ellie @diearama - Tumblr Blog

| thinking about bf!Yunho and bf!Mingi picking you up

Friday was always short - and catastrophic. Whoever decided it was fine to let everyone finish at the same time in your year was an animal.

Your classmates walk next to you, talking your ear off about something that happened in class you didn't really pay attention to because-

"Oh my god." One of your friends said, her voice hitting a ridiculous pitch. She froze dead in her tracks. A few people bumped into her, grumbling and tossing not-so-nice words her way, but she was too dazed to register them.

You chuckle as you search for what she is looking at, "What?"

Her hand grabs onto your forearm, pulling you and your other friend out of the sea of university students. "You see those guys?" She murmurs into the space between the three of you. Subtly pointing to the parking lot.

"Which ones?"

"Oh my god, two guys are leaning on the hood of a... Mercedes?" she shrieked, even louder this time.

It took you a moment to track her line of sight, but then you saw them: Yunho and Mingi. They were talking to each other, eyes skimming the passing students - probably looking for you.

Fuck, they looked so good. Both were in jeans and white shirts, laughing and grinning in a way that made everyone stop and stare for a second. A hot blush crept up your cheeks. The way the other girls were staring at them - at your boyfriends... It still felt foreign to think it. Those two idiots were both yours, just as much as you were theirs.

"Oh, that's my boyfriend and best friend," you said, trying with mixed success to keep your voice level. You hated the bitter taste that came with calling Mingi just a friend.

Both of your friends' heads snapped toward you in perfect, horrified sync.

"WHAT?" They practically screamed.

"I mean, yeah," You chuckled falsely, trying to resume your pace off campus.

"Wait, so which is which?"

"The taller one on the right - Yunho - is my boyfriend. And the other one - Mingi - is my best friend."

"Is the best friend single?" One of them asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Your stomach violently churned. "Nope. He has a girlfriend."

"Aw, shucks," They both pouted. "Can you text me if they break up?"

Your blood was boiling at this point. You had to close your eyes for a brief second to contain the massive eyeroll and force up the energy to smile. It hurt - bad - not being able to claim Mingi in public, especially with your friends acting like hyenas the second they saw someone good-looking.

"Pretty sure they won't," You said, desperate to escape the conversation as you quickened your steps toward the car. "He just bought a ring. Okay, I'm gonna go. Bye, guys, see you on Monday!"

"Bye, see you!"

By the time you looked back at the guys, they already had their eyes locked on you. Their conversation halted entirely as you approached. You immediately threw yourself into Yunho's arms, praying that burying your face in his chest would smother the jealousy burning up your gut.

"Whoa. Hi, baby," Yunho greeted, his arms instantly wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss into your hair.

"Hi. Can we go?"

He pulled back slightly, looking down into your face. "Bad day?"

"Something like that."

"Alright," Yunho mumbled, twirling the car keys around his finger.

You turned your eyes to Mingi. You were desperate to hug him, to show him affection, to kiss him - anything at this point would do. But that wasn't the agreement. So, you settled for a low, strained, "Hi," before slipping into the backseat.

Silence swallowed the car for the first few minutes. It wasn't that you didn't want to talk; you just couldn't. Your brain was entirely occupied, replaying the exchange with the girls on a loop. How many ways could that have gone if you could just tell them the truth?

"So, were those the friends you're always talking about?" Yunho’s eyes found yours in the rearview mirror, holding your gaze.

A snort escaped you before you could stop it. "Yeah."

Mingi turned around in his passenger seat, shifting to face you fully. His eyes softened. "What happened, princess?"

You let out a heavy sigh, dropping your head back against the headrest. "Your 'girlfriend' has a lot of explaining to do, Song Mingi."

Mingi blinked, a slow, amused grin already tugging at the corner of his lips. "My what now?"

"Your girlfriend," you groaned, covering your face with your hands. "The girls saw you two leaning on the car looking like... like that, and they immediately started salivating - like they immediately asked if you were single, and I panicked, okay? I told them you had a girlfriend."

From the driver's seat, Yunho let out a sudden, loud bark of laughter. "You gave him a fake girlfriend?"

"It gets worse!" You peeked through your fingers, your cheeks burning. "They asked if they could text me the moment you broke up, so I told them you just bought an engagement ring. I literally engaged you to a ghost, Mingi."

At that, both of them lost it. The car filled with the rich, booming sound of Mingi’s laugh as he threw his head back. Yunho was practically vibrating behind the steering wheel, shaking his head.

"Wait, wait," Mingi gasped, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye as he turned further around in his seat to look at you. "Let me get this straight. The girl who spent three weeks lecturing us about discretion, who made us swear on our family not to tell a soul because 'society isn't ready for us' - you almost blew our cover because you got jealous?"

"I wasn't jealous!" You lied loudly, though the heat in your face betrayed you. "They were circling you like hyenas! I had to protect my property. Both of you."

Yunho caught your eye in the rearview mirror again, his laughter softening into a warm, incredibly fond smile. "We love it when you're protective, baby. But a ring? Damn, Mingi, you move fast."

"Hey, if the princess says I'm engaged, I guess I'm engaged," Mingi teased, his hand reaching into the backseat to gently squeeze your knee.

You slapped your hand onto his, drawing small circles on it. "Shut up. I was under pressure."

"No, no, hold on," Yunho chimed in, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, a massive, mischievous dimple popping up in his cheek. "Mingi’s got a point. But a ring? Is there something you're trying to tell us, love? Are you dropping hints?"

Your jaw dropped. "I am not dropping hints! I was trying to stop two college students from feral-hunting my boyfriends!"

"I don't know, Yunho," Mingi mused, his eyes dancing with pure mischief. "Sounds to me like she's already planning the wedding. I mean, she didn't just say I had a girlfriend. She skipped right past dating, right past a long-term relationship."

"Exactly," Yunho agreed, though he was grinning so hard his eyes were practically closed. "But now I’m kind of offended. Why does Mingi get to buy the ring? Where’s my fictional engagement, baby? Am I just the side piece now?"

"You guys are the worst," You groaned, pulling your hand off Mingi's just so you could hide your bright red face in your palms again. "I hate you both. Literally pull the car over, I'm walking home."

Mingi laughed, reaching back out to gently pry your hands away from your face, refusing to let you hide. "Aw, don't be like that, princess. If you wanted a ring, all you had to do was ask."

"Stop!" you shrieked, laughing despite yourself as the last lingering drops of your bad mood completely evaporated.

redemptions

Hi!! ☺️ I love your writing. I was wondering if you could do a fluffy mingi where he finds out yn is sick so he goes over to take care of her with soup and medicine but then stays over and gets himself sick lol hongjoong finds out and sends a care package for them with double medicine and food. hehe thank youu 🩷

the way inspiration suddenly struck me with this one...i hope you enjoy it!! its a little more poly ateez with a soft bf!mingi focus.

wc: 1k

masterlist // requests: open

--------------------

"baby..."

"no."

you were firm in your answer, even if your voice was thick with sickness. Any other time, you would have been delighted to let any one of your wonderful boyfriends into your room to look after you. they always treated you like you were made of glass but add in the common cold? it made your heart warm in the sweetest of ways that you were as precious to them as they were to you.

but now was not any other time.

it was the middle of comeback season.

you had seen their schedules - each of their phone calendars linked with yours, which you'd long worked out was the easiest way to all keep on top of responsibilities and still find time to be together. there was an endless amount of performances, filming obligations and guest visits stretching at least until the end of the month. it was already an exhausting endevour without your health getting involved.

when you'd woken up with a fever, hongjoong had looked heartbroken as he forlornly told you that they needed to keep their distance.

"we can't afford to get sick right now," he had said.

you'd understood. of course you did, how could you not? so you reassured each of your boyfriends that you understood and taken a step back. you spent most of the time in your room anyway, too tired from fighting off illness to actually do anything but sleep or watch tv.

you'd made a point to ban entry to your room but that didn't stop them from trying.

beyond the door, you could just imagine mingi pouting. "come on, please?" he pleaded. "i brought you soup."

"leave it outside." you insisted.

lilacmingi

BLOOD IN THE WATER | IRON LUNG AU

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Convict!Hongjoong x convict!fem reader

Word count: 7,100

Warnings: Mentions of blood, mutations, near death experiences, and spoilers for the movie. I think that’s it!

Note: This imagine is kind of niche and idk if it’ll reach the target audience but I had to write an Iron Lung AU after seeing it back in February. This has been in the works for months and I’ve finished it just in time for the movie’s release on YouTube! I took some creative liberties and combined bits of the game and the movie as well as added my own bits to it. There are some spoilers so read at your own discretion!

Creak.

The metal walls of the cramped submarine groaned under the pressure of the blood that pressed on all sides of its exterior. This vessel wasn't meant for such depths. You knew that.

Use the map, take pictures of the marked zones, get out. That was the deal. You do that, then you'll have your freedom—both of you.

Hongjoong sat in the only chair there was, poring over the map at the control panel. Your eyes drifted to the oxygen gauge to the right, then at the depth meter on the left. Communication was cut quite some time ago, the sub too deep to make a connection to base anymore.

Hongjoong grabbed the lever on the right and pushed it forward, the submarine rattling as it propelled ahead, the numbers on the panel changing rapidly in response to the movement. The window at the front of the vessel was sealed shut when you reached a certain depth, so you couldn't see what was in front of you, relying on the proximity indicators located around a circular screen on the control panel to alert you.

xdjville

i've been waiting to use the "during pride month?" line but everyone's been really nice to me ☹️

minkieater

SHY — jwy & cs ⊹ ࣪ ˖

one date with someone else is all it took to realize you're in love with your roommates, wooyoung and san. but do they want you as much as they want each other? ⋆.˚

━ woosan x fem!reader, roommates/best friends to lovers, smut minors dni, 18+, consumption, mxm, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, threesome, don't wanna spoil anything so read at ur own risk! ━ wc 28.6k ━ happy almost cb day! this fic is my second & final installment of @everyonewooeverywhere ‘s fic exchange event, and a gift for my bestest friend in the world, love of my life @chimivx ᢉ𐭩 this is the best lie ive ever told, the best secret i've ever kept, i even stole your layout for it! you deserve the world my plum, and i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it ⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚

“I think that dress is saying, ‘Take me back to your place,’ but the other one leaves more room for mystery, like maybe, ‘I could come home with you, but I might just be here for free dinner.’”

With your hands on your hips, you stared at your roommate, San, unimpressed. Curled up on your bed, he laid on his side, one palm holding up his head, the other on your puppy’s belly, rubbing it while your black lab laid there with his paws up, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“Which one are you going for?” He asks after receiving nothing but silence in return, one knee bent up, the other extended straight along the length of your mattress, his foot near your pillows.

kirschechergrimm

SELFISH WALTZ.

SYNOPSIS: Sub Silentio Veritas.

pairings: psychopaths!!ot8 x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: graphic forensic imagery, murder, institutional cruelty, psychological coercion, unethical experimentation, abuse of authority, surveillance, forced containment, and manipulation of vulnerable subjects.

chapter wc: 2.7k

The rain taps against the tall windows of the Saint Orpheus Institute with an almost polite delicacy, as if even the storm, having arrived there after crossing the darkness of the gardens and the ancient spires of the building, had learned to ask permission before settling upon the glass.

In the eastern corridor of the third floor, the lights remain low, held back in a carefully designed half-shadow that does not truly illuminate, but suggests. They barely touch the ancient stone, the dark wooden panels, the gilded frames of the old rectors lined along the walls, and the Institute’s crest etched into the frosted glass of every important door: the white stag, facing forward, its antlers branching like exposed nerves and the open eye at the center of its chest.

Sub Silentio Veritas.

Beneath silence, the truth.

Julian Bellamy has always found that motto terribly presumptuous. As a young man, perhaps, he had even admired it; it had seemed to him the sort of phrase that belonged to places where knowledge was treated with the same devotion reserved for sacred things, for books no one dared touch without first washing their hands, for rooms in which words weighed more than blood.

Now, after twenty-seven years spent inside the entrails of Saint Orpheus, he knows that silence doesn’t preserve the truth.

It trains it. Bends it. Makes it presentable.

He advances with a black folder tucked tightly beneath his arm, his hand closed around the thick cardstock with more force than necessary. The cover is matte, nameless on the outside, marked only by a red strip in the upper corner, by a code, three numbers, and a designation that everyone inside the Institute learns to fear before they even understand its weight.

BLACK CODE — IMMEDIATE REVIEW.

Vivienne Veyr is waiting for him in the Council’s private chamber, standing before the window, turned toward the compact darkness of the inner gardens. She hasn’t turned on all the lights, because she doesn’t need them. The half-shadow seems built for her, for the perfect line of her shoulders, for the severe curve of her neck, for the faint golden reflection of her earrings against her skin. She wears an ivory dress, impeccable and cold, and on her slender hands she wears black gloves, not because of the cold, but because of that old, elegant habit of control.

Bellamy stops on the threshold, allowing the silence to precede him by an instant, then says her name with a weariness he doesn’t even try to conceal.

«Vivienne.»

She doesn’t turn at once. She remains still before the glass, as if listening to the rain, or perhaps to something much farther away, and when she answers, her voice is measured, devoid of any surprise.

«Julian.»

No titles, no unnecessary formalities.

Between them there’s an old politeness, thin as glass and just as sharp, a courtesy that has long since ceased to resemble respect.

Bellamy enters, and the door closes behind him with an almost imperceptible sound. The room carries the scent of old wood, polished wax, and tea left to cool. On the oval table at the center, someone has arranged three glasses of water, but no one has touched them; the chairs remain perfectly aligned, as though that room had never been used by living people, only prepared for decisions that would not require witnesses.

Vivienne finally turns and her face is calm. Too calm.

«Is it confirmed?»

Bellamy reaches the table and places the folder upon it, but he does not open it immediately. For a moment, he keeps it beneath his palm, as though he might hold its contents back by pressure alone. «Dr. Halden is dead.»

Vivienne remains motionless. Not surprised. Not disturbed. Not sorrowful. Only attentive.

«We already knew that.»

Bellamy lowers his gaze to the folder, and his voice grows rougher. «He died inside the security perimeter.»

«Unfortunately, we knew that as well.»

«Then perhaps you will find it interesting that he died in a laboratory locked from the inside, in an area monitored by six cameras, two thermal sensors, and a biometric system that recorded no unauthorized access after twenty-two fourteen.»

Vivienne tilts her head slightly. It is a minimal gesture, but with her even the slightest movement seems deliberate, measured, calibrated so as to grant nothing. «The cameras?»

«Six minutes of interference,» Bellamy replies, and when she observes coldly that six minutes is a great deal of time, he gives a faint nod, with no need to pretend otherwise.

«Enough.» Vivienne lets her gaze slide toward the folder. «And the monitoring staff?»

Bellamy pauses briefly, but not briefly enough to conceal his irritation. «No one saw anything.»

At that, Vivienne smiles faintly, without amusement, with that subtle curve of the mouth which, on another woman, might have looked like irony, and on her resembles a diagnosis. «A sentence uttered in this building with disturbing frequency.»

Bellamy finally opens the folder. The photographs are arranged in clinical order: laboratory door, floor, overturned table, west wall, body.

Vivienne doesn’t touch them immediately. She observes them from above, as if assessing the arrangement of an unpleasant bouquet.

Dr. Edwin Halden was found at the foot of the main station in Laboratory C-7. His white shirt is stained with blood, his lab coat open, one hand contracted near his throat, the other stretched toward the table as if he had tried to reach something in his final moments. His eyes are open. His mouth is half-open in a grimace that does not seem like pure terror, but disbelief.

Embedded in his skull, just above the temple, is a chess piece.

The King. Black. Glossy.

Absurd in its elegance.

Vivienne looks at that photograph longer than the others, without touching it, without allowing her face to truly change. «What a theatrical choice.»

Bellamy lifts his eyes to her, and across his worn face passes something like exhaustion. «A man is dead.»

«A compromised man is dead,» Vivienne corrects him, finally raising her gaze. «Don’t be sentimental with me, Julian. It doesn’t suit you.»

Bellamy’s jaw tightens, but his voice remains low.«Halden had many sins. None of them justify this.»

«Justification is a moral category. We are discussing consequences.»

Bellamy slowly inhales through his nose. He knows her well enough to understand that this is not impulsive cruelty. Vivienne doesn’t enjoy blood, not in the simple way a cruder person might; she doesn’t take pleasure in violence itself, or allows disorder to excite her. She looks at every event as a structure of advantages, losses, threats, and opportunities.

If a man dies, her first question isn’t who will mourn him.

It’s who will be able to use him.

Vivienne takes a photograph between two gloved fingers and tilts it slightly toward the light. «The King.»

Bellamy nods. «Yes.»

«Not just any piece,» she observes, more to herself than to him.

«No.»

«A declaration, then.»

«Perhaps.»

Vivienne throws him a thin glance, and that single word seems to amuse her less than irritate her.«Perhaps?»

Bellamy closes the folder again with a controlled gesture, but not one calm enough to seem natural. «I dislike the ease with which everyone in this facility will reach the same conclusion.»

Vivienne places the photograph back on the table with almost ceremonial care. «That it was one of them.»

«Yes.»

For several seconds, silence occupies the room with the presence of a third person. Outside, the rain slides down the glass like long fingers.

Vivienne slowly approaches the table without sitting.«The Ateez group has internal symbolism compatible with chess. Hongjoong is identified in the files as the King. Halden was working on a classified protocol connected to their collective responses. He was killed inside a laboratory to which only authorized personnel and subjects under controlled transfer could have gained access. And someone thought it appropriate to drive the King into his skull.»

Bellamy interrupts her softly, with an almost unpleasant precision. «Embed it.»

Vivienne raises an eyebrow. «Pardon?»

«They did not place it on him. They did not put it in his hand. They did not leave it beside him as a signature. The piece was embedded into his skull with considerable force and notable precision. It is not merely a symbol. It is method.»

«Which narrows the field.»

«Or widens it.»

Vivienne stares at him, and Bellamy removes his glasses to clean them with a handkerchief, though the lenses are already spotless. It is an old defensive gesture, and she knows it; she has known him too many years to mistake that habit for distraction.«Speak plainly, Julian,» she orders calmly.

He puts his glasses back on, and when he speaks, he no longer circles around the sentence.

«I don’t believe they did it.»

For the first time, something alive appears in Vivienne’s face. Not surprise. Interest. «Really?»

«Not like that.»

«Are you defending them?»

«I’m defending logic.»

Vivienne lets a shadow of irony pass through her voice.«A very fragile position at the moment.»

Bellamy rests his hands on the edge of the table. He has long, dry fingers, the hands of a doctor who has spent more of his life over files than over bodies, and yet, that night, he seems older than he is.

«Ateez don’t need to be theatrical when they wish to be effective.»

«Wooyoung would disagree,» she counters, with subtle sarcasm.

Bellamy shakes his head, and before speaking, he lets out a slow, almost irritated sigh.

«Wooyoung uses theater as distraction, not as a signature. Hongjoong wouldn’t waste such an obvious symbol. Seonghwa would find it vulgar. Yeosang wouldn’t leave such a loud scene. San would have caused more damage. Mingi less precision. Yunho would have built something more ambiguous. Jongho doesn’t move without a visible reason, and if he did, he wouldn’t bother decorating the corpse.»

Vivienne listens without interrupting him, and Bellamy finds that almost more disturbing than the alternative.

When the woman speaks, she does so with a calm that contains a challenge. «You know them well.»

«Well enough to know when someone is trying to imitate them.»

Vivienne brushes the photograph of the King with her gloved index finger, following the glossy edge of the piece as though it were an art object and not the centerpiece of a murder. «Or well enough to want to believe they are no longer as uncontrollable as we fear.»

Bellamy falls silent. It’s a well-constructed trap, and he sees it. Vivienne isn’t truly accusing him of naivety; she’s testing where his loyalty ends and where his fear begins.

«You know what will happen if the Council decides they are responsible,» he says at last.

Vivienne doesn’t need to think. «New risk classification. Suspension of every non-essential protocol. Total containment. Rotational sedation. Individual interrogations. Prolonged separation.»

«Separating them is useless.»

«I did not say it would be useful. I said it would happen.»

Bellamy looks at the rain beyond the window. The inner gardens of Saint Orpheus are almost invisible in the dark, but he knows they are there: perfect hedges, ancient statues, white paths, benches where no one ever truly sits. The beautiful part of the Institute has always been carefully designed not to look like a lie.

«If you push them too far, they will react.»

«We have always pushed them.»

«No,» Bellamy replies, looking back at her. «We’ve contained them, studied them, provoked them. But there’s a difference between pressure and persecution.»

Vivienne smiles, and her smile is all the crueler because it does not truly need to become cruel. «A very refined distinction for men who have done what they have done.»

«I am not claiming they are innocent.»

«Good. That would be embarrassing.»

«I am claiming they are not stupid.»

Vivienne approaches the window. Her reflection overlays the night, elegant and severe as an unfinished portrait. «No one has ever considered them stupid.»

«Then why would they sign a murder with the most obvious symbol possible?»

«Arrogance,» she answers, but Bellamy gives a faint shake of his head.

«Not that kind.»

«A message, then.»

«To whom?»

Vivienne doesn’t answer immediately, and that silence confirms what he had already intuited. This is the point, Bellamy thinks. This is the center around which she has been circling from the beginning.

When Vivienne finally speaks, the name enters the room with poisonous delicacy. «To Elias, perhaps.»

Bellamy doesn’t move.

Vivienne lets the possibility remain suspended between them for a moment, then glances at him sideways.

«Or to you.» he says.

The woman turns her head slightly. «To me?»

«Halden worked under your committee.»

«Halden worked for anyone who promised him access and protection. Don’t attribute to him a loyalty he didn’t possess.»

«He had asked to review some of the data.»

«Many researchers ask to review many data sets.»

«He was afraid.»

«That happens often as well.»

Bellamy narrows his eyes, because the sentence awaiting him already tastes bitter. «You knew.»

Vivienne finally looks directly at him. «Naturally.»

The simplicity of the answer tightens something behind his sternum. «And you did nothing.»

«I did what was necessary.»

«What does that mean?»

«It means Dr. Halden had begun asking dangerous questions in the wrong way.»

Bellamy remains still as the room seems to grow colder around him. «Are you saying one of our own killed him?»

Vivienne watches him without haste. «I am saying that you should be very careful with the pronoun “our.”»

For several seconds, there’s only the rain.

Then Bellamy laughs softly, without amusement, a short, dry sound that dies almost at once. «That’s why you called me here. Not for the body. Not for the report. You wanted to know whether I would immediately point to Ateez.»

Vivienne doesn’t deny it. «I wanted to know whether you are still capable of distinguishing a fact from a desire.»

«And what have you concluded?»

«That you desperately want it not to have been them.»

Bellamy lowers his voice. «Because if it was them, it means we’ve lost control.»

«No, Julian,» Vivienne replies, taking another photograph and observing it calmly. «If it was them, it means control has assumed a more interesting form.»

He feels a slow, familiar disgust rising within him. Not explosive, not young enough to surprise him, but deep. The kind of disgust one feels before something one has tolerated too long to keep pretending to be innocent. «A man was murdered.»

«A researcher was removed from the chessboard.»

Bellamy’s voice hardens. «Don’t use that word.»

Vivienne lifts her eyes from the photograph. «Why? It’s theirs, isn’t it?»

«That’s exactly the problem.»

She lets the photograph fall back into the folder. «No. The problem is that someone wanted it to look like them. And you, instead of appreciating the usefulness of that possibility, seem disturbed.»

Bellamy stares at her. «Usefulness.»

«If Ateez are deemed responsible, the Council will approve measures Elias has so far hesitated to formalize.»

«Elias never hesitates.»

«Elias likes to make people believe cruelty is more elegant when it remains implicit.» Vivienne’s smile grows thin. «I have less patience for moral theater.»

«So you will use Halden’s death.»

«I’ll use what threatens the Institute to protect the Institute.»

«And if it wasn’t them?»

«Then someone out there, or in here, has just made the mistake of offering us a perfect narrative.»

Bellamy closes his eyes for an instant. When he opens them again, Vivienne is still before him, impeccable, almost luminous in the half-shadow.

She has always been like this: a woman capable of making ruthlessness resemble a higher form of order.

«There is another possibility,» he says.

Vivienne tilts her head slightly.

Bellamy takes the photograph of the corpse and turns it toward her, forcing her to look at that detail no longer as a signature, but as a sentence written in the most brutal way possible.

«The King in the skull. Not in the heart. Not in the hand. In the skull. Someone isn’t saying “Hongjoong.” They are saying “the head.” Command. Thought. The decision-making center.»

«A fascinating reading.»

«An obvious one.»

«And who would be warning whom?»

Bellamy looks at the photograph, then at her. «Perhaps someone is saying that the King is no longer safe.»

Vivienne stops smiling.

For one very brief moment, the silence changes quality. It’s not fear; Vivienne Veyr doesn’t grant that much to anyone. But something behind her eyes calculates faster. «Hongjoong has been under control for days.»

«I know.»

«Seonghwa has not left his unit.»

«I know.»

«The others have been monitored.»

Bellamy returns a hard stare. «By cameras that have already stopped functioning once tonight.»

She watches him coldly. «Careful, Julian. You’re suggesting that Saint Orpheus is no longer impermeable.»

«I’m suggesting that perhaps it never was.»

The sentence remains there. Heavy. Almost indecent.

Vivienne approaches the table and closes the folder with a sharp gesture. «This won’t appear in the preliminary report.»

Bellamy takes a step toward her. «Vivienne—»

«In the preliminary report, you’ll write that the scene presents elements compatible with a provocation traceable to the Ateez group, without definitive attribution.»

«That’s a half-truth.»

«It’s the most useful form of truth.»

Bellamy clenches his jaw. «And if the Council orders immediate measures?»

«Then we will execute them.»

«They could die.»

«They’ve survived far worse than us.»

«That’s not an answer.»

«It’s the only one you’ll receive.»

Bellamy slowly gathers the folder, but Vivienne lays a hand over his before he can take it. The black glove contrasts with the dark cardstock only through the glossy reflection of the leather.

«There’s another matter,» she says.

Bellamy doesn’t move his hand. «What matter?»

Vivienne looks at him with a calm far too attentive. «The intern.»

He hears the name before it is even spoken. Aurora Brown. She hasn’t yet arrived at Saint Orpheus, and already the Institute seems to have prepared a room for her inside its mouth.

«She isn’t involved,» Bellamy says, too quickly.

Vivienne observes him with an interest almost tender, and for that very reason intolerable. «I didn’t say she was.»

«Don’t use her.»

She clicks her tongue. «What a curious word.»

«She’s a student.»

«She is the best candidate produced by her Academy in the last ten years.»

«She is twenty-four.» he presses.

«Age has never protected anyone from talent.»

Bellamy finally withdraws his hand, as though contact with Vivienne’s glove has become unbearable. «She knows nothing about this place.»

«She will learn.»

«She knows nothing about them.»

«They’ll know about her within minutes.» The certainty with which she says it unsettles him more than the content itself.

«Elias wanted her here for the project,» Bellamy says.

«Elias wants many things.»

«And you?»

Vivienne smiles again, barely. «I want to know whether an external variable can provoke an authentic response in a closed system.»

«You are talking about human beings.»

«I am talking about a discovery.»

Bellamy slowly shakes his head. For an instant, exhaustion gives way to something sharper, more desperate. «No. You’re talking about placing a girl in front of eight men you have defined as virtually indestructible, immediately after a murder someone wants to pin on them.»

«What a melodramatic image.»

«What an accurate image.»

Vivienne moves close enough for the light to cut clearly across her face. There’s no anger in her. There never is, when she decides something.

«Aurora Brown will enter Saint Orpheus in forty-eight hours. Her program won’t be suspended. Her access won’t be reduced. On the contrary, in light of recent events, it’ll be even more interesting to observe how the group reacts to a new presence.»

Bellamy looks at her as one looks at a door being closed from the outside. «You are monstrous.»

Vivienne isn’t offended. «No, Julian. I am consistent.» Then she turns toward the window, and for her the conversation is over.

Bellamy remains still for a few more seconds, the folder beneath his arm and the weight of what he cannot say already lodged in his throat. He wants to warn the girl. He wants to write a letter, leave a note, make an anonymous phone call, finally commit an act simple enough to resemble courage.

But The Saint Orpheus doesn’t punish only mistakes.

It punishes intentions.

When he opens the door, the corridor receives him with its perfect silence. Two guards in black uniforms pass before the chamber without turning. They have opaque helmets, batons at their sides, heavy weapons fixed against their chests. On their right shoulders they bear the Institute’s crest: the white stag, the opened eye, the antlers like nerves.

Bellamy watches them disappear.

For an instant, it seems to him that the eye stitched onto their uniforms is moving.

In the chamber behind him, Vivienne remains before the window, alone with the rain, the darkness, and the photographs of a dead man with a King embedded in his skull.

She feels no regret.

She feels no fear.

She thinks only of the girl who is about to arrive.

And of what eight men locked beneath The Saint Orpheus might do when someone places a new Queen on the chessboard.

cielococo

ATEEZ AS ROOMMATES

pairing : roommate!ateez x gn!reader

genre : smau, non idol au, platonic

warnings : cussing, reader owns heels (in seonghwa’s), reader mentions talking to a guy (in san’s), i tried to be funny in these… lmk if there’s any more !

a/n : it’s extremely late and i’m tired but i wanted to post smth as a thanks on getting 200+ interactions on “just friends” in under a week,, so thank you!! 💕🥹

amicususqueadaras

the past three months be like

redemptions

please trust in me [5]

pairing: poly!ateez x fem!reader

genre: a/b/o au, idol au, omegaverse, fated mates au, soulmates au, omega!reader, alpha!hongjoong, beta!seonghwa, beta!yunho, alpha!yeosang, beta!san, alpha!mingi, alpha!wooyoung, alpha!jongho, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive, mentions of verbal abuse from parents, reader finds it difficult and the boys try really hard to make her feel safe

wc: 4.6k

summary: you never cared too much about the idea of 'fated mates', the wolf designed by the moon especially for you. now that you've met them, you're not sure if you can be their omega. but you promise to try and the ATEEZ pack aren't quite ready to let you go without a fight.

a/n: I'm back~! I'm so sorry for the delay with this, work got really busy and I wasn't able to write or engage with any fandom stuff. in fact, this chapter is the first thing I've written in a month so fingers crossed it's not terrible! anyways, this is a wooyoung focused chapter - this pretty boy had me in a chokehold writing this I swear!

masterlist // requests: open

chapter 4. chapter 6.

-------------------------------------

Wooyoung was aware of his own strengths. He knew he was handsome, charming when he wanted to be. He knew when to be respectful, would do anything for the ones he loved and was determined when it came to his goals. It’s what had brought him here, to this life, to his mates and his pack.

But he was also aware of his weaknesses. He crossed boundaries at times, most of the time without realizing. He could and would hold a grudge until he’s lying on his death bed. When he fights, he could drip the poisonous words he knew would hurt you. Most of all, he was possessive. Of his successes, of his creations, of his friends, his family.

It was exhausting, Wooyoung thought, to look at the people he loved and want them to feel the hurt building inside of him.

Except he didn’t, not really, not when he gave himself a moment to breathe.

He was happy that you trusted Yunho enough to invite him to breakfast, even as his stomach twisted that he wasn’t the one you wanted to see.

He was happy that you said Jongho had a beautiful voice and that the youngest alpha had grinned all day at the compliment, though he felt a wave of bitterness every time he saw it.

He was happy that you were starting to let Seonghwa call you, and that he could listen to your soft words echoing around the walls of his home. He just couldn’t bare the thought that you wouldn’t pick up if he called instead.

It was all good, all positives that you were slowly closing the gap you had drawn between them all. It meant you were trusting them, that the idea of them fitting into your life wasn’t an improbability anymore.

You wished them good morning and good night as if it was part of your routine now. You sent photos of your lunch because Yeosang worried you might not be eating enough. You asked about their comeback schedule, spoke about your work when prompted and Wooyoung hung onto every scrap that you gave him.

But it wasn’t enough.

kirschechergrimm

SELFISH WALTZ.

Selfish Waltz: a dark psychological story about psychiatry, trauma, obsession, and the kind of love that is born in the wrong place and still refuses to die.

Synopsis: A prestigious institute that looks like salvation. Eight dangerous men treated like a living chessboard. A girl who studies the mind because pain has lived in her for years. Observation rooms, clinical notes, blood under the surface. And the terrifying moment when the one who is supposed to analyze becomes the one being read.

warnings: self-harm scars, toxic mother, criminal!hongjoong, criminal!seonghwa, criminal!yunho, criminal!yeosang, criminal!san, criminal!mingi, criminal!wooyoung, criminal!jongho, obsessive!wooyoung, tarot reader!yeosang, touch-averse!yeosang, touch-averse!jongho, psychological thriller, dark romance, institutional horror, murder investigation, graphic violence, blood, grief, trauma, manipulation, obsessive love, morally corrupt characters, death… lemme know if I missed something! <3

wc: ???

The danger isn’t only what’s locked inside. It’s what learns how to watch you back.

Private File.

Synopsis.

Chapter 1: Threshold

Chapter 2: Surface

Chapter 3: Walls

Chapter 4: Mistakes

coming soon!

alanasdesire

Rough Rider

[MASTERLIST]

pairing: husband!hongjoong × wife!fem!reader

genre: smut w/plot

synopsis: drenched drive along the coast quickly takes a sharp turn into something far more intense. Cruising in a sleek sports car with the top down, Hongjoong and Y/n find themselves overwhelmed by a sudden, undeniable surge of tension that the ocean breeze can't cool down. Pulling over to the secluded edge of the beach, the boundary between driving and desire blurs completely. Locked inside the intimate confines of the car, an afternoon escape evolves into an afternoon of breathless commands, rough passion, and uninhibited intimacy. It's a high-octane encounter where control is surrendered, whispers turn filthy, and a routine drive becomes a thrilling, unforgettable ride.

warning(s): public sex, fingering, riding, penetrative sex, creampie begging, dirty talk, car sex, rough sex, etc.

Song: Sports Car by Tate McRae

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The Pacific Coast Highway stretched out ahead like a sun-bleached ribbon, sandwiched between rugged, towering cliffs and the endless expanse of the deep blue ocean.

The weather was absolutely perfect—a crisp, bright afternoon with a relentless sun that would have been unbearable if not for the sharp, salty breeze whipping through the open top of the car.

Hongjoong looked entirely in his element behind the wheel of the sleek, white Porsche convertible. With his sunglasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, a crisp striped shirt blowing open slightly at the collar, and one hand casually resting on the steering wheel, he looked less like a husband running weekend errands and more like an escapee from a luxury film set.

You leaned back into the leather passenger seat, letting your eyes trace the sharp line of his jawline.

It had been weeks since the two of you had managed a single afternoon to yourselves. Between his grueling studio sessions and your own overlapping schedules, you had become like passing ships in the night—sharing quick kisses over morning coffee and exhausted collapses into bed at midnight.

When he had woken you up that morning, dangling the car keys with a mischievous grin and telling you to get dressed for a drive, you hadn't hesitated.

"Are you looking at the scenery, or are you looking at me?" Hongjoong asked, his voice cutting through the rushing wind.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained fixed on the winding coastal road.

"Can't I enjoy both?" you countered, shifting in your seat so you could rest your chin on your hand, openly admiring him. "Though, I have to admit, the view on the left is much better."

He let out a low laugh, the sound rich and warm.

He glanced over at you briefly, his dark eyes softening behind his sunglasses before returning to the road. "Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart. But I'll take it. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," you murmured, the truth of the words sinking heavily into your chest.

As if sensing the sudden dip into genuine vulnerability, Hongjoong shifted gears, the engine roaring to life as he accelerated along a straight stretch of the highway.

The sudden burst of speed brought a thrilling jolt to your chest. The ocean breeze grew heavier, thicker with moisture, spraying a fine, invisible mist of saltwater over the car.

Your hair flew wildly around your face, and you couldn't help but laugh, the sheer freedom of the moment washing away weeks of accumulated stress.

Hongjoong's hand left the gear shift. Instead of returning to the steering wheel, his fingers trailed across the center console, searching blindly until they found your thigh.

His hand was warm, his palm slightly rough against your bare skin as he gripped your leg just above the knee.

The contrast between the cool, whipping air and the sudden heat of his touch was sharp enough to make you catch your breath. He squeezed gently, a grounding, possessive gesture that instantly shifted the atmosphere inside the car.

"You look beautiful today," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its playful edge.

His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles against your skin, charting a path that crept just a fraction of an inch higher with every passing mile.

The easygoing, lighthearted energy of the drive began to mutate. The heat of the sun above seemed to intensify, matching the sudden flare of tension sparking between the two of you.

Every time he shifted gears, his hand would leave your leg only to return a second later, gripping a little higher, a little firmer, his fingers anchoring you to him.

You glanced over at him, noticing how his knuckles were white on the steering wheel, how his jaw had tightened.

He wasn't just driving anymore; he was pacing himself, fighting a sudden, undeniable surge of desire that the ocean air was doing absolutely nothing to cool down.

As the car rounded a sharp bend, a secluded, gravel pull-off appeared on the right, completely hidden from the main highway by a cluster of overgrown coastal brush and overlooking a deserted stretch of the rocky beach below.

Hongjoong didn’t say a word. He didn't ask. He simply indicated, veered the Porsche off the smooth asphalt, and brought the sports car to a sudden, abrupt halt on the gravel.

The roaring engine cut out, leaving nothing but the sound of the heavy surf crashing against the rocks below and the sudden, deafening quiet inside the cabin.

The boundary between a routine afternoon escape and something far more intense had just completely blurred.

Hongjoong unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp click, took off his sunglasses, and turned his full, unblinking attention toward you.

The playful husband from ten minutes ago was gone; the dark, demanding look in his eyes made it perfectly clear that the drive was officially over.

He didn't move to open his door, nor did he make a move toward yours. Instead, Hongjoong shifted his weight, turning fully in his leather seat to face you, one arm draping over the steering wheel while the other remained exactly where it was—anchored firmly on your thigh.

His gaze swept over your face, heavy and deliberate, tracking the way your chest rose and fell with a slightly quickened breath.

"You're quiet," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly contrast to the crashing waves just beyond the cliffside. "Not going to ask me why we stopped?"

"I think I have a pretty good idea," you replied, your voice steadier than you actually felt.

The sudden stillness of the car made the tension between you feel almost physical, a thick, intoxicating weight filling the small cabin.

Hongjoong’s smirk returned, but it lacked its earlier innocence. It was darker now, sharper. His fingers flexed against your skin, a silent reminder of his grip.

"Do you? Because looking at you right now, all flushed from the wind, sitting in my passenger seat... I don't think you have any idea how difficult it was to keep my eyes on the road for the last twenty miles."

He leaned in closer, crossing the invisible boundary of the center console. The scent of his cologne—something sharp, woodsy, and thoroughly masculine—mingled with the salty air, filling your senses.

When he reached out with his free hand, his fingertips were surprisingly gentle as they tucked a stray, windblown lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingered on your jawline, tilting your face up slightly so you had no choice but to look directly into his dark eyes.

"We've been so busy," he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of your lower lip, pressing just firmly enough to part them slightly. "Too busy. I feel like I haven't really had you to myself in a lifetime."

"Hongjoong..." Your voice hitched as his hand on your thigh moved. It wasn't the slow, agonizingly tentative crawl from before; his palm slid upward with a sudden, purposeful friction, stopping right at the hem of your clothes. The heat of his skin seemed to burn right through the fabric.

"I wanted to take you out here, where there's no phone ringing, no studio deadlines, no interruptions," he said, his gaze dropping to your mouth before rising back to meet your eyes. The warmth in his expression had completely given way to an intense, burning hunger. "Just you, me, and nothing else."

He slid his hand beneath the hem, his bare palm making direct contact with the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You let out a soft gasp, your fingers instinctively gripping the edge of the leather seat as a shiver ran straight down your spine. In the cramped, intimate confines of the sports car, every sensation was magnified ten-fold.

"Hold on to me instead," Hongjoong commanded softly, noticing your grip on the seat.

You didn't hesitate. You reached out, your hand finding the collar of his striped shirt, pulling him just a fraction closer.

The proximity was dizzying. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, hear the slight hitch in his own breathing as he realized exactly how deeply you wanted this, too.

"Is this what you wanted when you brought me out here?" you teased, though your voice lacked any real bite, trembling slightly under the weight of anticipation.

Hongjoong let out a low, rough growl, his eyes darkening further as he leaned in until his lips were bare inches from yours. "Sweetheart, you have no idea what I'm going to do to you out here. But we're going to start exactly how I want."

His lips finally closed the distance, crashing into yours with a fierce, demanding intensity that left you utterly breathless.

There was no hesitation, no gentle easing into the moment; the weeks of built-up frustration and longing exploded into a kiss that was deep, possessive, and entirely consuming.

You whimpered into his mouth, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, trying to erase every inch of space between you.

Hongjoong groaned, the sound vibrating against your tongue as he tilted his head to deepen the angle, his lips moving against yours with a practiced, desperate hunger.

His hand on your inner thigh slid higher, his fingers parting your legs effortlessly in the bucket seat.

When his fingers brushed against the damp lace of your underwear, a sharp jolt of pure electricity shot straight to your core. You arched your back, a breathless gasp escaping your throat as he broke the kiss, his lips immediately migrating down the sensitive line of your jaw.

"Look at you," he growled against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your neck. "You're already so wet for me, sweetheart. Just from a drive."

"Hongjoong, please," you begged, your voice thick and strained as he nipped at the sensitive junction where your neck met your shoulder, his teeth leaving a deliberate, stinging mark that would undoubtedly darken by tomorrow.

"Please what?" he murmured, his hand pressing firmly against your center, the heat of his palm rubbing through the thin barrier of fabric. He applied a slow, agonizing pressure that made your hips instinctively roll against his hand. "Tell me exactly what you want."

"I want you. Inside the car, right now," you gasped, your hands moving from his shirt to tangle in his hair, pulling him back up so you could look into his darkened eyes.

A dark, victorious grin spread across his face. "Then get over here."

He leaned back just enough to give you room. The space inside the Porsche was tight, the gear shift and center console presenting an intimate obstacle, but the challenge only seemed to heighten the frantic energy between you. You unbuckled your seatbelt, shifting your weight and swinging one leg over the console.

Hongjoong guided you, his strong hands catching your waist and lifting you effortlessly until you were straddling his lap, facing him.

The positioning was dizzying. Your thighs braced against the leather sides of his seat, your center pressing directly against the hard, rigid length straining beneath his trousers.

"Much better," Hongjoong whispered, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pinning you firmly to his lap. He rocked his hips up slightly, a deliberate tease that made you cry out, your hands anchoring tightly onto his broad shoulders.

He didn't waste another second. His hands moved to the fastening of his trousers, freeing himself with a dark, focused intensity.

At the same time, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, pulling the fabric aside to expose you fully to the cool ocean breeze—and his burning gaze.

"You are so beautiful out here," he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours as his fingers guided his length to your opening. He paused for a fraction of a second, letting you feel the agonizingly hot, heavy press of him against your slick skin. "Hold on to me."

With a slow, heavy upward thrust of his hips, he buried himself inside you all at once.

Your eyes flew shut as a loud, uninhibited cry tore from your lips, echoing out over the empty beach.

The fullness of him filled you completely, stretching you in a way that made your head tilt back, your fingers digging bruisingly into his shoulders.

It was a high-octane rush of pure pleasure, so intense that your entire body trembled against his.

Hongjoong let out a ragged, breathless groan, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he gripped your hips with white-knuckled intensity, holding you still for a moment as his body adjusted to the tight, burning heat of yours.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he choked out, his voice completely wrecked. "So tight."

He didn't wait for you to catch your breath. His hands anchored your hips, and he began to push upward, establishing a rough, driving rhythm. Because of the angled confines of the car seat, every thrust hit deep and unyielding.

You began to ride him, matching his desperate pace, your movements frantic and uninhibited as the rhythm of the crashing waves below was entirely drowned out by the sound of your breathless gasps, the heavy friction of skin against skin, and Hongjoong's low, filthy whispers praising exactly how well you took every deep, hard push.

The sleek interior of the convertible felt entirely too small to contain the heat radiating between you.

Every time Hongjoong thrust upward, his broad shoulders brushed against the steering wheel, and the leather of the bucket seat creaked softly under your combined weight, creating a private, rhythmic symphony against the background of the roaring tide.

His hands on your hips were unyielding, guiding your movements with a possessive authority. You threw your head back, your eyes closing as the sheer friction of the movement pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

The cool breeze off the Pacific was a stark contrast to the sweat slicking your skin where your bodies met, making every touch feel twice as electric.

"Look at me," Hongjoong commanded softly, his voice a gravelly whisper against your ear.

You blinked your eyes open, your vision slightly blurred by tears of pure pleasure. He was staring up at you, his pupils dilated so heavily that his eyes looked almost entirely black. A fierce, desperate love shone through the raw hunger on his face.

"Tell me who you belong to," he groaned, lifting his hips to meet you in another deep, breathless thrust that made your toes curl. "Say it."

"You," you gasped out, your fingers tangling desperately in his damp hair as you rode him harder, the friction building to an unbearable, agonizing peak. "Hongjoong... always you."

A dark, satisfied growl tore from his chest. The confession seemed to break whatever thread of control he had left.

His pace turned frantic, his thrusts losing their measured rhythm and becoming beautifully uninhibited, rough, and demanding.

He pulled you down flat against his chest, his mouth locking onto yours in a messy, breathless kiss that tasted of salt and desperation.

The world narrowed down to the cramped cabin of the white Porsche, the heat of his skin, and the blinding wave of pleasure building at the base of your spine.

"I'm close, sweetheart," he muttered against your lips, his breathing coming in ragged, short hitches. "Come with me. Right now."

With a few more heavy, driving jolts, the tension inside you snapped completely. A loud, fractured cry was stolen from your throat as your body clamped tightly around him, pulsing in a deep, rolling orgasm that left you entirely weak.

The sensation instantly pushed Hongjoong over the edge; he let out a low, guttural shout into the crook of your neck, his fingers digging bruisingly into your hips as he thrust deeply one last time, completely surrendering his own control as he filled you with a heavy, shuddering warmth.

For a long time, the only sound was the frantic, synchronized gasps of your breathing and the distant, rhythmic crashing of the waves against the rocks below.

Slowly, the adrenaline began to cool, replaced by a heavy, blissful lethargy. Hongjoong’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, burying his face in your neck as his heart hammered wildly against your chest.

He kissed the sensitive skin of your shoulder softly, a tender contrast to the absolute chaos of moments before.

"Best drive of my life," he whispered into your skin, a breathless, genuinely happy chuckle vibrating against you.

You let out a weak laugh, your forehead resting against his shoulder as your muscles gradually stopped trembling.

The intense, high-octane fog that had taken over the car was finally lifting, leaving behind a warm, heavy afterglow that made it impossible to move.

"You're a menace," you breathed, your fingers lazily tracing the collar of his shirt, which was now thoroughly rumpled.

"Maybe," Hongjoong murmured, his hands sliding up your back to pull you even closer, holding you flat against his chest as if he had no intention of ever letting you go back to your side of the car. He planted a soft, lingering kiss on the crown of your head. "But you didn't seem to mind."

The ocean breeze swept over the open top of the convertible again, chilling the sweat on your skin and bringing you back to reality. Below the cliff, the tide continued its steady, rhythmic crash against the shore, completely oblivious to the absolute storm that had just taken place in the parked Porsche.

Slowly, reluctantly, Hongjoong shifted beneath you. His hands gripped your waist gently, helping you lift yourself off his lap so you both could clean up and restore some semblance of order to the cramped cabin. The space felt different now—no longer filled with an agonizing, unspoken tension, but with a comfortable, deeply rooted intimacy that had been missing for far too long.

Once you were back in the passenger seat, fixing your clothes and running a hand through your wildly tangled, windblown hair, you caught him watching you. He had adjusted his own clothes and was leaning back against his seat, his arm casually draped over the steering wheel just like before. But the restless, hungry edge in his eyes had been replaced by a soft, thoroughly satisfied warmth.

He reached into the center console, pulled out his sunglasses, and slipped them back on. Then, he reached across the console one more time. His hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with your own and pressing your knuckles gently against his thigh.

"Ready to finish the drive?" he asked, a soft, genuine smile playing on his lips.

You looked out at the endless blue horizon ahead, then back at your husband, feeling lighter than you had in months. "Yeah. I'm ready."

Hongjoong turned the key. The powerful engine of the sports car roared back to life, vibrating through the seats.

He shifted into reverse, backed off the gravel pull-off, and steered the car back onto the smooth asphalt of the Pacific Coast Highway, the afternoon sun guiding the way forward as you chased the coast together.

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@alanasdesire

achors

Treasure

Kim Hongjoong x Fem!Reader

Summary: "Trapped in a forced arranged marriage to your dangerous, blackmailing cousin Seojun, you strike an alliance with his bitter rivals, the Hala Clan, led by the captivating captain Hongjoong. Instead of becoming their hostage, you agree to act as their inside spy to take Seojun down."

Wc: 6,8k

Warnings: Violance, Smoking, Weapon usage, blood.

"You don't get to tell me what to do."

You blatantly said, glaring at the man seated beside you, driving. The fluorescent lights of the city emphasize the wrath you have in your eyes. That man gripped the steering wheel like it personally offended him, trying to maintain his fury against you. He changed his focus from the road ahead of him to you, imitating the same wrath in your eyes.

"You will listen to me. I have the authority to. And you do know what happens when you don't listen to my words."

Kang Seojun, the man sitting in the driver's seat, who is also your soon-to-be husband, stated. You scowl at his words, you know what he means by it.

Your father is one of the deadliest mortals living in the city right now. Your relationship with him actually feels like a boss and his right hand, you work for him, you obey his commands, and you train hard so you can fulfill his expectations, and that relationship is the reason behind your marriage with Seojun. You can't disobey him, or he will punish you, just like how he punished the others who work for him.

Your father has this obsession with keeping the family's bloodline pure, so he forced you to marry your own cousin, Seojun, a cocky and controlling bastard. You knew life with him meant being his slave for eternity. You made it clear that you did not like him at the first meeting.

Seojun is way ahead of himself after being told that he will marry you. He knew he would have authority over your father's businesses, but he also knew damn well that you despise him, so he made ways to keep you running away from him, he threatened you, taking your love for your mother as an advantage. If you run, he will do unimaginable things to your beloved mother, and sadly, your father seems careless about it.

"You know life with me wouldn't be paradise, and I'll make sure of it." You scowled.

You won't let him lay a finger on your mother, but you also won't let him step all over you.

.✦ ݁˖.✦ ݁˖.✦ ݁˖

yungistiny

BLONDIE

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: in which your roommate dyes his hair blonde and it’s your greatest weakness

warning: possessive yunho, unprotected sex, squirting, oral, multiple orgasms, masturbation, hair pulling, creampie

genre: smut

pairing: basketball player yunho x afab reader

word count: 8.3k

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho blamed Yeosang.

Not out loud, obviously. Yeosang would never let him live it down if he knew the chain reaction he’d caused from one stupid conversation at the kitchen counter. But still…. this was absolutely his fault.

Yunho stared at himself in the dark reflection of the microwave while the bleach processed in his hair for the second round, looking vaguely like a raccoon that had developed anxiety and access to student loans. The tiny salon smelled aggressively like chemicals, the fluorescent lights too bright for someone running on four hours of sleep and terrible decisions.

“What made you wanna go blond?” the stylist asked and because Yunho valued his dignity at least a little, he didn’t answer, “Because my roommate said blondes ruin her life and unfortunately I’d let her ruin mine on command.” Instead he’d shrugged and said, “Wanted a change.”

cielococo

JUST FRIENDS — kim hongjoong.

pairing : kim hongjoong x gn!reader

summary : just a simple day grocery shopping with hongjoong, until an old lady mistakes you two for a couple, and now you’re forced to face reality

genre : fluff, non idol au, friends to lovers

warnings : none?? reader is (hinted at being) shorter than hongjoong

wc : 1.6k

a/n : first fic on here ofc it had to be joong 😛 this is just smth i whipped up rlly quick omg i hope y'all like it ><

You had become very good at ignoring things.

Like the way Hongjoong always walked slightly slower when you were beside him. Or how he handed you things without asking, as if he already knew you’d want them. Or how your name sounded different whenever he said it—softer, like it belonged somewhere familiar.

He had been your best friend for as long as you could remember, so it was only natural for things between you two to become comfortable. Most days, it was easy to convince yourself it was all platonic—months of practice would do that. But then he’d laugh, or text you to make sure you got home safe, and suddenly it wasn’t.

But of course, none of it meant anything. You valued Hongjoong’s friendship more than anything, even if it meant pushing your crush down far enough to forget about it while you’re with him. That had been the rule you vowed to follow ever since the day your feelings toward Hongjoong shifted. Especially now, standing in the middle of a grocery store, arguing over instant noodles as if it were a matter of life or death.

“You’re overthinking it again,” Hongjoong said, already reaching for one of the packets.

“I’m not overthinking it,” you replied, narrowing your eyes. “I just have standards.”

“For instant noodles?”

“For survival, yes.”

“If you really cared about survival, you’d buy ingredients for real meals, not this processed stuff.”

“It’s not my fault they’re easier to make.”

He scoffed but still held up two different flavours anyway. “Pick one, then. Since you’re the expert.”

You leaned in slightly, scanning them. “That one’s better.”

Hongjoong shot you a look of disgust, which you did not take lightly. “Don’t act like you know any better! Last time you picked, all hell broke loose in my kitchen.”

“Well, last time I chose the better option.”

This time it was your turn to scoff. “You literally could not stop complaining about how much it sucked.”

He looked as if he was formulating a comeback before turning his head away in defeat. “Shut up,” he mumbled.

That made you laugh before you could stop it, and Hongjoong’s expression softened, as if he’d been waiting for that reaction without realizing.

He dropped both packets into the cart anyway. “We’re getting both,” he decided.

“That defeats the whole point of choosing.”

“No it doesn’t. It just means we don’t start another ten-minute argument over food.”

You sighed. He had a good point. You followed as he pushed the cart forward, bumping it slightly when he steered too sharply into the next aisle.

“You drive this thing like you’re in a car chase scene,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. It seemed he heard you, though, as he glared at you playfully. You shook your head, still smiling despite yourself, stepping closer so you didn’t lose him in the crowd. It was easy like this. Too easy, sometimes.

Suddenly, a voice came from behind you. “Excuse me, dear?” You turned first.

An older woman stood beside the aisle with a small basket hooked over her arm, smiling politely. Her eyes flickered between you and Hongjoong as if she was piecing something together.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said softly, “could one of you reach that top shelf for me?” You looked up at where she was pointing, already wondering how you’d be able to reach it.

But Hongjoong reacted before you even had the chance to answer. “Of course.”

He stepped forward easily, stretching up to grab the item she pointed at, balancing it in one hand before passing it down to her. You notice how his eyes softened as he met her kind smile.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said warmly, adjusting it in her basket. Her gaze lingered a second too long after that, she smiled again—wider this time.

“You two are such a sweet couple.”

The words landed oddly in the space between you. For a second, neither of you spoke. You stood there, unsure how to react to the unexpected comment. Hongjoong blinked once, then let out a small, slightly awkward laugh.

“Oh—no, we’re not—“

“Oh don’t be ridiculous!” The woman insisted, her gaze unwavering. “Honestly, you remind me of my husband and me. I’ve never seen anyone look at someone with so much love in their eyes.”

It was your turn to laugh now, though it came out more panicked than Hongjoong’s. Was she talking about you? You thought you were good at hiding your little crush, but if a stranger could figure it out so quickly, you could only imagine what Hongjoong already knew. Then you saw her attention was fixed on him, and you sighed out of relief. So she was talking about Hongjoong. But it only made you wonder more—did he really look at you like that?

“Ah, no, we’re just friends.” You chuckled, trying to ignore the way your heart did a flip. You looked over at Hongjoong, who had been unusually quiet, only to be met with his gaze already fixed on you. Your breath hitched, trying to read his odd expression.

The elderly woman quickly apologised and said her final thanks before walking away. Hongjoong let out a shaky laugh beside you. “Did we really look that much like a couple?” He joked, shaking his head as he went back to pushing your shopping cart forward. However, as you looked closer at him, you noticed the faint pink tinting the tips of his ears. It made you wonder—Hongjoong never seemed flustered around you. Not usually.

The rest of the shopping trip would’ve gone perfectly fine if it wasn’t for you becoming painfully more self-aware. Suddenly, every domestic detail seemed obvious. The way he instinctively stepped aside when you stopped to look at things, the way he slowed down whenever you lagged behind, the way he kept turning his head to check you were still right there beside him. It made all the butterflies you carefully tucked away flutter in your stomach.

He reached over your shoulder to grab something from a shelf, casually asking, “Do we need milk?” We. Not ‘you’, not ‘I’—we. As if you’d always been deciding things together. He glanced at you, worried by your silence.

“Oh, um— ...yeah, probably.” You avoided eye contact, too scared that if he looked into your eyes any longer he’d be able to see all your thoughts and feelings.

Eventually, you found yourselves in the checkout line, absentmindedly watching the conveyor belt as Hongjoong unloaded the cart beside you.

“You know,” he said suddenly, placing a carton of milk down, “I still think that lady was crazy.”

You looked up. “Crazy?”

“Yeah.” He laughed softly. “A couple?”

Your stomach betrayed you again with a flutter.

“Right.”

Hongjoong looked over at you. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m just saying, she wasn’t entirely wrong. We do look kind of…” You hesitated, fiddling with your thumbs. “I guess, intimate. Domestic. Way too comfortable for two people who are just friends.”

A beat passed before Hongjoong spoke. “What if I wanted us to be more than that?”

You quickly snapped your eyes to meet his, the rest of your sentence dying in your throat. Hongjoong looked just as surprised as you felt. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. The noise of the grocery store seemed to fade imto the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

That was until the cashier’s voice dragged you back down to earth. “Will that be cash or card?” Hongjoong cleared his throat quickly, turning to pay as if nothing had happened, though the deep flush creeping from his neck to his ears gave him away.

And just like that, despite your heart’s objections, everything returned to normal. You both unloaded the groceries into his car and headed back to your apartment. As you sat in the passenger seat, you couldn’t resist turning to face Hongjoong. He kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other lazily on the center console. Every now and then, he drummed his fingers lightly on the surface, and for some reason, you found yourself watching them more than you probably should.

You studied him carefully, his words from earlier replaying in your mind, as he spoke up. “Stop staring at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re in love with me or something.” He quoted the old lady from the store, flashing a teasing smile as he approached a red light.

You quickly turned your head sway, blush threatening to appear. “Shut up.”

“I meant what I said at the store, by the way.” You turned your head again carefully. He was still looking at you, but his smile was more shy now, and the red flush on his ears returned. “I’d like us to be more than friends. I’ve wanted that for a while, actually. But only if you want to too—there’s no pressure or anything!”

You chuckled at his sudden panic, your heart swelling with how gentle it all felt. “Of course I do, you goofball.” His body visibly relaxed upon hearing your words, as he shifted back to face the road with a sigh of relief. You couldn’t help but giggle slightly, clutching your stomach as he shot you a familiar glare.

Despite the confession, you knew deep down that nothing else would really change between the two of you. Everything was perfect as it was. He would always be your best friend, and you would always be his.

You looked at Hongjoong one last time, eyes delicately tracing his features. “Now, hurry up and get us home. You don’t want your new girlfriend to starve, do you?”

Hongjoong looked at you with a surprised expression, which quickly turned into a smile. He laughed. “Never.”

You had become very good at ignoring things. But as Hongjoong gave you one final glance—eyes full of affection—you found that you didn’t want to anymore.

makeitmingi

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 37]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.2K

Chapter warning(s): Heavy chapter. Mentions of abandonment, childhood abuse (physical and mental), suicidal thoughts.

hotteokehatyu

Chapter 8: Maybe Not in This Life

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Pairing: non-idol yunho x fem! reader Other characters will appear: Mingi, Iseul, Nabi Genre: +18, eventually smut, suggestive, angst, romance, love story, slow-burn, tangled emotions, lingering feelings, married couple AU, slice of life, melancholic romance, hurt-comfort, One-Week-Left Trope, Lovers-to-Strangers, secret and lies, quiet grief & lingering love, themes of quiet heartbreak non-idol Ateez, Third person POV Summary: Love finally reached its breaking point. As emotions finally spill over, Yunho and Y/N find themselves standing on opposite sides of a love. The side where love should be kept going no matter what, and the side where love should be freed. While Yunho fights desperately to hold on, Y/N quietly prepares herself to let go, even if it destroys her in the process. Because sometimes, love is not enough to stop fate from pulling two people apart. Also, a little backstory of Yunho & Iseul Content & Trigger Warnings: 18+,purely fanfiction, self-harm, suicide attempt, hospital, patient, mention of medication, distress, manipulation, obsession, crying, cheating, divorce, lies, mental health, angst. WC: 5,000+ Marks: Yunho, Y/N, Other Characters, 'silent thought' A/N: Hi, I'm back with chapter 8. The wait is over. I hope you like this short update. I really appreciate you guys for waiting, and I hope you love this chapter. Love you all (˶ > ₃ < ˶)♡

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seasonsofateez

Runaway - Choi San x Female Reader

Genre: Angst/Ex-Lovers/Idol Life Warnings: Heartache, Themes of Depression, Crying Words/Pictures: 2k+

You leave everything and everyone you love to hide away for three years.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | ... ----------------------------------------------------- Authors's Note: Y'all are gonna read some poor lyrics and fanchants and pretend they're the most sensational combination of letters ever put together lol Thank you! And thank you for reading! ----------------------------------------------------- The Comeback

First it was her Instagram. She opened up her own and posted an image that shocked a lot of fans. With LYRA, she had normally been styled to carry the image of a youthful innocence. Nobody had seen this side of her before. A side that was more mature, adult, some would even consider provocative, but to those who knew her it was still y/n. She had always been more than just one version of herself. A caption that simply read “I’m home” was written underneath. Her comments were flooded with support. She was back online. He had wanted to leave something too. Something to tell her that he was happy to see her again.

Then it was the interview. She said she was doing better these days. She was still speaking to her former members. He was glad to know that. He had worried if she had left everyone, or if it had just been him. He never felt close enough to the girls to ask. She still spoke to them. It made sense. She had known them longer. She had known them differently. He knew that. He told himself to be happy about that. At least she wasn’t alone. She had pushed him away, but at least… she wasn’t alone. She spoke about her upcoming solo debut, about her process, about the tracks. He was proud of her. He wanted to tell her that. He wished he could tell her that. All the undelivered texts in his phone told him it wasn’t a good idea.

She spoke about one track, an exclusive track. Mountain Rain. Mountain…

I had someone in my life that I hurt pretty badly… …if this song somehow finds its way to him…

He bought the album in secret but his team knew he’d do this. The others knew what this meant to him. Hongjoong didn’t push him that day. Wooyoung offered to accompany him, but he wanted to be alone with this. He wanted to hear it alone. He stood in an empty practice room and slipped the CD into a stereo.

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