of the main city, where the air quieted and the streets thinned, and he could shed the disguise and just… breathe. The peace never lasted long. Sooner or later, he’d have to wear the idol’s mask again - or worse, the face of a soul-devouring demon. He never quite understood the thrill the others got from feeding. For them, devouring a soul was euphoric, intoxicating. For him, it just felt weird. Off. The leftover emotions from their human prey rushed through his system like a poison. More than once, he’d fought the urge to purge the very essence he’d had to consume - because if he didn’t feed, he’d weaken. And if he weakened, someone would overpower him. Whether that was another demon or one of his brothers in rank didn’t matter. Either way, hesitation meant death. The night walks were his one escape. They helped him clear his head, helped him pretend - for just a while - that he was nothing more than some delinquent climbing rooftops, finding a quiet place to perch where no one could see him. A place where the honmoon wouldn’t be provoked too easily. It had always been just him… until you came along. You introduced yourself into his life, unknowingly giving him peace of mind even in daylight. And when it was just the two of you? Those walks became something more. He enjoyed them far more than he should’ve - far more, given the countdown ticking overhead like a guillotine waiting to drop. He didn’t know how yet, but there had to be a way to keep your soul anchored to you. To protect it from the old King’s greed. If not… if no other way revealed itself… he’d be forced to devour you himself. And he wouldn’t be allowed to hesitate if the others were to watch. One moment of weakness and they'd either take you for themselves, or kill him where he stood. Or both. For now, they stayed away. You were his prey. His claim was clear enough, and no one dared challenge it yet. But that didn’t mean you were safe. If he slipped up - if he showed even a crack - they’d descend without mercy. To you, the two of you were a pair. Something sweet and in your head lasting. To them, you were just a meal he was taking his time savouring. Jinu didn’t want to think about any of that tonight. Not now. Not when he was getting ready to head out for his - yours - usual evening walk. Pulling on his leather jacket to make it look he was warding off the autumn chill, he turned and called your name. A second later, with nothing from you, he strained his ears only to wince right after - his hand flying to his right ear as a sharp sound pierced through him. The TV. Of course, Jinu winced inwardly. Jinu grimaced. Even at low volume, that thing buzzed like a mosquito in their ears. But the volume was up a notch higher now, which could only mean one thing: you were there. Still massaging his ear, he muttered curses under his breath and stepped out of the hallway, peeking around the wall to get a clear view of the living room. Mystery sat on the couch, somehow watching the screen through the thick fringe of his hair. His posture was unnervingly straight, hands placed neatly on his lap. Abby sprawled lazily, a bored expression in place as he stared at the Tv screen. His right arm stretched casually across the back of the couch - resting behind you. You sat in the middle of them, leaning forward slightly, eyes glued to the screen. Jinu’s eyes narrowed.

He was no stranger to the feeling that made his shoulders round, made his neck itch with the urge to crack his neck, called him to march over, and wedge himself between you and those two. Ideally, pulling you into his lap and acting as a living barrier. Jinu inhaled deeply, rolled his shoulders, and sauntered forward. One hand rubbed the back of his neck, easing the tension in the muscle before he gave it a soft crack. Without a word, he came to stand in front of you, arms folded across his chest. You didn’t notice him at first - too busy leaning over to watch whatever Mystery was so intensely obsessed with this time. So Jinu snapped his fingers in front of your face, prompting you to blink up at him. Your eyes lit up the second they met his unimpressed stare. A bright grin broke across your face. “Juni!” His shoulders eased at the sound of your voice, your use of that nickname - though the calm didn’t last. His gaze flicked to the two demons seated beside you. Thankfully, they were too absorbed in the screen to notice how much of an effect you had on him. You tilted your head, your eyes curious. “Is something the matter?” He tried not to focus on how casual you sounded - how you didn’t seem to register your shared evening walks as habit. Crouching down in front of you, Jinu angled himself so he didn’t have to look down at you anymore. “Ah… remember?” he asked, gesturing to the large window that framed the darkened sky, city lights already flickering beneath it. “Evening walk?” Your gaze followed where he pointed, then returned to him. You drew in your shoulders and pressed your lips together, looking hesitant. You sucked in your bottom lip and Jinu’s unease deepened. “Well…” you trailed off, making a vague gesture with your hand as if that should somehow explain everything.

Jinu squinted at you. He was this close to just slinging you over his shoulder and marching out the door. Baby had given him more than enough practice in how to secure a squirming body. You, being human, wouldn’t be able to put up nearly as much of a fight. Seeing he wasn’t going to let this go easily, you finally sighed in defeat. You spread your legs slightly, leaned forward, and rested your arms on your thighs with a pleading look. “The new season of my favourite series will come out tonight,” you whispered, eyes wide with excitement. “And Mystery said I could watch it on your big TV!” You gestured dramatically at the TV set up behind him - an admittedly expensive set by human standards. Jinu gave the screen a sharp glare. It was just an animal documentary. Lions, apparently. Tearing into something. He turned back to you with disbelief. “You do know you can watch it any time - after we come back.” He spoke at his usual volume, only to be immediately shushed. Jinu shot a look at Mystery. “Did you just—” “Shhh.” Mystery shushed him again. This time, Abby joined in, both of them leaning forward with fingers to their lips. Jinu blinked at them, visibly perplexed. He opened his mouth to object - there was literally no dialogue on screen, just lions snarling over a bloody gazelle - when your hand touched his shoulder. He glanced back at you. Your sheepish smile softened his frown. “Yeah, but…” you whispered, eyes flicking briefly to the side before settling on him again with quiet determination, “it’s different when you’re watching air live.” Jinu honestly wanted to ask how it was different. What possibly changed. But just as he parted his lips to question your frankly ridiculous logic, a wave of demonic aura seeped into the air from either side of you. Abby and Mystery, without moving much at all, made their warning perfectly clear. Jinu had two choices: sit down and shut up, or get out. He sighed. Reaching for your hand, he offered a weak smile and gave a small nod before lowering himself to the carpeted floor. He slid between your legs and leaned back against the couch, letting you slot him into place. The documentary continued. Lions tearing into thier dead prey. Blood everywhere. Jinu flexed his hands on his lap, resisting the urge to grumble. This was not how his night was supposed to go. He was being replaced. Not even by the TV - by a series. He sighed again, heavier this time, shoulders slumping as he glared at the screen, only to perk up when your hand slid into his carefully styled hair. You ran your fingers through it, scratching his scalp gently, easily messing it up without a care in the world. Jinu shivered. Instinctively, he leaned into your touch. Then your other hand slid down to his throat, beneath his chin. You tipped his face up and he let you, head tilted back slightly- His eyes widened as your lips brushed his, soft and warm. He blinked, startled for a split second - then relaxed into it, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed back. Yeah… maybe you could skip your evening walk just this once. As long as he got more attention than the dammed television. Not that he’d ever dare damage the thing. Just imagining what Mystery would do if he touched it sent a very different kind of shiver down his spine. And that had nothing to do with your touch.

<><><>

Abs Saja

💪 Abby wasn’t at all familiar with the term jealousy.

💪 He’d only learned about it after joining Jinu into the human world - first hearing it tossed around on those “sites” where people put pictures of themselves doing absolutely nothing of importance while strangers commented their thoughts underneath. He’d seen it muttered in passing by humans - “fans,” Jinu told him to called them - when he was signing his name on whatever they thrust into his face. And it showed up occasionally in those human dramas that played on the “TV” when he had nothing better to do and ended up beside Mystery on the couch.

💪 Even after picking up a fairly decent understanding of the concept, Abby still didn’t know how it was supposed to make his body react - if he was being honest. Not like he cared. Not really.

💪 There were far more interesting things in the human world than some feeling that, in his view, humans had invented just to make simple things unnecessarily complicated. I don’t like this—let me change it.

💪 That should’ve been enough. But then again, who was he to speak? He was more demon now than man, and his past... well, that was something he preferred to keep buried. If he had the choice, he’d leave it untouched.

💪 Still - Abby should’ve known. Should’ve expected that forming a connection with a human would eventually drag answers to questions he forgot he even asked.

It was one of those overcast days, the sky thick with grey clouds, announcing the rain that lurked just beyond the horizon. Abby could already hear the low, lazy rumble of thunder rolling somewhere in the distance - not quite overhead, but close enough to suggest it would settle in soon. Which meant if he stepped outside now, he might as well go out into the streets shouting that he was a demon here to claim every twitching human soul in earshot. Mystery had explained it to him once - after he’d all but run out of the shower with parts of his demonic features peeking through his supposed human skin, panicking that Gwi-ma was weakening. Apparently, their illusions functioned like layers of paint - carefully brushed over their true forms. And things like water or even a sweat could slowly strip those layers away until reality began to bleed through the cracks. And really - who was he to argue with the older demon? Still, this left him now with two conclusions: one irritating, the other… not so much. The annoying bit was simple: he’d have to exercise indoors. Which wouldn’t have been a problem on its own, except all the humans in the complex had clearly come to the same conclusion. And the shared gym? Cramped and humid. Abby didn’t mind sweating when he trained - he kind of enjoyed it, actually - but when the light hit him just right, his markings shimmered faintly, and his skin paled into that subtle, grey-blue hue. Easy to miss if no one was paying attention, but the wrong sort of eyes - especially hunters - tended to catch on. And then there was you. You’d said you needed a quiet space, somewhere you wouldn’t be bothered, and that ruled out the crowded gym anyway. Which meant Abby, by silent agreement, was stuck training in his own room. Annoying, yes. But also... pleasing. Because you were here. And you’d made it clear that if you ever felt like you were imposing, you’d leave. Which meant that if Abby wanted you to stay - which he very much did - he’d have to make a few sacrifices. Like giving up a chunk of his workout for the day. Oh well. He rolled his shoulders with a slow inward shrug and glanced at you where you sat cross-legged on his bed, fiddling with that magical little rectangle Jinu called a “phone.” He could afford to be lazy for a day. Especially if it meant basking in the warm, soothing presence of your soul - the one he so enjoyed soaking in, surrounding himself with, getting drunk on. Saliva pooled on his tongue just thinking about it. The once-bright blue, was already dimming - stained at the edges with crimson as their demonic influence quietly stirred over your soul. Once his stretches were done, Abby sauntered toward the iron bar fixed to the wall - a brutal little addition his brothers had insisted on after his first attempt at exercising in the main room had resulted in gagging, and Mystery outright fleeing from the scent. His pace was deliberate, loose. He swayed his hips slightly, rolled his shoulders, muscles flexing and pulling the tight tank top over his torso. His legs tensed beneath his sport shorts just as he leapt, hands gripping the bar with ease. He didn’t mind showing off in front of you. If anything, he enjoyed it - savored the look in your eyes when you stared just a bit too long. He knew exactly what his body could do. What kind of effect it could have. And he liked the way you looked at him when he made a point to show it. What Abby hadn’t accounted for was just how fast humans could adapt. Apparently, exposure dulled even the strongest reactions. Their attention drifted easily to new, shinier things. Which was maybe why, after only a few pull-ups, he held himself up - showing off with a smirk, tilting his head just so, flashing those sharp canines beneath a hooded gaze, fully expecting to find your eyes already on him. Only to nearly fumble his grip when he realised- You weren’t looking at him at all. Your eyes were fixed intently on the screen of that damned phone.

Abby’s nose twitched - sensing nothing but your unwavering concentration. It soothed some of the itch in his chest, that gnawing emptiness that never quite went away, no matter how many souls he consumed. Not really. He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what, exactly, could be more interesting than him right now. Even his gaze - heated and focused - didn’t seem to alert you. Abby was just about to whistle to get your attention when your voice suddenly rang out, bright and slightly forced. You held up your phone, smiling awkwardly as you nodded and greeted… someone? Abby froze. His focus had already loosened his grip on the iron bar, and your sudden movement was the final push that made his hold slip. He dropped with a solid thud, the impact rattling a few items on the nearby shelves. But he didn’t flinch. He was already rising, eyes locked on you from the floor like you had lost your mind. Are you alright in the head? he mouthed silently, twirling a finger near his temple before pointing at you. You furrowed your brows at him briefly, then quickly refocused on the phone, offering it an awkward smile as you confidently said, “Present.” Abby tilted his head, expression twisting into something between confusion and mild concern. Could demonic influence make humans go insane? It was a genuine question now. His eyes widened when he suddenly heard other voices - males and a few females, staticky, and invisible. He instantly looked around the room, searching for intruders, enemies, anything. If something was in here - if something was bold enough to challenge him in his own territory - he’d just show them exactly what kind of demon they were dealing with. But… nothing. Not a trace of another presence. No heartbeat, no soul signature, not even a flicker in the air. Just you. He looked back at you, only to jolt slightly as you were now giving him the "Are you okay?" look, eyes narrowed like he was the one acting weird. “What are you- ?” he began, only to fall silent when your eyes widened in panic. You shot him a look that clearly said, Shut up. Now Abby was both intrigued and annoyed. You seemed far more interested in whatever voices were coming from that tiny device than in him. Again. With his brows furrowed, he got up with a grunt, eyes fixed on you as he began to slowly stalk forward. “Yes, yes. Everything will be done by this Friday, I promise you, sir,” you said to the phone, your tone professional but clearly strained as you flicked your gaze between your screen and him. Abby was one second away from snatching the damned thing out of your hands and glaring at whoever thought they could steal your attention from him. But just as he reached out, your hand shot out and curled around his wrist. He looked down at your fingers wrapped around him, then back at you - unimpressed. He could easily pull away. Could do whatever he wanted really. But your touch, soft and sudden, paired with the silent pleading in your eyes… it cooled something in him. Just slightly. That deep, restless need to toss the phone aside, to pin you to the bed and lose himself in the warmth of your soul while you scrambled to hold him back - it didn’t disappear, but it dimmed.

You held his gaze - steady, firm - until a female voice buzzed through the phone. His ears rang a bit as he winced, and your head whipped away from him as you fumbled to confirm you were, in fact, listening, adding something about thinking you saw something. That made Abby grin sharply, the realisation settling over him like silk across skin. He didn’t know exactly what you were doing - but it was clear you didn’t want whoever was on the other end of that phone knowing he was here. Was he your dirty little secret~? No, that didn’t quite track. Your close friends knew you two were intimate. So then… why? The amusement drained from his features, fading into the pit of something far less pleasant. He couldn’t understand why you couldn’t just let those disembodied voices keep chatting to themselves through that possessed little rectangle and focus on him. On now. Abby didn’t like it. He also didn’t like standing there with all this unspent energy coiling under his skin. And you - you were making it hard to burn through it. So the moment your grip on his wrist started to weaken, Abby was already on the move. Without a word, he reached down and wrapped his hand around your ankle, tugging sharply. You bit your lip to stop any noise that wanted to leave as your posture crumbled, the phone nearly toppling out of your hands as you shifted - now seated with your legs splayed around his knees, trapped in place. Your eyes darted between the screen and the brooding look in his own, trying to hold onto both as if the two didn’t demand your full attention. Abby leaned in, eyes gleaming, lips curling into a smirk that promised far too much. “You,” he murmured, voice low and deliberate, “are going to figure out how to split your attention... with seventy-five percent of it on me… or-” His hand tightened just slightly around your ankle, firm but not painful. “ -I’ll very gladly give 'em a show they’ll never forget.” You flushed - he felt the heat rising off you in waves. Your expression flickered, visibly torn, and Abby knew damn well this shouldn’t even be a choice. You narrowed your eyes at his wicked grin as he began to mouth a countdown. Five... Four... Three... He got to two when you finally jabbed something on your phone, your tone sharp as you gave him a command instead of pleading: “Push-up position. Now.” Abby raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. He’d never been one to turn down a direct order - be it from Jinu, one of his brothers, or you. With a casual shrug, he lowered himself to the floor, hands planted firmly, legs stretched out, posture strong. He was about to glance up and smugly ask what the Royal Highness wanted him to do next - when he stilled. Your weight settled lightly across his lower back. Barely adding any weight. Abby blinked, surprised, and twisted to peer over his shoulder. You were fully focused on your phone again - expression serious, lips in a thoughtful pout like you were mentally juggling tasks - but now your warmth was resting against him. Your body was with him, even if your mind was still split. Abby’s lips pulled into a slow, toothy grin. His canines gleamed. Oh... you little masochist~ He chuckled under his breath and started the push-ups, each one slow and deliberate. Occasionally, he flexed his muscles just a bit more than necessary - earning a soft hiss, a poke of your foot to his ribs, or the delicious sound of his name whispered in mild exasperation. He didn’t care. He’d gotten what he wanted.

<><><>

Romance Saja

🌹 Romance was, by far, the least jealous of the five of them - and he was well aware of that.

🌹 The first time he even heard of jealousy, it was through something called a “comment” under a photo on this... "app" their manager had practically begged them to post. Apparently, posting was important for “engagement.”

🌹 Romance wasn’t sure what any of that meant, but from what he could gather, it involved humans reacting emotionally to pictures - and ducks, if the tiny round icons were to be trusted. Yes. A duck.

🌹 Romance had always known he was good-looking - otherworldly, as some humans had said - but to have a duck be jealous of him? That just felt unfair. He couldn’t, in good conscience, let such a poor creature think so lowly of itself.

🌹 Naturally, he replied to the comment. And for some reason got scolded for it by their manager. To make matters weirder, he was then invited to be some kind of... ambassador for animal rights. Or whatever that meant.

🌹 Weird, reall. Romance thought majority of humans already had rights. But anyway - back to the point.

🌹 He hadn’t understood what “jealousy” even was, so naturally, he went to their beloved human translator, Jinu. Romance had known Jinu for a few centuries now, and not once had he seen his brother react to anything quite so... passionately.

🌹 Either way, Romance had come to a firm conclusion: Jealousy was ugly.

🌹 Useless. Unassuming. Awful. Vile. Plain. Dreadful—

🌹 Aand Mystery snatched the precious book from his hands, muttering something about “thief.” Safe to say, Romance knew he would never think in such a way. Well... That was until he met a human who loved proving him wrong.

🌹 Didn’t you, you precious little worm~ ?

Romance was just putting the finishing touches on his freshly painted nails - this time opting for a daring combination of banana yellow and ocean blue. As expected, it looked fantastic. On him, of course. He couldn't imagine anyone else pulling off the look quite so flawlessly. “Darling,” he called out to you, admiring the now dry shimmer of his handiwork before carefully returning the various nail polish bottles to their rightful place in the box on the coffee table. With the space now cleared, it was your turn to get pampered. Romance wasn’t exactly sure when you’d moved from beside him on the carpeted floor of their shared living room, but he didn’t much care - so long as you responded. Or appeared. But you did neither. Frowning lightly, Romance looked up, perplexed by your silence. He could feel your presence, your soft, warm ripple in the honmoon - a soothing thrum of your soul pressing into the apartment’s atmosphere. Easily tracing the crimson line, his gaze landed on you just a few feet away, practically sprawled across Tiger’s plush belly. The spirit beast lay motionless on its back, all four legs pointed to the ceiling, while you absently patted its furry side. Tiger, in return, stared at you with wide, unblinking eyes - oddly content. The only sign that the beast was enjoying itself came in the form of a loud, rhythmic purring that Romance had only now registered, his demon hearing filtering back in once he emerged from his own head. Perched contentedly atop your back sat Magpie, methodically going through your hair like it was grooming you. Ohhh, he thought with a delighted grin. So that’s what this was. You were feeling lonely with his attention elsewhere. How precious~ He couldn't even blame you. Tiger’s fur did have a mildly intoxicating effect on humans - a fact they’d learned the hard way after you met them all properly... and after Romance almost immediately revealed that he and the others were demons. Not the easiest path in your connection, but you’d pulled through! Good for you. Especially considering Baby had been sharpening his claws at the mere thought of you running. Would Romance have tried to save you from the eager young demon if it came to that...? ... . . . “Darling?” he called out again instead of entertaining the thought any further, his smile dazzling as he partially turned your way. No use pondering things that would never happen - not now that you’d sworn to secrecy. Not when you chose him, in spite of it all.

At the sound of his slightly raised voice, your dazed eyes flicked towards him. You blinked once, then gave him a much softer smile in return. "Yeeah? What’s wrong?" you asked, your voice airy, touched with a lightness that made Romance chuckle as he straightened up slightly. He didn’t love how you were still sprawled across Tiger’s belly, absentmindedly running your hand through the spirit’s fur instead of coming over to him. But Romance didn’t let it show. “Well, for starters - your clothes,” he replied pointedly. You only hummed, smile deepening to yourself as you traced the stripes along Tiger’s side. Magpie peeked from behind your hair to send Romance a very unimpressed look, which he ignored in favour of continuing, “You’ll have fur all over them, mind you love.” He thought that would get you up. Clearly, he miscalculated. You just giggled, pressing yourself even further into the plush creature whose body had begun to vibrate with deep, pleased purrs. “Don’t be silly, Romance! I don’t mind a bit of fur. I can get it off with that... that - ah, that glue wheel!” you beamed, proud of yourself for remembering the term for a lint roller. Even Romance knew what a the "glue wheel" was called! Now considerably less amused, Romance would have usually run a finger gently through your honmoon wave to call your attention to him, but you were so blissed out he couldn’t begin to guess what that kind of contact might do to your human brain right now. He could have walked over and simply dragged you back to sit beside him - but that wasn’t an option either. You were being guarded. Tiger and Magpie’s joint aura radiated around you like a protective cocoon, the kind that would push his energy back the second he stepped too close with his current rattled state. How irritating.

Romance sighed softly, eyes tinged with bitterness as he watched you continue to receive your pampering - and dish it out in equal measure. You looked perfectly at peace, perfectly content… without him. Jealousy? Romance scoffed inwardly. This wasn’t jealousy. Of course not. He could have what you were giving them at any time. Any second. You were just... relaxed. Too relaxed to think rationally. Taking comfort wherever it presented itself. Romance’s lips pulled into a small pout as he turned away. So what? You preferred a motionless cat and a meddling bird over him? Fine. He could play at indifference, too. He ignored the twitch of his fingers, the restrained urge to look at you again. He especially ignored the intrusive thought that maybe he should’ve paid more attention to what you were doing... instead of expecting you to sit beside him and simply look pretty. To enjoy his company quietly, the way he always did with you. His brow furrowed. Quickly, he smoothed it out. He wouldn’t allow a wrinkle to form over something as petty as this. But he also didn’t like the way his mouth tasted with the vile feeling now swimming in his chest. Since when did he crave your attention this much? A quiet huff escaped him - just before he noticed a presence near him. He turned his head - perhaps a bit too eagerly for his liking - only to flinch back when he came nose-to-nose with Tiger’s unblinking stare. Startled, Romance pushed himself away, inhaling sharply, he needed a second to calm his racing breath. His wide eyes shifted to Tiger’s left side - only to find you sitting down beside him behind the coffee table, one hand resting gently on the spirit’s shoulder. You gave him a soft smile, while Magpie now fluttered above the nail polish box, examining the bottles with a critical eye. Romance’s startled expression wasn’t from the Tiger spooking him - it was from not feeling you three come closer. Normally, he’d sense you through the honmoon, but those two? They seemed to have cloaked your energy like snow blanketing grass. Just like when they made tracking Jinu impossible. Just how long were you snuggling them? The thought came out sharp - too sharp. Even in his own head, it sounded accusatory. Before he could linger on the thought, his gaze snapped back to Tiger. The spirit had lifted its right paw, extending it slowly forward with a low, deliberate rawr. Eyes locked. Staring. As if- “I believe it wasn't you to paint its ‘nails’~” you chimed, cheek resting against your palm as you leaned forward across the coffee table, expression expectant. Romance blinked at you, then slowly sat upright again, recovering from all that was suddenly happening. Still trying to brush off the strange, unfamiliar bitterness inside him, he reached for Tiger’s large paw, gently taking it in both hands and pressing into the pads to extend the luminous, jade-like claws. They were already somewhat tinted - but the way you were watching him, eyes bright with amusement and warmth, reignited something inside him. Your attention was back. That was all he needed. If you wanted to give up your seat to Tiger? Romance didn’t care, he would manage to paint the spirit's claws one way or another - so long as you stayed beside him. So long as your eyes were on him.

<><><>

Mystery Saja

🐶 You need to understand something. Mystery despised unnecessary movement.

🐶 The fact that he was already forced to move in sync with the others during their dances, striking poses with highly questionable gestures that were, for some reason, culturally considered “cute” - was bad enough. So whenever he could simply sit still and not move? He took it. Literally.

🐶 Mystery could remain perfectly still for hours if something caught his interest. The first time Abby witnessed this, he’d startled so hard the cereal box he was holding had flown out of his hands - scattering cornflakes across the room. He’d only been chewing on them “to have something to do,” even though he constantly complained about the taste.

🐶 Even then, Mystery hadn’t moved. He’d stayed seated in the same armchair near the window, eyes hidden under his fringe as he focused on the pulsing waves of the honmoon outside. Crimson glimmers occasionally shimmered across the blue surface, moving rebelliously over the barrier.

🐶 He was fully aware of Abby creeping closer to him. Still, he didn’t move.

🐶 When Abby stretched out a single finger to poke his cheek, the response was instant. A sharp crack and Abby yelped, suddenly kneeling on the floor with his arm twisted behind his back. Mystery had only moved one arm, smoothly dislocating Abby’s without hesitation or breaking his focus.

🐶 Abby, ever the pest, just beamed at him from the floor. “So you’re not dead!” he declared cheerfully. Mystery sighed softly.

🐶 So yes - you deciding that taking a walk was a good idea, Mystery was in a foul mood the second he stepped outside the shared apartment.

🐶 Believe him, he had every intention of persuading you to stay indoors by any means necessary... but then you hit him with those enlarged glittering eyes... He sighed again, this time much deeper.

Mystery never understood the appeal of dogs. Or pets in general. The only reason he didn’t mind Tiger and Magpie was because they shared a similar level of cognitive awareness to that of lower-ranking demons if not more. At least with them, communication was stimulating. The same could not be said for Earth’s animals - especially the domesticated ones. Mystery always felt a deep, visceral disappointment whenever he saw what was once a majestic beast reduced to nothing more than a drooling pet, wagging its tail and performing humiliating little tricks for praise and biscuits. He didn’t know why he thought you would be any different. The moment the two of you stepped into the park - your idea, of course - it wasn't long until you got distracted. A dog had spotted you from across the path and ran over, tail wagging furiously. Its owner, lounging on a nearby bench, gave only a cursory glance before going back to scrolling mindlessly through their phone. Like the rest of humanity, Mystery noted dryly. Though, to be fair, Jinu had once accused him of being addicted too to their television. Mystery, however, considered it education. He liked to absorb knowledge in all forms. A self-reading picture book was just another source. Currently, he stood beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat - an attempt to "blend in", as Jinu had advised. Apparently, heavier clothing was more appropriate for the cooler season. Despite being centuries older, Mystery trusted Jinu’s judgement on modern human etiquette. In terms of human knowledge, his junior was frustratingly competent. He stared at you now, eyes half-lidded behind his fringe, the brim of his cap shadowing most of his upper face. The face mask he'd been wearing had been tugged down earlier, back when the two of you had been talking. Back when he had your attention. Now? Now you were too busy cooing over a slobbering mutt. Mystery blinked slowly, deadpan. Weren’t you the one who invited me out...? He wouldn’t have minded your attention drifting - if he hadn’t sacrificed his only rest day to walk beside you in the first place. If you wanted to spend time with him, then your focus should be on him.

Not the nearest tail-wagger. He stepped forward deliberately. His shadow fell over both you and the dog. He made sure not to step on your wave that was part of the barrier as not to alert you. Instead, his gaze tracked the stray energy line connecting to the mutt - still just wild enough to not be attached to anything, it seemed. With one hand, he reached out and let the white line coil naturally around his finger. With the other, he brushed aside his fringe - just enough to meet the creature’s eyes once he pinched the dog’s line between his fingers. The dog stilled immediately, mid-scratch. You, unaware, kept rubbing under its chin. Its pupils dilated as Mystery's eyes flashed gold for a split second - his pupils slitting horizontally, before returning to their human guise. Mystery tilted his head slowly. The dog mirrored the motion, fur bristling as Mystery let his lips curl into a sharp, canine smile. Hello... friend, he spoke silently. The dog’s ears flattened. You blinked, sensing the change, and opened your mouth to call it. But it was too late. Its attention was no longer yours. With a soft, guttural growl too low for human ears, Mystery bared his teeth. One snap that held many words. The mutt whined, instantly remorseful, and turned tail - quite literally - racing back to its owner without a second thought. Mystery released the energy line. It slipped from his finger like a thread of light, spiralling away to find something else to tangle with. He’d just managed to cover his eyes again when you turned, smiling - only for that smile to fall the moment you spotted his still falling grimace. Oh. Oh noo. Mystery thought, perhaps a bit too smugly. If he had a tail, it might’ve wagged. How hypocritical of him. You immediately began softly scolding him, convinced he’d scared the poor dog because he was scared. Mystery simply began walking ahead, slow enough for you to catch up. You did, naturally. Without complaint, you let him loop your arm through his as you continued your gentle lecture, explaining how animals can sense fear and tension, and how he really shouldn’t glare at dogs, of all things, if he is scared. Mystery hummed noncommittally, eyes half-lidded under his fringe as the two of you passed by the dog and its owner. The mutt lay curled up by the bench now, ears pressed back - but it lifted its gaze as Mystery looked down. He tilted his head, just slightly - enough for his fringe to shift, revealing a glint of golden eye beneath - before nodding once. The dog stared back - and gave a single, slow nod back. A mutual understanding passed between them. Right under your nose. Even if the once-great beasts now barely reached my knees... They weren’t fully loyal to the humans. Not yet. Humans never ceased to amaze him - how easily they could lie to themselves, and worse, believe it. He turned his gaze to you, smiling down gently as he gave your hand a small squeeze. You returned it tenfold, radiant. Seems humans still believed they could tame something far greater than them. Haaah! How amusing.

<><><>

Baby Saja

🍼 Baby honestly couldn’t care less about who, where, or when you were hanging out, chatting with, or even casually touching - so long as he was already there. Already leaning against you, draped over your shoulders, or holding your waist like he belonged there. Which, he did.

🍼 As long as some part of him - elbow, knee, hip, pinkie finger, anything - was soaking in that steady, addictive burn of your wavelength, that perfect flicker between blue and red that made the most enticing shade of violet… Yeah. He was fine.

🍼 Mostly. That colour made his teeth ache. The kind of ache that whispered sink them in, take a bite, mark it.

🍼 But still - Baby could behave. He wouldn’t even bully the poor sucker who got too familiar, like you’d told him not to.

🍼 And you knew that. So let’s run it back again, shall we? Why in the name of sweet, unhinged holy Mary would you pull that stupid stunt?

🍼 Hey! If anything happens, that one’s on you, alright?

🍼 Baby had made it very clear: as long as he’s physically near you, you could be on a stupid date for all he cared. Not that the date would go well, mind you. But still - technicalities.

🍼 Free meal for you in the form of food. Free meal for him in the form of that mouth-watering cocktail of emotion you never seemed to run out of - especially when he teased you, and that heat behind your eyes flared up just right.

🍼 Baby guessed… Bon appétit, then?

You two had just come back from Baby’s solo photoshoot, and he was more than ready to drag you to his room, push you onto the bed, and collapse on top of you like a spoiled feline basking in the warmth of your soul. The plan, however, was interrupted by your insistence that dinner came first. Right. Humans needed to eat more than once every few weeks to stay alive. What a hassle, Baby sighed inwardly, stretching his hands over his head until his shoulder blades cracked with a satisfying pop. His body leaned instinctively towards yours, his right side brushing your left as you walked toward the elevator that would take you up. Not to the heavens, of course. He’d already given that realm the finger a few centuries ago. He had to chuckle a bit under his breath, stopping only when the spike of amusement in your wave caught his attention, and he looked down to meet your curious gaze; eyebrow arched in silent question. Instead of explaining, Baby just flashed you a lazy smirk and casually slung an arm over your shoulder, tugging you close. Unintentionally giving better access for your fingers to find his chin, then his cheeks, which you squished with zero shame. “What are you cackling about, hm?” you asked, your arm slipping around his waist. He didn’t flinch, though every nerve under your touch sparked with something soft and crawling. He still didn’t understand why that sensation unsettled him more than outright pain. He shoved it aside, tuning into the velvet edge of your voice just as you reached the elevator. He pressed the ‘up’ button sharply. “Did being around so many people finally fry your brain?” you teased, tone more curious than concerned. Baby shot you a playful glare, voice raspy. “You wish. I could finally understand what you’re blabbering about half the time.” You let out a dramatic sigh, hand to your heart. “Tragic. I thought maybe, just maybe, you were on your way to genius-level intellect like me—ack! Hey!” You slapped his hand away from your side where he’d prodded your ticklish spot, glaring at him with mock-seriousness. “Watch your fingers, mister.” He raised an amused brow, grin sharp as ever. As the elevator pinged its arrival, he leaned down, voice dipping just enough to make your skin prickle. “Why?” he murmured. “You didn’t complain the last time I touched you... hmm?”

The words dripped with smugness as he sauntered into the Gwi-ma-blessed elevator, shooting you a glance over his shoulder just in time to see your flushed face. He traced the violet line of your wave as it reached for him, trailing with your hesitation before you stepped in beside him. All serious now - but he knew better. You gave him a flat look, raising two fingers close to his face in warning. “We’re going to have a very long talk about those kinds of comments in public.” Baby opened his mouth like he might reply - then promptly bit your finger with a smug little smile. You froze, staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights. And before he could escalate the tension - because gods help you, he would’ve - footsteps echoed down the hallway. Baby’s expression dropped flat, the teasing gone in an instant as he leaned back. You looked confused right before the multiple sets of footsteps became obvious even to your human ears. He glanced up, silently willing the doors to close faster. A thin slit remained - and of course, you had to reach out and press the ‘open door’ button. How thoughtful of you, He rolled his eyes, lips twitching in irritation. Your gleaming wave had cooled to an annoying shade of blue. A family of five stepped in. Baby could feel their overlapping energies that pulsed for the huntresses. You greeted them with your usual smile and soft-spoken manners, and Baby tugged his hoodie up to hide his teal hair, too tired and too irritable to deal with public pleasantries. He bowed lazily after you, stepping aside for the mother with a stroller, the baby's line flailing wildly beyond the barrier. It made Baby grimace. The man followed next, guiding a little girl by the hand. The two of them exchanged polite nods. Baby’s was barely there. The little girl waved, and he returned it half-heartedly. But when he glanced back, puzzled as to why no one else - especially you - was stepping in, it finally hit him. The elevator was full. You were left outside, standing with that teen. “Thank you very much,” said the father, pressing a card against the panel to activate the higher floor. Oh, fuck no- Baby moved instinctively, ready to tag the kid out and step back through, but your hands rose in warning. Your eyes met his with a placating smile before you looked over his shoulder at the parents, “No worries! I’ll get him to your floor safely!” You... will do what? His eyes stared blankly at you as the doors began to close. “Thank you again, dear!” the mother called cheerfully. The last thing you saw was Baby’s deadpan expression. The last thing he saw was your sheepish little grin, right before the doors closed. Oh, you were in for it now. Keeping his composure - barely - Baby leaned against the elevator wall, head dipped low as he began mentally counting down the floors. Mystery would’ve been so proud of his restraint. He ignored the whispered chatter from the parents, and the little girl’s not-so-subtle glances. His eyes locked on the stroller. Inside, a small, soft, utterly helpless baby giggled up at its mother. Unlike the older humans, babies hadn’t attached to anything yet. Its soul line was wild, unclaimed, potent. Should I...? His eyes flashed gold. Canines sharpened slightly. His dormant hunger throbbed behind his temples. The only reason he was even hungry was because you’d left him alone - surrounded by humans - so you could chaperone a teenager instead of waiting with him. His frustration spiked. Baby tilted his head, expression unreadable, pupils thinning as he stared down the tiny creature that cooed up at its mother, oblivious to the apex predator in its presence.

... ... Pfff! PHAHAHAHA! Baby laughed internally. The image of your horrified expression flickered behind his eyes, kindling a small flame in the otherwise hollow space in his chest. His gaze dulled back into its more human shade as the glow vanished. Silly human. Babies' souls weren’t even worth the effort. Too bland anyway. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed inside the suffocating metal box, but the elevator stopped on a few floors - each time with waiting strangers who were gently told, by the parents, that it was full. Baby didn’t say a word. Just stood there, quiet and stubborn, arms crossed and spine pressed against the wall, barely concealing his impatience. So when they finally reached their floor and the doors slid open, Baby wasn’t even surprised to find you already there. What did catch his attention was the way you were laughing - head tilted slightly, eyes soft - as the boy said something that made him flush pink from ears to neck. Baby could’ve ignored it. Should’ve, really. Just walked over, grabbed you by the wrist, and hauled you back into the lift so the two of you could return to the apartment, and pretend this detour into hell hadn’t happened. But. There was something he just couldn't ignore. The shimmer of the boy’s wave slipping across the barrier, trying to brush against yours. Not bold. Just enough to be noticed. It was shy, clumsy adoration. The taste of it sat foul in Baby’s mouth. Sweet, like fruit rotting too fast under the sun. He tasted longing. Hope. He tasted dare. It made him want to shove his hand through the kid’s chest and rip out that fragile, pulsing heart before it got any ideas about beating for you. But that would cause a scene. And scenes meant scoldings from his seniors and, worst of all - your unpredictable response. So. Plan B. Baby’s expression didn’t change as he stepped out of the elevator, hands in the pocket of his hoodie, his walk lazy and casual as he followed the family.

You turned at the sound of the parents’ voices, flashing them that radiant smile of yours, brushing off their thanks with an airy “It was nothing.” They invited you to dinner - blah blah blah - and Baby filed it all under irrelevant noise as he subtly sharpened his nails with a flick and disturbed the parents’ waves just enough to make them both shiver. They looked around, startled, looking for something that was not really there. They gave their quick goodbyes and started to walk away, ushering the teen with them. Baby moved in without hesitation, stepping up beside you and sliding a hand around your waist. His touch was gentle - he didn’t want to startle you - yet firm. You waved at the retreating family, unaware of how tightly his hold lingered. You started to move towards the waiting elevator again, but Baby held you back. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you looked up at him. He didn’t explain himself. Just let his other hand rest on your opposite hip and pull you closer. His head dipped down, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, his fringe messily falling over his face as he pressed his left cheek into your skin. His lips followed - slow, teasing - brushing a kiss along your neck to your ear with just enough pressure to be felt. He ignored the scent the boy had left clinging to you, smothering it with his own presence. And then, just as he felt a ripple in the air that didn’t belong to you, Baby opened his eye and looked straight past you. His gaze locked with the boy’s. That shimmer of hope that had glowed seconds earlier? Shattered. Baby watched the boy’s startled expression fall apart, watched that sugary wave of emotion collapse into bitter disappointment. He grinned - sharp and bright - as he rubbed his cheek more firmly against your neck, his left hand sliding up to rest over the back of your neck, spread his fingers. All the while staring at the teen. The boy didn’t move until his mother called. Then he turned away slightly - but glanced back again. Mistake. Baby was still looking at him. Grinning like a devil. Flipping the boy off with his free hand. The boy visibly tensed, brows drawn tight. But before he could even think of taking a daring step forward, his mother called out for the second time. Now clearly frustrated, the boy’s expression soured - just as Baby fuelled it further by wiggling his fingers lazily in the air, mouthing: Fuck off. All while his other hand kept you snug against him - your body probably assuming he was just being clingy. The teen flushed deep red. His wave trembled - confusion giving way to the first sparks of quiet fury - and then, finally, he turned and walked off when his mother called again. Baby didn’t need to feel her wave to know that the woman wouldn’t call the fourth time. Baby only relaxed when he couldn't properly feel the family's wavelengths in the space. Then, slowly, he loosened his grip, letting you pull away just a bit. You gave him a curious look, eyes narrowing at his still present grin. “Well, you look happy,” you said, watching him with raised brows. You tried to step back further - but he tugged you forward again. Now looming over you, his grin remained, but his eyes gleamed darker beneath it. He reached out and tapped your nose, once, twice, three times. “Oh no,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, eyes locked with yours. “I’m fuckin’ pissed.” He smiled wider.

[earthsparked]

I’m pretty sure mechs would think gardening is some kind of organic black magic.

What, you think my subspace is weird? That’s just math and engineering! But you put that tiny speck in dirt and now it’s become something completely different? It’s green and there’s flowers and it’s going to make something you can EAT?? You literally created your own fuel from practically nothing. And humans don’t think that’s weird?!?!

Cornfields make them uneasy. Even Optimus locks his doors when he’s driving you somewhere through the Midwest. You hear a chumpfk of the locks engaging and you’re like

hey big guy, everything okay?

And he’s just,

There is so much of it, and it registers strangely on my sensors. The way it moves is…unsettling. Why do humans grow this in such quantities?

You think for a second and tell him, very seriously,

To appease the corn god.

(You make a habit of eating popcorn around him as much as possible after that)

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Leona flood incoming!

Leona with a f!reader who can read people super well, very gifted in body language and reading between the lines.

So, hear me out ...it's cannon he likes to work for his success, not just have it easy or instant. There's no fun in that. Make him sweat dear reader!

He is getting away with nothing. Nada. Poor lion has met his match. Talks a big game, he's a strategist, used to being the one who can see between the lines. And boom, he's blind sided and suddenly He's the one stumbling. He's met his match. And worse, she's subtle about it. Checkmate. 💘

So, this took me way too long to get to. . .SORRY!!

Anyway, love this idea! Leona doesn't talk a ton, so someone who can read him is a perfect match!

Synopsis: Leona mentally kicks himself as he finds himself becoming more and more partial to the prefect with the piercing gaze he swore to avoid. The Prefect thinks he's just terrible at flirting (he is).

TW: Leona yells at one point but it's quickly glossed over (his anger is quelled by a lil smooch)

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x Reader Who Can Read Him

It started just before Leona's overblot. Your friend had been taunting him but just as he was on the verge of snapping, you, out of nowhere, dragged them off. That wasn't all that odd, what was; however, was the look in your eyes. He only made eye contact with you for a brief moment, but when he did, it felt like your eyes saw into the very depths of his soul.

Leona DIDN'T like that.

The Next time it happened was as he was overblotting. Just as the viscous black ink began to surround his body, he made eye contact with you.

There was that feeling again.

After his overblot, he decided it'd be best to avoid the little magicless prefect with the unsettling stare.

That didn't happen.

In fact, he was forced much closer to you when your dorm was seized by Octavinelle and that left you to have to stay in the same room as him.

You seemed to predict every movement, change in emotion, and even thought. It's not like you were using this ability maliciously, quite the opposite actually. You used it to help him out more than anything else.

But Leona wasn't used to being seen. Not like this at least. As a prince he was used to being looked at, but never truly seen.

One evening the two of you were sitting in his room doing your own things when he started to feel hungry. Just as that feeling struck you walked into the room (when had you left?!) with snacks. You handed him one. It happened to be his favorite.

A shiver jolted through his spine.

"You good?" you look up at him.

He just huffs and rolls in bed to face away from you.

He thought he had gotten rid of you when you got your dorm back, but it appeared the gods simply hated him.

Crowley instated you as the spelldrive club's manager.

And, of course, you somehow managed to always carry out his orders before he could even give them.

It was after a spelldrive game that the next incident happened. The team had won an overwhelming victory. Everyone was in high spirits and Leona's smirk was cockier that ever.

You approached him in a moment when he was away from the rest of the team and gave his a detailed record of the game. That was pretty normal. What was strange was what you said "The team we face next week will be much tougher than the one we just faced. If we go in with this game in mind we'll be crushed. I set up a practice match with a team on a slightly higher level than the team we face next week so we don't get too comfortable."

And with that, you walked away. You just casually walked away after telling Leona exactly what was on his mind.

A chill.

This continued to happen over and over again. It was to the point that Leona was now questioning his lifelong dream of becoming king. Being seen by someone was just too unsettling.

It was family day at NRC and while Leona's family had promised to come, there was royal business they had to attend to last minute.

Most assumed Leona was elated as he wasn't exactly shy about expressing his distaste for his relatives. His face didn't show any clues that the assumption was false either as it was as stoic as always.

So why was it that when he came back to his room from begrudgingly greeting all the families who came to see his dormmates he saw you? Why did he see you sitting on the edge of his freshly made bed with freshly fluffed pillows, his favorite meal, and a set up chess board?

Why did the chill feel less unpleasant this time?

This was Leona's nightmare. No, not being up at 1:00 in the morning unable to sleep. Leona realized he liked you romantically. Out of all people, why did it have to he the one person he knew he couldn't hide anything from?!

For weeks after this realization he did his best to avoid you. When you greeted him he just gave a short huff. When you sat next to him during joint lessons his tail would flick and he would refuse to look at or talk to you. To everyone else, it looked like Leona had finally had enough and was shunning you.

It all bubbled up when he was leaving the locker room after spelldrive practice and saw you waiting for him on a bench. "Ah, you're done-"

"Would you just leave me alone?!" you weren't sure if it would be more accurate to compare his tone to a roar or a growl, but whatever it was, it sent all the nearby birds careening out of the trees.

Leona panted as he watched you agitatatedly.

Sure, you winced a little when he yelled, but you didn't run. In fact, after the initial shock, you didn't look scared either.

You casually stood up, stretched, and approached him. You stopped a few feet away before speaking: "Why would you ask me to do that if you have a crush on me? Is this some new weird confession tactic?"

He froze.

"What?"

"Whaddya mean 'what?' You've been really obvious, you know."

Leona started pacing, his tail flicking violently as he muttered to himself. "Why didn't you say something!?" he finally paused his ranting and pacing to yell.

"I thought you were just bad at flirting."

His eye twitches at that comment.

However, as he's about to open his mouth to speak, you grab his collar and pull him down to your level. Before he can react, he feels soft lips meeting his. He only realizes what's happening when you begin to pull away and he tries to chase your lips.

"Well, that's my confession" you yawn. You YAWN. You just kissed him and now you're yawning.

He's not even surprised when you read his shift in mood instantly "It's late and chasing someone playing hard to get is tiring."

Leona's eye twitches once more before he throws you over his shoulder and starts marching towards his dorm "I guess we should take a nap then, shouldn't we?" it wasn't really a question as much as it was a passive aggressive remark.

"Sure."

From that position, you couldn't see the blush rapidly creeping onto his face.

"So, we're dating now?"

"The h*ll do you think, Herbivore" the lion grumbles into your chest as his tail swishes agitatedly. You might have even thought he was upset if it wasn't for the way his arms wrapped tightly around you and his face pressed deeply into your chest. Just to test it, you slowly began removing your hand from where it was tangled into his unruly locks only to have him growl at you until you put it back.

Sure, sometimes it was impressive that you could read him, but other times he really was just too obvious.

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[x1asirene]

f1 driver!sylus as your bf headcanons | sfw ver.

✧ f1 driver!sylus is ferrari’s precision weapon—their very own thoroughbred—hot-blooded and agile. sylus doesn’t just drive to win—he drives because domination is second nature. no opponent rattles him. no track unsettles him. he walks into every race weekend with that slow, deliberate confidence that says: you were never going to beat me.

✧ f1 driver!sylus never raises his voice. he doesn’t need to. his words cut cleaner in a whisper. he’s the kind of man who’d look a rival dead in the eyes and say, “try harder. i need at least a challenge before lunch.” and mean it.

✧ f1 driver!sylus once refused to appear at a post-race fan event because you had collapsed on the team’s sofa after a long day. he didn’t care about press schedules or sponsorship obligations—if you needed rest, that was his priority. that night, he stayed quietly by your side, his presence alone saying everything you needed to hear: you come first. always.

✧ f1 driver!sylus makes sure you always have a reserved spot right in the ferrari garage. whether it’s the pre-race preparations or celebrations, he wants you close enough to see every detail—the way his crew moves with precision, the sparkle of victory in his eyes, and the rare moments he lets his guard down just for you. this spot isn’t just a seat—it’s his way of letting you know that you’re his number one, always.

✧ f1 driver!sylus loves making friendly bets with you about his race outcomes—sometimes wagering small things like who makes dinner or who picks the next movie. his cocky grin only grows wider when he wins, but beneath the teasing, he cherishes the way you get so invested, as if you’re racing alongside him. these playful bets are a private language, a way to keep the competition playful and the connection alive, no matter how intense the season gets.

✧ f1 driver!sylus has your signature prominently imprinted on the rear wing of his ferrari car, right below the team logo—a bold, personal mark that shows everyone exactly who’s with him every race. before every race, he runs his hand lightly over your signature, a small ritual that centers him, grounds him, and fuels the fire that drives him forward. it’s his personal good luck charm, a symbol of your unshakable bond.

✧ f1 driver!sylus is so catastrophically dramatic, it’s theatrical. he’ll tweet “my girl hasn’t replied in 43 minutes. if you see me full-send into a wall, know i went out thinking about her eyebrows.” swears he’s fine, then texts you “would you still love me if i lost pole position?” after winning a race, he’ll deadpan into the camera, “this victory means nothing. she’s still mad.” they could hand him champagne, a trophy, a contract extension—he’d just sit silently on a folding chair in the back of the garage, helmet still on, just staring at the wall. engineers are too scared to speak. someone asks if he’s okay and he mutters, “she said ‘do what you want.’ i don’t know what that means.”

✧ f1 driver!sylus turns everything into a game, pulling you into his fierce, competitive world with ease. grocery shopping becomes a silent battle of who picks the better snack, choosing a movie turns into a playful standoff, and even casual conversations carry the edge of a contest. it’s his way of sharing his sharp mind and keeping you on your toes, and deep down, he loves that you rise to the challenge.

✧ f1 driver!sylus doesn’t tweet often it’s either pure sarcasm (“practiced my victory dance in the mirror. might retire undefeated.”), unexpectedly romantic (“she didn’t look at the grid once. just me. i won twice today”), or completely chaotic like, “my girl’s mad at me. if i don’t make it to fp2, tell the stewards it was for love.” his pr team lives in fear.

✧ f1 driver!sylus has your iris—not just a vague symbol, but a precise, detailed image—instead of the ferrari logo on his steering wheel. it’s a deeply private touch, hidden in plain sight. when he grips the wheel, feeling the texture beneath his fingers, he sees you. that single image reminds him why he pushes so hard, races so fiercely—it’s not just for glory, but for you.

✧ f1 driver!sylus never forgets to save you a seat at every event, ensuring you have the perfect vantage point for every high-speed moment and every victorious celebration. but he doesn’t just think about your comfort; he thinks about the small things that make you feel cared for. nestled in the cooler beneath his helmet bag are your favorite protein bars, a thermos filled with the drink you prefer, and those rare cookies only found back home. he carries these not for himself, but to keep you energized and comforted no matter how grueling the weekend gets.

# do not repost, translate, or upload my work to any other platforms. tumblr reblogs are welcome and appreciated, but reposting outside of this blog is not permitted !

— ✦ © @ x1asirene, tumblr 2025 ✧

[jlle-marie]

Do you think you could do the NSFW Alphabet trend with Levi Ackerman? 🥺👉👈

Pookie <3 I’d definitely give it a try!! 🙈 I wasn’t familiar with this trend, so I looked it up and here are my little ideas for our dear Levi, thank you sm for asking me! 💘

NSFW Alphabet – Levi Ackerman

levi x f!reader, mdni, 3.5k of smut note: these are just my personal thoughts & headcanons. everyone’s free to disagree, and I’m not trying to force anyone to think this way about him! nothing serious, just a fun thing to do :3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Levi doesn’t play when it comes to aftercare — he handles everything, especially if you’re too fucked-out to move. Even if he’s tired himself. 

It’s natural for him, and he’s very good at it. He’ll take care of your body like it’s second nature. And it always feels comfortable.

If it’s at night, in bed, no one’s going to sleep until he’s checked that you’re clean, comfortable, and okay. And once everything is done, he’ll tuck you close and run his fingers gently over your skin until you fall asleep.

B = Body part (favorite body part of partner’s)

Face and thighs!

Face – Levi is obviously in love with your face, he adores positions where he can see you clearly. It really turns him on, during sex it makes him more connected to you and heightens the sensation. 

He loves watching your pleasure unfold before his eyes and how expressive you are. The way your brows knit when you’re overwhelmed, how your mouth drops open when you’re close. He needs to see you. That’s why he’ll tilt your chin up with one hand if you squirm a little too much while his thumb rubs your clit, only to watch you fall apart properly, how your expression shifts when the orgasm hits you. 

Seeing your face when you come might be one of the things he loves most in the world.

Thighs – Especially your inner thighs. You might catch him staring when you sit, lost in thought.

And during sex, he’s obsessed with how soft they are — the way they wrap around his waist when he’s inside you, or around his head when he’s eating you out. The way they tense and tremble. He loves it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Levi isn’t messy by nature. He likes controlled things and that includes how and where he finishes. He prefers to cum inside you. Not because it feels good (it does) or because of his secret breeding obsession (it is 😝) – but because it’s practical and cleaner.

But unless you ask him to stay in, he’ll always pull out at the last second, painting your stomach and chest with a few strokes as it lands in neat streaks on your skin (no mess on the sheets!).

So if you give him permission it absolutely turns him on, he wants to fill you, push it deep and keep it there – and he loves knowing it stays tucked inside you for a while.

And when it’s you cumming, he doesn’t care how messy it gets. He always makes sure you cum before he even thinks about slipping inside. At least once. He likes it better that way — when you’re already shaking before he even gives you all of it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Panty sniffer- LOL. Who said that? 😳

I mean… yes. But it’s not that much of a secret at this point.

I won’t elaborate too much, but just know: Levi once kept a pair of your underwear. They’re hidden in the back of a drawer somewhere. And when you ask about them — all innocent, like “Have you seen those?” — he lies and says he doesn’t know what happened.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh, Levi is definitely experienced and he knows his way around. He’s not the type who’s had dozens of partners, but he’s had a few. Enough to know how to please, and to be confident. His first time was at a young age and he doesn’t talk about his past or share details. You won’t know much — only feel how experienced he is when he touches you.

Levi learns your body so quickly it’s almost unsettling. He picks up on what you like immediately. He’s very observant and perceptive so he’ll notice everything. And he adapts fast. His control, his rhythm, the pressure of his hands, his tongue, his hips — it’s all tailored to you before you even realize it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary ! ! Without a doubt.

Quite classic, but for him it’s perfect. He really really loves being close to you, it’s all about intensity and connection. Skin flush against yours and his weight crashing into you as he thrusts slow and deep. He loves controlling the pace, every steady and deliberate push presses him deeper inside you until your legs start to tremble uncontrollably around his hips. 

He needs to be close so he can kiss you while he fucks you — messy, desperate kisses between gasps. And he won’t tell you how much he likes hearing you – but he wants to hear every sound spilling into his mouth as he hits the right spot over and over. Everything makes him fuck harder.

And then there’s you on top.

He loves watching you ride him, the way your body moves above his, chasing your own pleasure with that desperate look in your eyes as you grind down hard to feel him as deep as possible. He grips your hips and lets you move how you want for a while… but he knows what’s coming. He loves even more when you lower your chest to his because your legs are aching and you beg him to take over. He teases you and makes you beg for it a little. 

“What’s wrong? Thought you wanted to be on top.” / “Can’t handle it now?” / “Didn’t last long, did you? Want me to help?”

Then he finally wraps an arm around your back and takes over, thrusting up into you from beneath, deeper than before, focused and rough in all the right ways, because you finally gave him permission.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Well, Levi isn’t particularly the kind to be playful during it. He’s more focused and intense. But he knows how to match your energy.

You won’t hear him laugh, but you can get a huff from him if you say something ridiculous mid-fuck. You can see him smirk when you moan a way you didn’t mean to – “What was that sound?”. He knows how to be smug and cocky and how to tease you, especially if you got bratty with him earlier.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Levi is immaculate! Always meticulous about being clean, always groomed, always clean. Down there? He keeps it neatly shaved, soft and smooth to the touch, because that’s just who he is. No stubble. No burn. Just clean skin against your mouth, your hands... He’ll say it’s about hygiene, like everything else — “Nothing to do with you.” But yes it does.

He just leaves a single happy trail — a fine, dark line of hair running from his navel to just under his waistband. It draws your eyes exactly where he wants them, especially when he’s shirtless.

But yes it absolutely matches the drapes, dark and soft, just like the hair on his head.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Levi is intimate and connected to you the entire time. In the sense that he’s there with you. Focused on you, watching, listening, adjusting to your body without needing to ask. He gives you the best treatment like everything is for you (and it is).

Even when he’s quiet or rough or smug, you can feel the care in his hands. The way he presses a kiss to your temple between thrusts. The way he slows down if you whimper or your breath hitches differently.

And over time, when you’ve been his for a while, he doesn’t hold back his affection as much anymore — lets out little praise and nicknames or whispers “I love you”.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Levi does it — but not often. He’d always rather wait for you, for the real thing. His self-control is good so most of the time he can just shut it down and move on.

But when he’s away from you for too long, it can happen. It builds and eventually, it pushes him over. But it’s always a little reluctant and repressed.

He’ll find somewhere quiet, sit back, and stroke himself, letting the image of you in his head do the work. It doesn’t take long — he always finishes fast when it’s about you. He’s quiet and cleans himself up quickly. He always finds it less satisfying. It's only because he misses you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Basically everything related to control. But deeply centered on you, your pleasure, your limits.

control / teasing / overstimulation…

Levi loves being the one in charge of your body and pleasure, keeping you needy, teasing you closer, then pulling back just to hear the sound you make. He can keep you on edge, holding your release just out of reach until you’re squirming and begging — that sweet, overstimulated spot right before the edge? That’s where he holds you.

And when your body’s already trembling, brain barely hanging on after several orgasms, he’s still so composed and calm. “One more.” He won’t go too far — he knows you can. He knows your body, your limits and how you respond to him. And he’s going to push you right to the limit. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Levi will always prefer the bed when he wants to take his time, where it’s clean, quiet, and no one’s going to interrupt. There, he can fuck you slow and deep, stay inside you after, and hold you. He’ll save the bed for slow, sleepy morning sex. 

The shower is a big one too. Practical. Clean. His hands all over you, soap and water sliding down your body, your back pressed to the tiles as he thrusts into you. The couch, counter, table… All fair game, especially if the moment creeps up on him. He’s not impulsive by nature, but you have a way of getting under his skin. Most of the time, sex doesn’t start in the bed.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Domesticity turns him on!!! 

It’s the quiet rhythm of living with you, the everyday things that get to Levi the most. Brushing your teeth next to him, him watching you fold laundry in one of his shirts, you walking across the room in a towel… It makes something pull in his chest, like an aching need to have you. 

It’s not impulsive but not planned either. It’s you getting under his skin during the most ordinary parts of the day. And suddenly you’re pressed to the counter, or straddling him on the couch, or pinned against the door. “Come here,” he’s already hooking your waist and pulling you into his lap without waiting.

He’s also very scent-driven — the smell of your body lotion, the way your pillow still smells like your skin… It lingers in his brain and makes him hard before you even realize you’re turning him on.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

It might go without saying, but Levi draws a hard line at anything that makes you feel unsafe, unloved, or disrespected. He has no interest in pain just for pain’s sake and zero tolerance for crossing emotional boundaries. There’s always care behind it. The second he thinks he’s pushed too far, he’ll stop and check on you, nothing turns him off faster than the idea of you feeling used.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Levi definitely prefers GIVING. And he’s obscenely good at it, because he’s skilled but also because he genuinely loves it.

He likes having you pinned under him, legs over his shoulders, his mouth buried between your thighs while he works you apart slowly. He pays attention to everything. And once he learns what makes you come the hardest, he’ll do it again, and again, and again. He’ll hold your hips down with strong hands and keep going until you’re overstimulated.

But he also loves it if you’re standing and he’s kneeling between your legs or even sitting on his face – grinding down against his tongue while you tug on his hair, you’ll feel how it turns him on. He’ll get hard just from that alone.

As for receiving, he loves it desperately too, but won’t pester you for it. It really makes him lose it. His hand is always gripping your hair, breathing heavily and watching you through half lidded eyes the whole time. And if you look up and make eye contact, he will curse and let himself thrust up just a little deeper into your throat – he tries to hold back but he loves the way you take him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends, Levi knows how to take his time and he likes making it last. So at first he’s slow and sensual.

Then he’ll build a rhythm that keeps you on edge, alternate between deep strokes and quick thrusts just to see how your body reacts. And he doesn’t need to ask when to change rhythm. He just knows.

Sometimes he moves slow to keep you right on the verge. Sometimes he fucks you fast and rough — when you’re clawing at his back, asking for more, when he’s finally letting himself go and you’re both past the point of restraint.

But even when he’s going fast, it’s never sloppy. He’s got incredible stamina and control over his body, so he can keep a strong, relentless pace without tiring too quickly. He’ll keep going even after you’ve come — grinding deep, watching you writhe.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Levi pretends he’s not into quickies — says they’re messy, rushed, and not satisfying enough… But the truth is, he loves and craves them.

He loves the urgency, the tension and the fact that you’re still half-dressed.

Quickies don’t happen all the time, he prefers to take his time with you — but when they do, it’s always intense. They hit hardest when you or him is about to leave — already late, keys in hand and suddenly neither of you can wait anymore. Or in his car, parked somewhere you shouldn’t be, or pressed up against the nearest wall behind a closed door.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Levi doesn’t take stupid risks, nothing that would truly expose you to others because he hates the idea of someone seeing you. But he has very little self-control when it comes to your teasing.

He likes the adrenaline of being just barely hidden — fucking you in silence while others are nearby. What gets him off the most is your desperation. How badly you need him even when you shouldn’t. The way you fight to keep quiet, biting your lip, trying so hard not to make a sound while your whole body shakes around him. He loves that. Loves knowing he’s fucking you so good you can barely hold yourself together. His hand covers your mouth, hips grinding slow because you’re too loud. “Keep quiet. We’re not getting caught because you can’t control yourself.”

But he also likes to initiate the risk when he feels like he’s the one in control. If you’re not careful, he’ll have his fingers between your legs while dinner’s still going. All while he sits beside you like nothing’s happening. And he loves feeling your thighs tremble or seeing your hand clenching the tablecloth.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

We are talking about Levi… So of course his stamina is unholy. He's wired for multiple rounds and he can go for hours. And honestly you lost count after the fifth round.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Levi doesn’t own or use toys himself, but he’s not against it. It’s more like he’s not big on relying on anything but his body, but if you ask? He’ll use whatever you want. He doesn’t get insecure about toys.

He’d hold a vibrator to your clit while he’s already buried inside you, chest flush to yours, eyes on your face as you struggle to stay still. His cock throbbing inside your spasming, clenching walls — overstimulating the both of you.

You can use them when he’s not around, but you better believe he’s going to make up for it. The second he’s home he’s inside you — he still needs to remind you what it feels like when it’s him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Levi loves to tease you – almost too much. 

Especially with his fingers and mouth, when you’re already panting, soaked, and needy and he hasn’t even started properly. 

He drags it out on purpose with slow, fleeting touches and kisses — just enough to make you twitch and squirm. He holds you down, fingers ghosting over your clit without too much pressure, then licks into you slowly,  barely touching exactly where you need him, over and over — before pulling away. You try to guide his hand down or head back where you need him, and he just holds your wrist down gently with a little smirk. “So eager already?”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Levi isn’t loud, not in the traditional sense.

But he groans when he first sinks into you. His breathing gets heavier, more uneven the deeper he goes, the longer he holds himself back. And when he’s close, you’ll hear a sharp inhale as you clench around him just right. He curses a lot too, he’ll let out a broken “fuck—” that he can’t swallow in time.

And he’s surprisingly quite talkative during sex: talking you through it, praising you, teasing you…

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Okay I love this one 😭.

Related to what I wrote in letter C, I think Levi likes ✨selective filth✨.

He's not one for mess, but under the right circumstances? He’s going to make sure you feel ruined in the exact way he wants. If you’re still partially dressed, especially when you’re not at home, that’s when it happens.

Panties pushed to the side, body pressed against his, him deep inside — and then, just when he’s close, he pulls out just barely… and finishes right inside your panties. Not even fully out, just enough that it spills onto the fabric.

He kisses your cheek and murmurs, “keep them on.”

He lives for knowing you’ll feel him, squirm about it and try to subtly adjust your underwear. The way your eyes dart to him, needing help and not able to ask for it. He’ll brush his hand across your thigh later and ask, “what’s wrong?”

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s packed, big – not impossibly, but thick and long enough that you need a moment to breathe when he first presses in.

And when he’s hard, you see it. It shows through his pants, strained tight against the fabric — which he always tries to pretend he’s not, even as you watch the outline twitch. “Eyes up.”

He’s also pretty: clean, flushed pink and perfect veins running along the shaft.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Levi’s not constantly horny but what he is, is constantly affected by you.

It doesn’t take much, his desire creeps up unexpectedly – not overwhelming at first, but once it’s there, it lingers. He can ignore it for a while, but it builds slowly, until he has to act on it.

So, he often initiates it.

Sometimes it’s subtle and quiet. He’ll come up behind you in the kitchen, press himself lightly against your back, rest his palm low on your stomach like he’s just helping. Leans in, nuzzles the side of your neck under the excuse of speaking close. But you feel it, you know exactly what he’s doing.

And then sometimes, the need hits too hard — and suddenly he’s kissing you like he’s starving, hands already tugging at your clothes, walking you backward toward the nearest surface. It’s urgent, no patience, teasing or waiting. Just raw need until he’s buried deep inside you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Levi doesn’t fall asleep easily — not even after sex. His body is tired, his mind fogged with pleasure, but his brain rarely lets him go quiet so fast. Insomnia clings to him. But he tries, he tucks you into his chest and lies there, running his fingers up and down your spine. He might not sleep for hours, but having you safe and spent beside him calms him. And after some time, he’ll doze off too.

It’s pretty long 😹 but I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT!!

[lucyrose191]

TAME THE WOLFF| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Angry!Toto Wolff x Calm!Wife!reader

Summary; A few scenarios in which Toto is angry and frustrated and you’re there to calm him down and save his poor team from his wrath

Warnings; angry Toto.

F1 Master List

It was no secret that during a race weekend Toto could get a little….frustrated.

Okay, frustrated was putting it way too lightly, the man got way too passionate about his work and when things didn’t go the way they’re supposed to it was like a volcano was erupting in his mind and he just loses all sense of control leading him to his famous actions of smashing headphones.

The Austrian was already intimidating enough with his tall stature and the confidence he eluded but when he was angry he wasn’t just intimidating, he was scary.

The way his dark eyes seemed to turn almost entirely black and how the veins in his forehead throbbed were signs that had the Mercedes team shifting in their seats and the moment he started running his hands down his face was the moment the higher people in the team would get their phones out and call for help.

That help being you.

It had taken a long time for the team to acknowledge the effect you had on their team principle because he never got angry when you attended races but it was when you arrived to races later in the day that they started to see how things changed.

It was one particular day when Toto had arrived to the track already a bit frustrated, whether that was because of your absence or not they didn’t know but the pile up of disastrous events had lead to the team principle throwing things and shouting at the top of his lungs.

Then you arrived.

You certainly hadn’t expected to walk into the garage and be greeted by your husband in a fit of rage and the entire team stood frozen like petrified animals but the sight of fear on their faces had upset you greatly, especially knowing that it was because of Toto’s, quite frankly unnecessary, tantrum.

You walked over to your husband, who hadn’t even noticed you amidst his anger, and gently placed your hand on his arm.

Any member of the team would’ve called you crazy in that moment, walking over to the beast of a man with no fear on your face when he could have easily turned around and launched you across the room without even thinking.

He had been ready to throw a fist at the person who had the gall to touch him before he saw that it was you, his beloved wife looking at him with nothing but love in your eyes even as he was acting like a brute.

The team had never seen him change personalities so quickly in that moment.

You didn’t say anything to him, instead you placed your other hand on his back and guided him away from everyone, you wouldn’t have been able to move him by yourself but he allowed you to guide him away with absolutely no argument.

You opened the door of his makeshift office, saying nothing as he strode straight past you without a glance, steam practically spilling from his ears, you could feel the anger radiating off of him.

Apart from his unsettled shuffling the room was filled with an intense silence as you shut the door, simply watching as his chest rose and fell harshly, you could see that he was trying to calm himself down now that he was in your presence but he was struggling to do so and that was only frustrating him further.

"Sit down," you gently instructed him, nodding towards the small sofa pushed up against the wall of the small room.

He wanted to argue but he stopped himself and did as he was told, sitting down on the sofa he buried his face into his hands.

You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around the back of his head, allowing him to lean into your stomach, you ran your hands through his hair.

"I understand you’re stressed and that things aren’t going the way you want them too but the way you’re shouting is unfair to the team, they are not your verbal punching bag but you’re treating them as they are."

Toto closed his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh, he wrapped his arms around your body to bring you closer.

He knew you were right, you always were and that’s what he loved about you, how you were always there to talk some sense into him.

He didn’t say anything though, he just held you firmly but gently and used your presence to calm him down.

There were many things he needed to be doing right now but he couldn’t find himself to care, right now the most important thing was calming down and spending time with you, no matter how long that took.

When the Mercedes team heard the door to their boss’ office unlock and saw the man himself walk out completely calm with you following shortly after, they were beyond amazed.

It was that day that the members of the team who had your number put you on speed dial in preparation for when an incident like this happened again, which it no doubt would.

"It seems that Toto Wolff is beginning to get a little bit frustrated down in the Mercedes garage."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the unnecessary commentary that wasn’t helping in the slightest.

Your husband was getting agitated and the nearby team members were nervously glancing in his direction as though they were mentally preparing themselves for him to blow his top.

Instead of waiting for Toto to lose it, you stood behind him and loosely wrapped your arms around him, thumbing at the collar of his shirt.

Everyone around could see the tension immediately release from his body just from your comforting touch.

Toto grabbed one of your hands with his own, stroking his thumb back and forth across your skin, using the motion as a way to ground himself.

The whole garage went silent at the sight of both of their cars spinning off the track in turn 1. What once was going to be a promising race from starting second and third has turned into a disaster in such a short amount of time.

Everyone was utterly speechless as the entire team just sat there staring at their monitors in shock.

But then they actually acknowledged that it was silent and all simultaneously turned towards their boss with confused stares only to see you blocking him from the cameras that were pointing into the garage, leaning down and whispering, what they could only guess were calming, words to him.

Whilst the cameras couldn’t see his face, the team could and they could tell he was, rightfully so, furious as the situation, he wasn’t shouting or throwing things.

He definitely wanted to but he wasn’t.

You weren’t really in the mood to be in the garage today surrounded by so much noise to the point you could barely hear yourself think and the smell of fuel so strong it made you nauseous but you still wanted to support your husband as you weren’t able to accompany him everywhere he went so you settled in his makeshift office on what was possibly the worlds smallest sofa with your laptop sitting in your lap and your headphones placed over your ears to block out the noise from the team outside and the cars on the track.

It had been hours and you were content in the alone time you were getting, it was just you and your music playing in your ears that you didn’t notice the multiple calls you were receiving.

Unbeknownst to you, outside of his office, your husband was kicking off and nothing anyone did or said could calm him down.

The team had never witnessed Toto as angry as he was right now, the veins in his forehead more prominent than ever and whilst most didn’t understand the German words coming out of his mouth, they knew he couldn’t be saying anything nice.

Bono was trying to get a hold of you for possibly the twentieth time and he was still having no luck, he felt the pressure of the teams eyes on him, begging for the news that you’d be coming knowing that he was only one of a few that had your number and the means to find you right now but he wasn’t getting anywhere.

Poor Lewis and George were getting the brunt of the Austrian’s anger and even though they hadn’t a clue of what he was saying, they were starting to question the security of their jobs.

Luckily, a mechanic who had just entered the garage and was completely taken aback by the scene in front of him, awkwardly side shuffled to Bono and questioned what was going on. "He’s acting crazy! I can’t get a hold of Y/N."

"Didn’t she go straight into his office when they arrived earlier?" The mechanic asked.

Bono looked at him in shock and relief before jumping to his feet and wasting no time as he jogged in the direction of Toto’s office.

It was rude but he didn’t bother knocking, he almost cried when he saw you sitting there.

You got the fright of your life as the door burst open but the sight of a frantic Bono caused you to remove your headphones and look at him in confusion.

"Oh thank god you’re here! Toto’s gone mental!"

You released a sigh at his words and pushed your laptop to the side and got up from the sofa. "What for now?"

"I honestly have no idea but if he doesn’t calm down soon then Lewis and George might just start crying and Toto looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel."

The moment you stepped out into the short, narrow corridor you heard your husbands angry German shouting. "Mein Gott," you muttered to yourself.

Entering the main part of the garage you weren’t greeted by a pretty sight at all, Bono wasn’t overreacting in the way he described Toto, Lewis and George and let’s not forget about the rest of the team.

You headed straight for your husband, not acknowledging the looks of relief you saw build on everyone’s faces, especially the two drivers’.

You didn’t even need to say anything to Toto, you just stood in front of him and looked up at him with a stern gaze that soon got him to shut up but his eyes were still blazing with fury as he looked down at you, you knew his anger wasn’t aimed at you, he was just still pent up with emotions.

You nodded in the direction of his office and simply walked away, expecting him to follow after you if he knew what was good for him.

He followed you.

The moment you heard him close the door you turned to him. "This needs to stop."

He looked at you furiously, "how am I supposed to stop when I have two drivers that can’t even get through a lap without crashing into each other!"

"Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Torger!" Your voice cut through the air as you glared at him which soon caused his face to shift from angry to wounded as you scolded him.

"How hard is it for you to simply sit them down and give them a stern talking to, there’s no need for the way you completely blow your top, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum."

He was still beyond angry, you could see it in his eyes and the way he shifted on his feet and he was about to retort but you cut him off. "I don’t want to hear you right now, I want you to sit down in silence and calm down before a single word comes out of your mouth."

He pursed his lips, not at all happy but he did as he was told and sat down in the chair behind the small desk, you didn’t spare him a glance as you sat yourself back where you were before Bono came searching for you, pulling your laptop back onto your lap to finish what you had been doing.

It was a good 15/20 minutes later when you heard him get up from his seat and make his way over to you. He sat beside you and rested his head on your shoulder causing you to roll your eyes but a smile grew on your face at his actions, you were glad he couldn’t see it though.

You continued to carry on with what you were doing, letting him decide how he wanted your conversation to go and so it remained silent for a few more minutes with you and Toto simply sat there, him resting against you simply soaking up the comfort of your presence.

He shifted and pressed a kiss to your temple before returning back to his position. "Are you mad at me?" He asked when you remained silent.

You closed your laptop and put it away before shifting the both of you so you were up straight and looking at each other. "No," you told him honestly, "I just wish you wouldn’t let your frustrations get the best of you all the time."

He looked down at your words before looking back into your eyes with a sincere look, "I’m sorry."

"It’s okay," you smiled at him, reaching out a hand to brush his hair back. "We just need to find a way for you to keep yourself together."

"You’re the way," he replied immediately which stunned you and he was okay with that. He pulled you into his arms and you both just sat there.

You could be quite the opposite at times but you were content with that because you would always be there to ground him whenever his emotions got out of control.