How writers feel after starting a jaw-dropping, pearl clutching, thigh shaking, mouth watering, soul taking series just to leave me with no aftercare and discontinue it
Summary: A woman being a warrior was unheard of— but that’s exactly what you are. After being saved long ago by Ruben, your leader, you carried out whatever orders he had given you. It was not something you thought you’d ever question. What happens when you meet a warrior who’s bound by the same foolishness. Will he make you see what he sees? Or will you stay trapped under orders by a man who’s everything you hate. And maybe, you’ll even find love in a certain young Viking.
Warnings: violence, murder, ptsd, negligence, abuse, humiliation, verbal abuse, graphic, descriptions, etc (if I forget anything plz lmk) Read at your own risk!
Word count: 7.1k
Parts: one, (more will be coming)
(Masterlist) comments are greatly appreciated! Some things will be different than the anime, so not all of it is canonical. It will be adjusted based on my idea for this story.
Are humans inherently evil?
Humans kill, rape, steal— they take and take and take. They burn everything to the ground, till not even splinters of wood remain where villages stood days before.
The sky, normally bright blue like the vast sea you stare at sometimes, was an ashen gray. Dark thick clouds of smoke curling from burning homes.
Evil. What did that even mean?
A child stared ahead, blade shakily rose toward the back of a Viking. The older man did not notice as he laughed, staring down at the unmoving but alive body of a man who had tried to fight back.
"Should've run, Englishman." He snarled, the axe dripping from a dozen others blood. He raised his arm back, and struck deep into the man's gut.
A sickening pop and squelch was drowned out by screams of terror from all around. Children ran and cried, wives begged, and men fought with what little they had.
It did not matter though, because the Danes had taken over the village in a short hour.
The child who was torn between stabbing his blade in the lung of the Dane, and running— had made a decision. His blade was raised high, eyes wide and terrified, yet he struck. His hand swung down with as much force as his frail body could muster.
It struck the Vikings back— right where his lung sat, yet it did not go deep enough. He spun around, and grinned at the sight of a small boy, taking small steps backwards with tear rimmed eyes.
"I-I'm sorry." His voice was nothing more than a horse whisper. It didn't matter to the viking though, his axe raised high and without hesitation he struck down.
The scream that fell from his small mouth had been covered up by other loud sobs and yells. The viking struck his axe down in the air, blood flying off and painting the dirt path.
You did think humans were inherently evil.
The guilt most Vikings carried was non-existent. They did not mourn the children they slaughtered. They did not weep for the women they raped. Instead, they laughed with horns filled with ale, celebrating the lives they stole.
Each human was born being ruthless and evil, and you had never seen anything different. So why did you carry so much guilt unlike them?
The blade in your grasp dripped with a deep red, ruining the soil. The guilt you carried was much different than the ones you fought side by side with. Was it because you were a woman?
One who was born to raise children— to clean and cook for your husband. Did your sex make you feel empathy differently than the men around you?
You wiped your blade on the burlap pants you wore, staining the brown deep crimson. The chain mail underneath rattled with each step you took. The screams and crackling of fire downed out into nothing as you walked, the battle drawing to an end.
The Danes you traveled with— a band of pirates who raided English villages for most of their spoils— chatted happily at the success of the raid. You did not pause to 'celebrate' with them, instead your feet led you to your leader.
Ruben. His blade was clean, in his sheath strapped to his hip. His armor had no dents or blood splatters like yours. His boots were not caked with mud and ash like yours. He stood beside Jona, leaned easily against the well the village had gotten their water from.
You glanced down, your blade you had sheathed was not clean. A small speck of crimson laid on the handle, but you could not show your weakness to the man you served.
"It's finished." Your voice came out as a mere whisper as you titled your head to look at him, but he had heard.
His eyes immediately looked down at your hand, where the head of the chief hung by his hair tangled in your fingers. An easy grin feel on his lips, one you were familiar with when you completed a task.
"Nicely done." He stood to his full height and walked closer to you. His hand, free of any blemishes or blood, reached over and softly grasped your cheek. "I knew you'd get the job done."
The guilt that had been drowning you before slowly disappeared at his praise. His touch, so featherlight, burned with something you could not name.
The head in your grasp was dropped, nothing more than a distant plunge of guilt buried in dozens of murders now.
The walk to your tent was silent, blade burning a hole into your hip. You were acutely aware of the blood you had not been able to clean off. A speck, the tiniest bit made your heart race with the need to clean it.
It stared and taunted you— who's blood was it? You did not know. Was it the man, the one with black hair and an eye-patch? Or was it the teenager, the one who tried to run for his life? Was it the leader? The one you had murdered just because Ruben had asked?
Your teeth grinded together till your jaw felt sore. Your fingers were twitching toward the sheath on their own, like your soul knew of your need for it to be clean. It was not till you closed the flap to your tent did you grab the blade, rubbing it desperately on your pants leg to rid it of the blood.
You looked it over again, making sure it was clean before slipping it into your sheath and letting out a breath.
𓊝
You pushed your blade across the stone, sharpening the shining edges. You sat on top of a wagon, the sun lowered enough to cast a warm hue across your face.
The birds chirped happily, much different than how you felt. And before you could stop your own thoughts, you remembered that day. The one where everything went wrong.
How did it go again?
You knew the outcome, the inevitable conclusion to the fight. Bloodied walls, enslaved women, and dead warriors. But how had it started?
The screams— the ones that pierced through chatter and crackling flames were embedded deep in your soul were the first thing that came to mind. It haunted you loudly, in every moment you tried to forget, in every tear that fell down your skin, and in every blade you struck through someone's heart.
And it did not matter that your vocal cords stung with overuse, it did not matter that your eyes were swollen and red from crying, and it did not matter how much you begged.
The outcome was the same.
You still remember the sword, the one with flames carved into the bloodied steel as it sliced through your fathers chest. You remembered how everything went silent— you couldn't hear the cheers of the Vikings or the ransacking of the village.
You didn't even hear the ear piercing scream that came from deep in your soul. The one that cut through the celebration and made everything silent for a few moments.
All you saw was your fathers body falling, slamming into the muddied ground. Blood, a deep sickening red pooling around him. You thrashed, throwing yourself forward, but the Viking that had you in his grasp was much stronger.
You saw your fathers mouth moving as he looked at you with such deep love. His eyes were soft and warm, yet you did not hear his words. It was a muffled blur of rage and sorrow, his words never reached your young ears.
You remembered how they laughed afterwards, throwing your frail body into the stables, taking you away from your father.
Horse shit, mud, and dirty hay stuck to your skin, a stark contrast to your warm bed you were used to. The one with animal pelts and soft cotton sewed into quilts. The one where your mother would read stories as she stroked your hair.
"I'll admit, you have fight." The Viking had laughed, leaned against the stall door. A grin so sickening it still haunts your mind even years later. You laid on the ground, hay stabbing into you, but you didn't move. "But that's all you have."
You had heard his footsteps retreating, most likely bored with you already. You remembered lying there numb, wondering why they hadn't killed you. You asked yourself why they hadn't left you with the rest of the slaves to be sold off to the next village they visited.
You remembered they left you there for days as you sobbed into the ball you rolled yourself in. Nothing mattered anymore. Your father was dead, your mother a slave, and you were trapped in guilt and grief.
Your eyes were dry with overuse, water and food no longer a luxury you could afford. You remembered going to the stall door and pushing it, yet it did not budge. You had pushed and kicked, but it did not open.
You fell to your knees, horse shit smearing on the cuts you had received when your village had been raided. It stung and burned, but not more than the dryness in your throat. You sobbed into your stained hands, dried blood smearing on your face.
You didn't hear the footsteps approaching till a loud deep laugh made your heart drop. You scrambled backwards till your back slammed against the wood. You glanced up before you could stop yourself, and of course it was a vile viking, one who had stood there while your fathers light faded from his eyes.
He was large, leaned against the wood with a half empty beer mug in his hand. He smiled, large and unnerving for someone as young as you. The scar across his lip was prominent in his otherwise bare features. "I thought Argrid said you had fight, but all I see is a puny child."
Your teeth clenched together, till you were sure your bones would crack and crumble into nothing. His eyes, so devoid of any humanity stared at you as if you were nothing more than a pig.
"I-" It came out gravely and deeper than you'd ever heard your own voice. "I'll kill you." Your nails dug into your palm as you pushed yourself up.
He laughed, loud and obnoxius. He raised his free hand in false surrender as you stumbled forward. "Yeah? Here, maybe this'll keep you alive for a few days."
His beer bug was thrown into the stall, landing in the dirty hay. The contents splattered on the ground. You swallowed staring at the mug. A small amount of alcohol had been left in the bottom, yet to soak into the hay.
He grinned. "Go on, drink up."
You steadied yourself and bit your lip, but did not move. You refused. You'd rather die than drink from the same mug as him. He frowned and shrugged. "Fine, suit yourself."
He turned, not bothering to glance back at you.
You remembered leaving the mug there for hours before you crawled with tears in your eyes to it, succumbing to the deep need for liquid.
You remembered lifting it, and the humiliation burning in your chest as you brought it to your lips and sipped the small amount of beer at the bottom.
It tasted sour and disgusting, but you still drank it. It eased the scratchiness in your throat for a fleeting moment. Your fingers stuck down the mug before you could stop yourself, gathering any bit of moister left as you sucked your own fingers to get even a small drop.
The tears pooled in your eyes began to fall, you sobbed as you lapped at the dirty ground trying to drink the beer that soaked into the hay. It was disgusting, dirt and hay sticking to your tongue.
"Hey, cheiftain has a job for you."
You glanced up, snapped from the memory that seemed to haunt you every moment you were alone. You buried the memory deep. You rolled your shoulders and stood up, sheathing your knife into the strap on your belt. "What does he want now?"
The viking, Theodor, shrugged. "He's in his tent with Jona."
You nodded and walked down the dirt path toward his tent. It was the large one in the distance surrounded by smaller ones. The fires crackled, men laughed and mocked the slaves they had captured. You ignored it and kept walking.
The flap to the chieftain's tent came into view, Jona, an older warrior with a large sword strapped to his back stood on guard.
Your steps came to a halt as you stood in from of the tent. You didn't say anything, but it wasn't needed with the way Jona opened the flap and gestured you in.
You walked through. Immediately your eyes landed on Ruben, the chieftain over the band of Vikings you traveled with. He sat on a wooden chair, a mug of something dark on the small table beside him. His feet were kicked over each other on the edge of the table.
He smirked as you walked up, stopping a few feet from him. "We're heading to Wessex."
You raised a brow, putting your hand on your hip. "Thought we'd head to Mercia next?"
Ruben picked his mug up and took a swig before he spoke. "Rumors are that another group of pirates like us struck gold with the a raid." He sat up and smirked, his brown eyes glistening with greed. "And I'd like that gold they have."
It didn't surprise you. Not with the way Ruben was. A greedy bastard, someone who didn't care an ounce for the ones who followed him. Money ruled his life, not that it wasn't obvious.
"What do you want me to do?"
The question was filled with more than just wanting orders. Ruben had been testing you every fleeting moment for your strength. He did not coddle you for being a woman, and he sure as hell didn't lay up just because of your gender.
"Leave in the morning, take a cart and two horses." He stood up, taking a few steps closer to you. His brown hair shadowed over his eyes as his hand came up, knuckles brushing your cheek. "You know what to do."
You sucked in a breath. Your skin burned, tingled deeply, yet you didn't pull away. He smirked and took a slow step back. "Have Jona get you what you need."
You nodded. The air was tense with something you knew was disgusting as you turned and stepped out of the tent.
The air buzzed outside, Vikings chatting and celebrating a successful raid, but you did not join. Instead you relayed the information to Jona, and then headed to your own tent.
Rocks crunched under your feet, but the sound was drowned out by a booming voice. "Y/n!" You immediately sighed, your body already knowing who had disturbed your walk to your tent.
You turned, a bored expression on your face as you glanced at Asger. His hair, a deep black sat messily on his shoulders. He held a mug, beer filled to the top as foam dripped down the side. "Come, have a drink!"
"You know I don't drink, Asger." Your lips twitched upwards at his gesture either way. He frowned, an almost adorable look if it wasn't for his large intimidating statue.
"Oh, yeah." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "You leaving?"
You nodded. "Wessex, tomorrow morning. It'll be a bit before I'm back." You explained.
Asger raised his mug high. "Safe travels, friend!"
You couldn't help but smile at his gesture as he swung his head back and began chugging the mug. You waved a hand over your shoulder as you continued your walk to your tent.
𓊝
Morning came faster than you would've liked. The morning sun filtered through your thin tent, birds chirping loudly. The Vikings had long fallen asleep, the one evidence of yesterday's celebration were empty wooden beer mugs and bones with small scraps of meat on them.
You packed up quickly, loading the wagon Jona had prepared for you yesterday. The horses were brought from the stables. You adjusted the straps and buckles, making sure everything was correctly on.
Ruben stood beside Jona, sword safely tucked on his side as he smirked. You did not walk up to him and say goodbye, instead you hoisted yourself on the wagon, gathering the reins in your hands. You softly clicked your tongue, and soon the horses walked down the dirt path leading away from the village.
"See you later, Y/n!" Asger yelled, waving toward you. You couldn't help but smile at his foolishness. You glanced back one more time, only to see Ruben already walking away speaking to Jona.
It bothered you more than it should.
𓊝
It was almost two weeks later when you crossed the border into England. The sun was high, beating down on you with every bit of strength it had, yet you did not stop.
You had a mission you needed to carry out.
In the distance a village came into view. Smoke rose from the chimneys, but for a small fleeting moment, you were reminded of the way the smoke curled into the sky when your own village had been raided by Danes.
Your heart thumped, but you ignored it, instead choosing to take a deep breath and steady your trembling hands. The wagon creaked as you entered the village, rocks making the path uneven and bumpy.
Vendors stood behind their shops, preaching about their products. Children ran and laughed, some throwing a bean filled bag in the air, trying to hit it with their feet.
It did not warm your heart, not with the way you knew one day, this village would be nothing more than ash. That was how all villages turned out eventually. Broken wood, dead warriors, and malnourished slaves.
You glanced away before the guilt could consume you.
"Hey! You look parched from your journey miss, looking for supplies?" An older man, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes were prominent as he preached his travel supplies. "I'll tell you what, how about three silver coins off!"
You raised a brow. "Three silver coins off you say?" You slightly pulled back on the reins, your horses coming to a stop.
He grinned. "That's right, miss. Your horses look like they could use some rest! I'd be willing to let you use my stalls for a fair price."
You glanced toward your horses. They did not look tired, but it didn't hurt to stay in the village for one night. After all, you were here to get information.
"And what would that 'fair price' be?"
𓊝
You paid a fair price of three coins for the day. The man led you to the stalls, letting you board your horses there for the night. The wagon had been left beside the stalls, covered by a tarp. You were not worried by thieves, you'd just kill them if they stole your supplies.
You had wondered around the village, dodging bolting children and flirting men. It was strangely peaceful. The place hummed with community, a drastic contrast to the normal shouting and drunken vikings you spent your days with.
The rocks crunched beneath your feet as you wondered around. A tavern came into view, locals pushing through the wooden doors with full belly laughter.
You followed in after them. Your eyes glanced around, dozens of men at different tables, chattering about the winter or women that had the pleasure of sleeping with them. Slaved women walked around with pitchers, topping off half empty cups.
The pit in your stomach grew deeper as you walked in toward the back, where the tavern owner stood. "Vincent and his men need more mead." He ran a hand down his face, counting silver coins in his grasp.
"Excuse me." You leaned against the counter. "I need some information, if you're willing sir."
He glanced up, pocketing the coins. His eyes looked you up and down before he smirked. "And what's a pretty thing like you want to know?"
"Askalad. Ever heard of em'?" You took the pouch of coins off your belt and loosened the tie. The owner, a man in his early thirties eyes lit up at the sight of the pouch. His eyes, full of greed, glistened.
"I might know of him. I just cant seem to jog my memory." His hand came up to the scruff on his chin as he smirked.
You raised a brow. "Maybe ten coins would remind you?" You then proceed to count the coins and hold them out for the man.
He wet his lips as he took the silver. He slipped them into his pocket before he leaned against the counter, his head tilted toward you as he brought his voice low.
"I heard he just raided a village on the east, Brage’s men had been staying there for the upcoming winter and apparently had a lot of spoils from the year. Know of them?" You nodded and he continued. "Askeladd and his men return to their village for winter, and with the path they're taking I'd say it wont be long before they pass through here."
"Will they raid this place?"
He shook his head. "Maybe. Heard his band of pirates can't take more treasure, but who really knows." He sighed. "If you want my advice, stop chasing him. He's a dangerous man with an even more dangerous mentality."
The chatter in the tavern picked up, loud shouts of disapproval from drunken men making most people glance up. You thanked the man quietly and left the tavern before things grew too loud there.
You sat on a cliff a few hours later. It overlooked the village, making watching the hills for oncoming vikings easier. You fiddled with your blade, your fingers running along the hilt.
You had two choices.
Stay and hope Askalad shows up to the puney village. The spoils wouldn't even be enough to satisfy them based on what you'd heard. And hoping for a miracle wont get you what you wanted.
Or, you could travel east. There's a chance you'd find them beforehand, gathering intel from other villages along the way. But there was also a chance you'd miss them, and they'd come here instead.
You sighed. What a troublesome decision.
What would Ruben want you to do? Stay and hope, or go off and try?
You stood up, looking down at the bustling village. The decision was made when you saw a small group of kids, maybe six years old, running after each other. They laughed, wide toothy grins.
So innocent in a cruel world.
You'd leave the village tomorrow you decided. You'd head east, intercepting where you assumed Askalad would be heading with his mountain of treasure for the winter. You slipped your blade back into the sheath on your side and adjusted the bow on your back.
The walk back to the village was silent. The birds, normally so talkative to one another, were quiet. The breeze, where it had howled and sung, was nothing more than a soft whistle.
Then you heard it.
A piercing scream. One that cut through the ruckus of the village and made even the forest silent for once. A scream that reminded you of yourself all those years ago. A scream that reeked of sorrow and rage.
You bolted, your hand immediately finding the bow on your back. And your body knew it well as you loaded an arrow onto the string, drawing it back slightly as you ran, ready for any sort of interception.
You stopped, couching low as you got to the edge of the treeline. Black smoke curled toward the vast sky, fire licking up the sides of buildings. You saw children, the same ones who had just been laughing together, running toward their homes faces white with terror.
"Take the slaves boys! Light the place up after, I don't wanna see any standing buildings!" A voice shouted out. You looked over, dropping the bow slightly.
A man, early forties maybe stood with a metal chest-plate strapped to his chest. His smile was big, a cockiness to it that made your stomach sink. His blade was not drawn— a fools move, or a confident coward?
His blonde hair tasoled in the wind.
"Askalad! I found this one running-"
Your eyes widened. Askalad? The stars were aligning for you. Your eyes followed the man who had walked up, a woman in his grasp. She thrashed, screaming loudly.
The blonde, Askalad grinned. "Put her with the others."
You remembered your chieftains words as you withdrew your bow, putting the arrow safely back into the pouch hung on your hip. You swung it off quickly, even as the vikings raiding the small village became louder.
Men screamed, blade struck them down one after another as they tried to protect their homes. Women ran, their children's hands in their grasp even as they sobbed and bolted. Sadly, the vikings were faster, stronger, and showed no mercy even to the ones who begged.
You buried it under leaves quickly, smearing mud across your face. There was only one way to intercept a man like Askalad. Become a slave.
You stumbled out of the woods and screamed. "Someone help me!"
Immediately, eyes locked onto you. One grinned, a sickening sight to anyone who happened to have the horrible luck of being captured.
The reaction was immediate, you turned and tried to run, but hands grabbed you, pinning you down. "Should've run, sweet thing."
You swallowed the bile that rose in the back of your throat. His weight was heavy on you, his knees pinned on either side of you. The tears that welled up in your eyes weren't fake, but they were not what the man had thought.
The tears were ones of suppressed rage. One of someone who wanted to kill so badly, yet held themselves back solely for the mission assigned. His hands gripped your shoulders and slung you up, till you were thrown across his shoulder.
How you hated men who thought they were superior.
You grunted from the impact, blood rushing to your head. You thrashed, but his hands held you down as he chuckled. "Got some fight, ey?"
The words made the blood in your body freeze. Your stomach had dropped and suddenly it felt like everything was far away and you were not slung over one of Askalds viking men's shoulders.
Suddenly you were six years old sleeping in a trashed stall with horse shit staining your dress.
Suddenly you were starving, licking the condensation of the dirty walls as you sobbed. And suddenly you were not seventeen working for the man that had saved you— you were clouded by grief as your fathers death flashed over and over again.
A blade, one with flames carved into it dripped with blood. And the man who had killed him had no face, only a laugh embedded so deep in your skin it did not matter how you scrubbed your body, it would never get rid of the sound.
Before you could stop yourself, your knee reeled back and slammed into the mans stomach— hard. You grabbed his head as his grip loosened, swinging your legs up and wrapping them around his neck. You twisted his head, your nails digging into his hair line. His hands clawed at your thighs wrapped so tightly around his neck, but you did not budge.
'I’ll admit, you have fight… but that’s all you have.’
Not till you heard the sickening snap of his neck that felt like freedom. His muscles loosened, and suddenly the battlefield had quieted down and you were being watched by his comrades, his brethren who had fought side by side with him.
The mission, the one you had dedicated weeks of your life to had crumbled away from a few simple words. You jumped from his falling body, hand immediately gripping the knife in the sheath by your side.
You knew today would be the day you died. You held your blade up, eyes dancing across the battlefield as you tried to see just how much trouble you were in.
A dozen man stared, mouths agape.
"Did she just-"
"Allen!"
You gritted your teeth together. Your hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade so tightly, till your knuckles were white and your veins were popping. The sky was ashen as smoke filled the air, houses burning and crackling down.
The screams of innocents drowned out as you were rushed by a dozen men, all who bore the same resentment for you killing their comrade. They screamed insults and threats.
You had failed Ruben and now you'd pay the price for letting your anger take over.
The fight was a blur of steel and thrown punches. You ducked right as a fist flew by your head— a man missing an ear, likely from a battle long ago, screamed. You lunged, plunging your blade deep in his jugular.
Blood sprayed, and you had no time to collect yourself, you were being surrounded. You ducked, twisting your body to avoid thick blades of steel.
"Capture her!"
You stumbled backwards as a fist connected with your stomach. A hand gripped your hair and slammed you down, dirt filled your mouth. You flipped over till your scalp burned but even then you did not stop. You slammed your blood covered blade deep in the mans lung. He weezed, hand falling to his wound. A mistake for him as you reeled your leg back and slammed it into his nose.
He stumbled backwards, falling over the dead body of his brethren.
Your blade was dripped with a deep red now, splatters of blood across the area. You were moving on pure instinct now, dodging blades and fists of large men. Your blade plunged into hearts and organs, over and over again.
The guilt was washed away by horrid memories, men who think they are much more powerful than you. Men who take, and take, and take.
Bodies laid by your feet as you fought, and only one thought plagued your mind.
You would die before you could repay Ruben. It was a haunting thought— one you hated. You refused, you would not die by their hands. You had to repay him, you had to.
Then, right as your blade struck into an eye as you let out a sharp battle cry, ready to fight with everything you’d been holding back— everything went blurry. Something hard hit the back of your skull. It was wet and warm as your eyes hazed over and blackness consumed you.
𓊝
Thorfinn flipped his blade in his hands absentmindedly. His face had that permanent scowl, like he was especially angry at the world and nothing would change that.
The raid had been successful— loot and treasures weighing down his fathers ship. He thought Askalad was an idiot, the village didn't have enough treasure to be anything worth raiding, but atlas the man was greedy.
"Thorfinn! Got a job for you."
He lifted his head as Askalad smirked, gesturing toward the woman tied up. Thorfin rose a brow. He had heard of the woman from this village taking out almost a dozen men before Bjorn hit her in the back of the head. He didn't believe the idiots spouting nonsense like that.
He ignored it mainly, after all he had one goal. "Why should I?" He clicked his tongue and glanced away. "She's not my problem."
"Don't be like that Thorfinn." Askalad teased. "Fine, I'll give you a duel. Does that sound fair?"
Thorfinn grit his teeth but stood up, sheathing his dagger. He knew exactly what Askalad wanted, for him to watch the prisoner till she awoke. He walked over, ignoring the protests of his men for keeping her alive.
"She killed Allen." One seethed. "Kill her, she doesn't deserve to breath. I don't give a fuck if she is a woman!"
"If Allen died to a runt like her he didn't deserve to be in Askalads group!"
"The fuck did you just say?"
Thorfinn pushed through, ignoring the growing arguments. He stopped and leaned against a wooden pole, eyes landing on the woman. He tried to bury the angry of following Askalads orders, his teeth biting into his own cheek.
Truthfully, he didn't believe she had killed over a dozen men. Women were not warriors, it was not something that happened. Women took care of children and cooked. They did not wear chain mail and slit throats.
They did not fight in war.
Thorfinn stood for almost an hour, rage steadily brewing in his chest before he watched as she stirred, eyes blinking rapidly for a few moments. Her hair was tousled, dried blood caked on the side of her face. He watched as her eyes focused in. Her fingers twitched toward her waist where her knife had sat before Bjorn had taken it, but the thick ropes bounding her wrists together stopped her.
He raised a brow as he watched her look around. She wore a simple brown outfit, but chain mail peaked out from the cut of the shirt.
"She's awake, Askalad." Bjorn stood up from the fire he had been sitting in front of as he noticed her movement. He walked over and stood next to the blonde in question, arms crossed over his broad chest as they studied her.
She looked up, eyes landing on Askalad. Her eyes narrowed. Thorfinn saw it— the utter resolve in her eyes, one he knew all too well. Maybe they really had not lied about her killing a dozen men.
The chatter and arguments of the Vikings had ceased as Askalad walked up to the woman. He stopped just short of her, a confident grin resting on his face. They watched, seeing exactly what their leader would do.
"I have a sort of talent." He started, the grin never leaving his face. "I can tell by someones face if they are an idiot, or if they have what it takes. I can tell when someone is stupid. And you, you had a plan. Tell me, who sent you?"
She didn't flinch. "I don't know what you're talking about."
It was confident, devoid of any obvious lies, but Askalad had not lied about his talent. He knew there was more to this woman than what was said. Thornfinn watched, mainly with doubt but a hint of curiosity at her.
"Kill her!"
"No idiot! We could sell her for a hefty price."
Askalad grinned. "No, I think we'll keep her around for a bit. She won't run, she knows exactly what'll happen if she does." He turned and looked at thorfinn. "You'll stay by her and make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."
Thorfinn clicked his tongue and turned away. "Why the hell should I listen to you?"
Askalad chuckled and began to walk away, "Fine, I’ll give you another duel. Yeah?”
Thorfin couldn't refuse the offer.
𓊝
Ruben. He'd save you— you were sure of it.
The younger blonde— Thorfinn, you learned, walked closer. His brown eyes, narrowed and angry barely looked at you as he reached for your bound hands.
You flinched, hard, before you could stop yourself. The reaction made Thorfin narrow his eyes even more, if that was even possible.
"Tsk, stop moving." Annoyannce dripped from his words. Your nose scrunched in anger, but bit back the words at the tip of your tongue.
The ropes that bound your hands were cut through, falling into a small pile on the ground. You immediately rubbed the sore rings around your wrists as you glanced around.
Thorfinn then turned and walked back toward the pole he had been leaning on before, eyes falling right back on you.
This was good, perfect even. Askalad knew you were here for something, but them untying you would be the downfall that would cost their entire small army their lives, you were sure of it.
Ruben would follow the trail you left and find you. He'd kill Askalad and his men and save you and the spoils. The plan, normally so simple, had been ruined by your lack of self control.
Your nails dug into your palms as you pushed yourself up. You showed you could fight, and that might've been the worst possible outcome. You needed to switch that thinking, and fast.
You had been sent of missions like this before. Infiltrate armies, learn the weakest links in their formations, and the strongest.
And when Ruben would come, you'd escape and relay the information.
Simple, normal, and expected.
But you had been captured quicker than normal, and Ruben and his men were still three days behind you. You had to stay alive till he could come.
The sky was blue, white fluffy clouds littering it. It still reeked of metallic blood and burned wood. The smell was comforting in a sick sort of way. You looked toward your guard— Thorfinn. He was assigned to make sure you did not flee or fight.
That's fine, you needed to look helpless so he'd drop his guard. You needed to make it seem like you were just a fragile woman.
You stumbled, knees scraping against the splintering wood. You gasped and groaned in pain, legs shaking as you tried to stand.
You felt his eyes on you, staring at your pathetic form. You knew that's what he was thinking, most men thought the same way. Women were weak— frail and scared.
When you had finally pushed yourself up, you felt eyes clinging to you like a second skin. Most stared in mocking confidance. A few licked their chapped lips at your form, and others grit their teeth in your direction.
The next few hours were spent wandering around their camp. Thorfinn followed behind you, always keeping you in his sight.
He did not speak, but neither did you. Your body was bruised and battered from the fight, every step felt like hell, but you didn't stop to rest. You needed as much information as possible, and fast.
Their army was around a hundred men, almost the same as Ruben's. Their spoils were spread across two ships, cargo and other supplies filling up more of the space.
The rocks crunched underneath your weight as you walked around. The sun had lowered now, nothing more than a soft orange hue hugging your skin.
You paused and turned toward the blonde. "Hey."
His brows drew together. "What?"
"Where am I sleeping?"
"Hell if I know." He grumbled.
You deadpanned. "Thanks a lot! Your information regarding your prisoner is awesome!" Sarcasm dripped from your tone as you crossed your arms around your chest.
Thorfinns eye twitched.
"Perfect." You mumbled and contuined walking.
He sighed. "Ask Askalad."
"Where is Askaald then?"
Thorfinn sighed, like he could be doing a dozen better things as he gestured for you to follow. You had to bite back the grin on your face.
He was really leading you to their leaders tent? How foolish.
You followed behind him, keeping distance from him., It was obvious he was strong. The scars that littered the small amount of skin showing were proof of this.
But… he was young. Almost as young as you. Yet his eyes were filled with such deep hatred and resolve, it reminded you of yourself. You pushed the thought down and buried it over disgust.
Men were all the same, even if this one’s eyes looked a little different.
You refused to feel bad for your enemies. You would not think of them as humans, only danish soldiers who killed people because it was fun.
Thorfinn had stopped, gesturing to the large tent in front of you. Two vikings stood outside, hands on the hilts of their blades.
"That's-"
"Shut up idiot. What do you want Thorfinn? Why is the prisoner at Askalads tent?" One had said, barely glancing at you.
Thorfinn put a hand on his hip and sighed. "She wants to know where she'll be sleeping."
The man clicked his tongue, "Throw her with the rest of the slaves."
Then, the tents flap opened, and Askalad stepped out.
"Let her sleep in a tent."
"Asakalld? This can't be right, she killed a dozen men! She should be dead right now!" One of the guards had protested.
Askalad grinned. "Men, there is more to gain from letting her walk free. Plus, our boy Thorfinn won’t let her do anything, isn't that right?"
Thorfinn glared, but didn't interrupt. It was obvious something was between the two men, yet it seemed as if they trusted each other.
Some sick trauma bond, you figured.
"How could letting her walk free possibly work in our favor?"
Then it clicked. The pieces fell together and everything else was drowned out by your own thumping heart. Your stomach sinked. God, you were bait for Ruben weren't you?
Askalad grinned when you made eye contact. And suddenly it didn’t feel like you had this all planned out, it did not feel like you were in control.
Askalad was.
A /n: my apologies if anything is not geographically accurate.
ˋ°•*⁀➷ synopsis: hakari finds out [name] cheated on him with yuji. or so he claims.
・❥・requests : rules
・❥・characters: hakari kinji and itadori yuji.
warnings : implied intimacy (left it ambiguous), violence, reader is kinda selfish, not proofread.
・❥・wc: 1.3k
・❥・masterlist
Yuji had no fucking idea what was coming for him. He had walked into a trap that had basically set itself up. Never could he have anticipated what awaited him, nor could Megumi.
Standing in the shadows, Megumi waited for Yuji to leave the arena before disappearing to rendezvous with Panda.
"Yuji, you're still a first-year? So young!" Kirara teased.
"Kinji repeated a year in middle school." She continues with a subtle laugh.
"You look weirdly happy about that." Yuji continues the conversation, just barely,
Following her, as she led him to the 'boss' after a few fights, Yuji kept calm knowing everything depended on this moment. After all, the sooner he gets Hakari on their side, the sooner he can get back to you.
The entire group had split up, and you had ended up joining forces with Yuta to scout the culling games, wishing to give a head start to Yuji and Megumi.
Despite you being 2 years older to him, along with having Yuta at your side, he couldn't help but worry. Yuji could not wait to finish this and find you, after all, you both had a conversation pending.
Shibuya smelled like smoke and iron that night. You were still shaking. Not just from fear. From everything. Bodies. Death. The way the sky looked wrong. Red everywhere.
And him.
Yuji stood a few feet away from you in that alley, head bowed, hands stained with something he couldn’t wash off. Not blood. Not exactly.
It was guilt.
You had seen him after the destruction. After Sukuna. After Nanami. After Nobara. He wasn’t crying. He just stood there, taking all the pain in his heart and allowing it to ruin him.
“I killed them.”
His voice didn’t rise, neither did it crack. It just existed. Like a verdict. Not knowing how to help your underclassman, you could only attempt to step closer to him.
“Yuji—”
“I don’t get to be here,” he said. “I don’t get to stand next to you. Or anyone.”
The words weren’t dramatic. They were his truth. You couldn't bear the sight. You could feel how tightly he was holding himself together. Like one more word would shatter him completely.
You were so tired. So fucking tired of watching people break.
So, you grabbed his jacket, and did the only thing that you thought could help.
He looked up, startled.
And you kissed him.
Not softly.
Not gently.
Desperate.
Like if you didn’t anchor him to something human right then, he’d disappear. Although, you do feel your selfishness got in the way of your decision-making.
For half a second he didn’t respond. Then he did. And it wasn’t romance. It was grief colliding with warmth.
It was exhaustion.
It was two people who had survived something they shouldn’t have.
Yuji leaned closer, his movements gentle. When you pulled back, his breathing was uneven.
“We shouldn’t,” he whispered.
You knew that.
He knew that.
But the world had already fallen apart. And in that alley, for just a moment, you both stopped pretending you were strong.
The night blurred after that.
Yuji tells himself not to think about you.
Not now. Not here.
But the thought slips in anyway, unwelcome and persistent. The way your name had felt on his tongue the last time he’d almost said it out loud.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the alley again. The way you had looked just as tired as he felt. The way neither of you had spoken afterward, like words would have made it real before either of you were ready.
Once this is over, he said. Once Gojo can be saved. Once the world stops collapsing for five minutes, he’ll talk to you.
He didn’t think it was fair to leave it like that.
He would look you in the eye and ask what you wanted.
And if you decided that night should stay where it was, unfinished and unspoken, he would accept that too.
Yuji Itadori had already destroyed enough things by existing.
He wasn't going to let you be another.
"Itadori. If someone told you, "Just do one thing for one hour a day and you'll be making 10,000 yen a day, would you believe it?"
Yuji did not expect the conversation to begin this way. Entering the monitor room, his eyes fall on Hakari. He looked a lot older than what he had imagined, the number of monitor screens illuminating his features in the dark room.
For the next few minutes Hakari chats him up, creating a topic of conversation Yuji found intriguing. The back and forth felt to be going well, but the atmosphere changed when Hakari offers him a drink.
"Anything's fine. As long as it's not alcohol."
"What? You can't handle it?"
"That's not the issue. I'm underage."
"You don't look like the type who cares about that. Did you know? Gojo Satoru is a lightweight too."
"What. Gojo who? And what do you mean 'too'? Its not like I.."
"Listen..." Hakari interrupts setting the glass down with subtly harshness. Yuji hesitates, the glass stopping before he could take a sip.
The silence follows naturally yet there was something uncanny about it. Every sound felt amplified.
"What kind of sorcerer doesn't know Gojo Satoru?" Hakari asks as he calmly pours himself a drink.
"Why would you pretend you didn't know?"
Ahh fuck. Did he fuck up?
"Do you really think I don't know who you are, Itadori? Ryomen Sukuna's vessel?" Yuji gulps at that, setting his glass down.
"Wait a moment..."
"And you have the audacity to show your face to me, after you touched what was mine." He threatened with a deadly calm.
"Huh, W-what are you talking about."
"I saw you getting real chummy with [name] that night. To think after everything that happened you would have been too down in the dumps for something like that."
Yuji furrows his brows, confused. Yes, you and Hakari had been in the same year, but you'd never even mentioned him.
"Frankly, that is none of your damn business." Yuji talks back, his stupid courage backing him up.
Hakari pauses for a moment, then gives a huge malicious smile.
"You're confident for someone who kissed my girlfriend."
...
"Huh."
You? You were Hakari's girlfriend?
Everything stops for a moment, Yuji starts to back up, and hell ensues. Hakari in pure rage throws the glass at him, the structure breaking apart behind Yuji as he successfully dodges.
"Listen." Yuji tries, but Hakari wouldn't stop his attacks, kicking him till he hits the floor.
"I saw how you touched her, you piece of shit!" Grabbing him by the collar and lifting Yuji up.
"Listen!" He exclaims, butting heads with Hakari.
"No! I've cooled off now!" If looks could kill, Yuji would have perished by now.
The fight ensued to the rooftop, and Yuji refused to dodge. Taking hit after hit as Megumi, Panda, and Kirara watched from the sidelines.
Yuji didn't know your past, or what had happened with Hakari, so he knew he couldn't go around being possessive of you. His priority was to get Hakari to help them out.
'I'm not dodging anymore! I'm not fighting back either!' Yuji declares to himself.
"I'll burn your heart till whatever you felt for [name] fades away, you fucking bastard." Another punch sets itself on Yuji, yet he stood tall, eyes refusing to waver.
"I told you to stop mentioning your ex!!!" Kirara exclaims from the sideline, as Megumi and Panda seemed shocked that you had a history with Hakari, and even Yuji seemingly so.
"That's funny. Weren't you being buddy buddy with Kirara all this time? Or was I going mad?" Yuji bites back.
"That you are. Mad to ever assume the two of you could be anything together."
"You're the madman for calling her your girlfriend. Didn't Kirara just call [name] your ex?"
Hakari seems irritated at that, and throws yet another punch.
"That doesn't mean she's free for the taking, you goddamn first year!"
Balancing himself after the hit, Yuji spits out some of the blood that collected on his lips.
"Again. It is none of your goddamn business. Plus, if you care about her so much then you have all the more reason to help us!" Yuji's tone was demanding.
"What do you mean?" Hakari pauses, stepping back only slightly.
"[name] is inside those barriers, going through the culling game. I have lost all contact with her, so if you could hurry the hell up, just help us out so we can make sure she's safe!" Yuji's eyes were fired up, burning through the atmosphere with a strange vigor.
Hakari faltered just a bit, grunting at Yuji's words.
"Fine. I'll hear you out."
a/n: this was such a random scenario i thought of while watching jjk. what even is this? T_T
Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin
Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.
I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).
"your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”
Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.
Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.
If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.
↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.
I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default
Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!
BATBOYS BUT THEY WITNESS A STRANGER PULL F!READER INTO A HUG AND CLAIM TO BE HER BOYFRIEND. FT. MARK GRAYSON!
P.T.1
★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, everyone is 18+, mention of death, romance, mark is utterly devoted to you, jealousy, lots and lots of jealousy, little bit of dark!batboys, kind of dark!mark too
★ A/N: yes ik the pic is technically the mark variant who wears a shiesty but that's still mark and it's a hot pic so it's staying. anyway that poll on if y'all would read a mark grayson x reader fic alongside the batboys x reader was almost unanimously yes and i'm so happy because of it 🤭
left art: @/B0nesJam (twitter), right art: @/irispardom (twitter)
★ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ★ | ★ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ★
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW YOU ENDED UP HERE—
—trapped in the embrace of a stranger.
One moment, you're in your kitchen, preparing a nice, hot bowl of popcorn for both you and your house guests—the next?—you're at your door, stood rigid and tight and ever-so-still as your arms are pinned to your sides by another pair. A stronger pair.
A stranger's pair.
The embrace is warm, seeping with this longing you've only ever felt from Dick that one time he returned from a mission that lasted way longer than it should've; that one time he hugged you swearing he'd never let go.
But even then... Dick did eventually pull away.
Something about this stranger's tight grip tells you they won't.
Your name is whispered, breathed out on the tongue of whoever it is holding you as he squeezes just that tad bit more, just that tad bit tighter.
It's strange. You're sure you've never met this man in your life, yet something about his embrace feels familiar, intimate in a way no stranger could ever imitate.
No stranger but this one at least.
You can ponder on it for all but a few more seconds before a new warmth is on your shoulder—this time: a recognisably familiar one—and without being given a moment to even blink, you're yanked out of the embrace of the stranger, vision flooded with the broad back of your dear friend as a click bounces off the walls of your once quiet apartment.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't lodge this bullet between your eyes."
Jason stands before you, finger nestled snug against the trigger of his gun like it's just waiting for the opportunity to pull it, like he's just as eager to give it the command to do so.
The stranger puts his hands up, and it's just then that you realise he's clad in a skin-tight suit. Yellow and blue. With goggles over his eyes.
"I don't want any trouble."
"Yeah?" scoffs Jason, "Well you shoulda thought of that before pulling up at princess here's door."
"[Name], get behind me," Dick calls from further in your apartment, a hand quick to spread out over your clothed stomach and push you even further back than before.
You know by the way your light starts to flicker that Duke's also on guard, and you can't imagine that Tim or Damian are that far off either.
The tension in the room is thick—heavy in the air and just as swallowing—the boys' muscles all taut. It's as though they're ready to lunge the moment just a strand of hair moves out of place.
You try to swallow, but all that goes down your throat is sandpaper.
He catches it though.
The stranger's head tilts ever so slightly after your gulp, just enough so that you're fully in his field of view again.
From under those goggles, you can't really see his eyes, but the way his brows visibly pinch is enough for you to feel the desperation radiating off his form when he speaks your name again.
Dick moves to cover you further. "I don't think so, buddy."
"Look," the man states simply, head subtly moving back up, "I don't mean any harm, really. I just wanna see her."
"Tt." The slink of a sword slipping out its sheath sounds from behind you. "And what business is it that you have with her?"
The stranger tilts his head again, letting out a frustrated grunt when Dick only moves to counter once more. "[Name] please," he whispers, tone uneven, watery and wavering, "it's me: Mark—"
Then he does something unlike your boys, unlike any vigilante you've ever seen really, and he moves his hand up to his mask, slipping it off with the ease and trust of someone not currently at the door of a stranger's house.
"—Your boyfriend?"
You can't even fully observe his face before a bang bounces off the walls of your home.
Your eyes widen, pupils shaking and hand already pushing Dick to the side as you hiss out a severely pissed, "Jason!"
But before you can even think of screaming your heart out at him, of having a go at your friend for shooting an innocent person at your door, your mouth falls agape, muscles tensing just as much as the rest of the vigilantes you know as you catch sight of what you're sure should've been a dead man on the ground.
Except he isn't dead. And he's nowhere near the ground.
In fact, he's floating off of it, brows now furrowed and lips pulled tight into a snarl as he yells, "What the hell, man?! You just shot me!"
"And you aren't dead," Jason replies through gritted teeth. "Why the fuck aren't you dead?"
"Not to worry," Damian replies before the stranger—before Mark—can, "I'll fix that."
All it takes is the lights flickering once more and the sound of a staff whirling in the wind for you to snap out of your little stupor, for you to see and hear and feel everything around you once again.
And once you do, your voice rings clear and final.
"Enough."
The boys tense, forms faltering as their eyes finally leave the stranger to fall on you.
You take a step forward.
Duke blocks your way.
"Duke." Your arms fold over your chest, his name stern and heavy on your tongue.
"[Name]"—his brows furrow—"you can't be serious. This is a stranger. A meta too, no less."
"And you aren't?" You quirk a brow. His jaw ticks. "He hasn't done anything. All he did was hug me."
"That doesn't mean he won't do anything," he retorts stubbornly. "That doesn't mean he can't do anything." Then, his tone softens, brows scrunching a little as he regards you with a look all too warm and familiar. "I don't wanna lose you. Not you."
Your arms uncross, one hand gesturing out as you return his gentle look. "And you won't. I promise. Just let me talk to him."
You can tell he's reluctant, can see it in the way his jaw is still tense and his eyes suddenly can't meet your own. But you also know Duke, and you know that he's a hero—one that, if given the chance, will choose the option of peace over all else.
And so, his shoulders fall, and he steps to the side to allow you through, to which you flash him a grateful smile before taking a step forward...
...only to be blocked by yet another wall, one now back to facing the person floating at your door.
"Jason," you call, but he doesn't so much as spare you a glance. "Jason."
His jaw squares, the only sign you have that he's hearing you.
"Put the gun down."
But he doesn't listen. He hears you but he doesn't listen. Because of course he doesn't listen. You're speaking to Jason Peter Todd, when the fuck does he ever listen?
"Jason!"
"I'm not putting the gun down until he's bleeding on the fucking floor."
The meta snarls at Jason's words, and the latter is quick to return it with his own look of disdain, blood boiling enough for heat waves to be visible in the air around him, for even the hottest lava to envy what courses through his veins.
"Then get out of my way so that I can speak to him."
The man lets out a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "And let him feed you another lie to bring down your guard some more? I don't think so."
"I'm not lying," Mark hisses, floating just a tad bit closer.
"Oh yeah?" Jason tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting in that familiar way it does when he mocks a crook. "Why don't you say that to your so-called girlfriend? Because to me, it doesn't look like she even knows who you are at all."
That seemed to have hit a nerve, because the next thing you know, Mark is lunging forward, and Jason is just narrowly dodging his shove, rolling to the side and letting out another bullet in his direction.
You're only able to blink once before your form is engulfed, covered by the oldest brother in the room as he regards you with soft, gentle eyes.
Yours only scrunch in return.
"Dick, let go of me."
He tosses a glance over his shoulder as another bang rings out. "Don't think that's the best idea right now, princess."
"Dick."
He meets your gaze again.
"It's either you let me go so that I can break up the fight, or you let me go so that you can break up the fight. Your pick."
He holds your gaze for a few seconds, eyes wide and disbelieving. "You can't be serious."
You don't say a word, and he blinks owlishly.
"You're serious."
"Deadly."
"Okay, fuck," he curses, head turning to the side as his eyes all but seem to run through a dozen different scenarios at once, acting more like a computer screen than sclera.
Then, after at least two more seconds pass, he turns back to you, shoulders falling in quiet resignation.
"Fine. Stay here. I'll break it up. You're not going anywhere near that fight on my watch."
You feel the way your shoulders fall at his words, a wave of relief crashing over you like a sudden change in tide as you flash Dick a smile much like the one you gave Duke earlier and he starts to slowly get up with a roll of his shoulders.
"Alright you two, break it up."
Mark pauses, and Jason takes the opportunity to lunge, but before his arms can even graze the meta human, Dick hooks them under his own, and you quickly take the opportunity to put yourself between the three men.
You then proceed to waste no time to deliver a mountain of fury to the man who started the fight.
"Really, Jason?"
He pauses his struggling against his brother.
"I mean, seriously"—you throw your arms out in front of you, scoffing the words on your tongue out in disbelief so heavy, it fogs your vision—"you're a grown ass man, starting fights like a child, over something as small as someone claiming to be my boyfriend?"
He opens his mouth to retort, but purses his lips once you send him a narrow look, opting instead to scoff and turn his head to the side.
"Oh, and don't think I didn't notice you two getting ready to join in, Tim, Damian." You turn your stern gaze to the other two currently armed individuals in the room, and they both mirror their brother's reaction to a tee.
It's funny, really, how they react like children being scolded for something like drawing on the walls rather than grown men who were planning on murdering someone in the comfort of your home.
Or at least, Jason was.
Geez, you really thought you had this talk with him already, that he'd changed his previous ways and swapped out his real bullets for rubber ones, that he'd sworn off killing for the rest of his life.
Guess not.
You pinch your nose, taking in a breath and counting up to ten just like your momma taught you when you were little, just like you always do when your veins get a little too heated for your own good.
Each second in your head is a second the heat flushes out your system—and your muscles unscrew themselves from the stiff boards this whole night reduced them to—until eventually, you can feel yourself finally calming down.
Then you open your eyes again and witness the mess that is your living room, and all that effort flushes down the drain.
"Look"—you find yourself sighing, turning to face the still-floating Mark as you address him with heavy eyes—"Mark, was it?"
In an instant, he lowers himself to your height, and now that there's no goggles in the way anymore, you witness the true extent of the way his eyes stare at you, wide, unwavering, like you're the only one they truly see.
It sends a shiver down your spine.
You swallow air. "...I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong girl. I've never seen or met you in my life. I don't even have a boyfriend."
At that, his shoulders fall, sagging in a way that has you biting your lip and half-contemplating taking it all back if it meant you'd get to see that look on his face again.
Wait... what?
"Right..." Mark starts, his solemn tone enough to pull you straight out of your thoughts. "Different dimension. My bad."
His words, though muttered, couldn't have been louder to your ears, and you raise your head in time with the rest of your friends, eyes wide and trained onto him.
Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin
Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.
I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).
"your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”
Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.
Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.
If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.
↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.
I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default
Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!
── HEADLOCK.
masterlist ۶ৎ fem!reader & robert + z-team
( SYNOPSIS. ) After an incident steals your memories, you're told you've been given a second chance, courtesy of the SDN. As you try to settle into this unfamiliar life, something feels wrong. You know how to fight but don't remember training. Your body bears scars that no one will explain. Faces look at you with fear and contempt and you simply don't understand. With every passing day, you suspect the life they’ve built for you might be a lie. Somewhere between the fog of confusion lies the answer to who you really were—are—and why they don't want you to remember.
( CW. ) reader has retrograde amnesia. depiction may not be entirely accurate. potential relationship, idk yet.
── CHAPTERS.
𖦹 chapter one: guardian angel
new dispatcher, same old story
I ain’t gonna lie with all the incredible lore I’m seeing on TikTok and ppl going into depth abt the hero’s killed by syndrome it’s really making me want a mark x black!incredible! Reader that’d be dope asf
Like what if readers a hero alongside her parents and siblings (frozone best uncle btw) and she meets mark in school and stuff and it’s basically the plot of the incredibles where they gotta stop syndrome but marks there to help and stuff and it’s different arcs to the story like mark and reader meet become friends yada yada then mark gets his powers and the guardians AND the incredible supers are all dead then they get the mission to stop syndrome then it goes into the main invincible plot.
Like I’m not crazy right? This would be dope asf to read ngl again if u like use it be my guest just tag a girl and feed her thoughts😋
*bonus if syndromes like obsessed with reader and mark don’t stand for it
Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
SoulBond!AU
Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader
Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.
Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.
They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.
And now that you’ve returned?
They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.
Warnings: Explicit Smut / NSFW. Minors DNI (Do Not Interact), Oral Sex (F!Receiving), Fingering, Breast Play / Touching, Penetrative Sex (P in V), Breeding Kink / Creampie, Size Kink, Praise Kink, Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance.
A/N: Surprise! My little gift. There are 2 very explicit smut scenes here, so pls be warned! I've added a warning tag to the areas where the smut starts and ends for my non-smut readers. I finished this chapter earlier than I expected. My brain and hands just work faster when I'm writing filth? I'm also confused. Must be my uterus taking over the keyboard. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!
───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────
The Saja boys are all demons.
They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.
And yet, before her, they kneel.
Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.
They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.
Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.
────────── ⚘ ──────────
Names (For those who get confused): Haneul (Abby), Seoha (Romance), Hwimori/Hwi (Mystery), Seungho (Baby)
────────── ⚘ ──────────
Part 9:
This Was Always Fate
A low groan echoes through the room, followed by Haneul’s familiar rasp. "Gotta steal her now, boys."
The others groan in protest, Jinu tightening his arm around your waist possessively. "Not fair." Seungho mutters darkly, still panting.
"We just got her," Hwimori grumbles, hand resting protectively on your thigh.
"I’m still dizzy," Seoha mumbles, forehead resting against your shoulder. But they part reluctantly when Haneul strides in, shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips. You giggle softly—completely spent, bare and glowing—as he scoops you into his strong arms like you weigh nothing.
“My turn to spoil our girl,” he says with a grin, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. You nuzzle his chest, giggling again. “You guys are so dramatic.”
“You’re not even walking,” Jinu mutters from the bed, still sulking.
The bathroom is warm, glowing in amber light. Steam rises from the full tub, bubbles glistening. Candles flicker along the tiled edges. You blink, surprised. “All this… for me?”
“Of course,” Haneul says, placing you down gently on a plush bath mat. His voice lowers, tender but rough-edged. “Only the best for my princess. After all… you just took a beating.”
You gasp, lightly smacking his chest. “Haneul!”
He smirks and promptly slaps your bare ass in retaliation. You yelp, face flushed. “You’re awful!”
“Mmm. You love it.” He leans down to kiss your cheek before guiding you into the water, and you melt with a moan the moment your sore body sinks into the warmth.
“Oh my god…” you sigh, closing your eyes briefly. “This is heaven.”
When you open them again, you freeze. Haneul’s hands go to his waistband. He slides his sweatpants down, and your eyes widen— heart skipping. “Wait—”
He raises a brow, stepping into the tub behind you. His massive erection bobs proudly before he settles, smug. “Relax, baby. I’m just getting in to wash you.” Then, voice lower, eyes glittering with mischief he says, “Besides… it’s not my fault my cock loves the sight of you.”
You go red instantly. He chuckles, pulling you between his legs and kissing your temple. “You’re so damn adorable when you blush. Want me to go harder just to see that face again?”
You sink into him, hiding your face. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re mine,” he murmurs, nipping your ear. “Tomorrow night… I’ll be the one inside you. So behave, hmm?”
You shiver. He pulls you into his chest, his muscular arms cocooning you, your spine pressed to his hard torso. His hands are large and sure as they reach for a silk sponge, lathering it with soap.
“Can’t be gentle with the world,” he mutters softly against your ear, “but with you? I could spend forever doing this.” The sponge glides over your arms, your shoulders, your thighs. His touch is soft. Worshipful. He kisses your shoulder. “They made me a demon when I asked for vengeance. But now? All I want is peace. And you.”
Your heart warms at his words and you turn your head to kiss him softly. His eyes flutter shut, savoring the feel of your soft lips on his. “I want that too.” you whisper.
He smiles tenderly and kisses your cheek. You feel his fingers in your hair, dipping you back just enough. You close your eyes as he gently rinses your scalp, massaging soap into your roots with fingertips that once ended lives—and now tremble in devotion.
He kisses your forehead as he cradles you again, wet hair slicked against his chest. “I’ll never let you carry a burden alone again. You were meant to be held. Cared for. Cherished.”
There was a soft knock at the door. Seoha steps in, smirking, a fluffy towel in hand. His damp hair is pushed back and he's shirtless too—lithe and lean, his violet demon markings faintly glowing under his skin. “You two done hogging the afterglow?”
“Barely,” Haneul grumbles, but he lifts you anyway.
You squeak as you're lifted again, but melt into the feeling as Haneul kisses your cheek and passes you to Seoha. The latter demon catches you effortlessly, wraps the towel around your body, and leans down to press a kiss to your collarbone. “Our girl,” he murmurs, voice husky. “So fucking perfect.”
He dries you carefully, lovingly, fingers tracing your thighs, back, and hairline. “Arms up baby,”
You smirk and lift your arms. Seoha smiles down at you softly, dressing you in one of his shirts. He steps back to admire you for a moment. “Yep, definitely mine.”
You smile and squeak as he goes to lift you again, peppering your neck in kisses. You squeal as he walks you back into your bedroom. When you enter, you see the boys are waiting on your bed. All except Jinu who had gone to take a shower.
And you’re finally clean, warm, safe—and utterly, irrevocably theirs. Seoha places you gently in the center of the mattress, like setting a crown upon velvet. Hwimori is on you in a second, crawling across the sheets with the urgency of a man who hasn’t seen you in weeks, not minutes. He wraps himself around you tightly—too tightly—and buries his face into your neck with a low, throaty sigh. “I liked your smell better before the bath,” he mumbles petulantly against your skin.
“Hwi!” you scold with a tired laugh, smacking his shoulder with what little energy you have. But your fingers curl into his bare skin anyway. You can't stop touching them.
Seungho chuckles from behind you, his large hands sliding around your waist like silk restraints. “You smell perfect. Like us. Like what you are.” His voice is starved. He presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder, his breath hot and possessive.
Seoha climbs in beside you next, fingers combing through your damp hair like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. “You should sleep, baby,” he murmurs, his voice velvet and coaxing. “We’ll be here when you wake up. Always.”
Haneul leans against the headboard, eyes glowing faintly even in the dim light. He doesn't speak. He just watches you with that low-burning intensity, like he’s guarding the gates of your dreams. His fingers trail up and down your arm soothingly.
You feel them all. The soulbond pulses faintly beneath your skin—like lullabies in your bloodstream. Every touch, every breath they take, echoes inside your chest. Your eyes flutter shut and your body aches in the sweetest way. The sheets are soft, but their skin is warmer.
You fall asleep like that. Surrounded. Claimed. Devoted to. Four pairs of eyes watching your breathing slow. Four monsters-turned-men who would kill for you, burn for you, beg for you. Who have waited lifetimes just to hold you like this.
And tonight, finally, they do. You fall asleep, utterly satisfied, completely worshiped—and so, so deeply loved.
The door creaks open with a low whisper. Jinu steps in, towel draped loosely around his shoulders, hair still damp from the shower. Droplets of water still cling faintly to his skin, highlighting every muscle carved from centuries of waiting. His gaze immediately locks onto the bed. And he exhales a slow, amused breath.
You’re buried.
Hwimori curled tight against your back like a watchful wolf, his nose tucked behind your ear. Seoha cradling your upper body, fingers intertwined with yours. Seungho at your feet, long legs tangled in yours, his eyes open and burning low—like coals that never cooled. And Haneul. Towering. The biggest of them all, seated shirtless at the headboard with your head resting on his thigh, one calloused hand rhythmically stroking your hair like he was trying to lull himself more than you.
A ring of obsession. A shrine.
“Really?” Jinu mutters under his breath, wiping his hair with the towel. “No room for me now?”
“You already claimed her first,” Seungho murmurs, not even looking up. “Don’t be greedy.”
“You were the first inside her,” Seoha adds silkily, voice laced with teasing venom. “Let us have the rest of her for tonight.”
Jinu scoffs lightly, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just a twitch at the corner of his mouth. He walks closer, gaze dropping to your sleeping form—peaceful, slack with exhaustion, glowing faintly in the candlelight. The soulbond’s threads shimmer like phantom silk across your chest, pulsing gently in sync with your breathing.
“She’s so small,” Haneul murmurs, brushing a finger along your cheek. “So fragile.”
“So perfect,” Hwimori whispers, nose twitching against your pulse. “She smells like us now. She’s ours.”
“She was such a good girl,” Seungho hums, eyes dark with memory. “She took Jinu so well. Took all of us… even if we weren’t inside her.”
“She glowed,” Hwimori sighs dreamily, pressing closer. “She glows when she comes. Did you see that? Like moonlight in her blood.”
Jinu chuckles low in his chest, towel now forgotten as he settles on the edge of the mattress. “Of course she glows,” he murmurs, brushing a finger down your thigh. “She’s the only light left in this cursed world.”
They fall quiet again, all of them now watching you breathe—like they’re memorizing it. Like they’ll carve it into their bones if they have to. And in the hush of the room, surrounded by monsters who’ve waited centuries to call you theirs…
You sleep. Unknowing. Loved beyond reason. And claimed far beyond saving.
────────── ⚘ ──────────
The temple stones breathe in silence, the air ancient and slow. Candles sputter in deep alcoves where no wind reaches. Dust glows gold in the shafts of violet moonlight filtering through the cracks in the temple roof—witness to secrets that predate time.
Two figures sit in the shadows of gods long buried.
“You saw her.” It isn’t a question.
“I did,” the first answers, voice dry and velvet-rich. “In the mall, of all places.” A pause. “She looked right at me.”
The second figure hums, his posture unreadable. “And?”
“A scared, fragile little thing,” a chuckle followed. “That beast arrived shortly after. He’s got sharp senses.”
The second one shifts slightly. “She’s merging with it, then?”
The first leans his head back against the stone. “Not just merging. She’s accepting it. That’s why this tether may actually hold.”
A pause.
“Unlike our friend.” The tone sharpens slightly.
The second sighs, old weariness pressing into his bones. “That was different. Daehyun was… misguided. He loved her.”
“Hmm,” the first murmurs, “Too much… enough to try the impossible.”
“She was a hunter.” the second states.
“She was his heart.”
Another silence follows, heavier now. “She wanted to bridge the worlds with him,” the first murmurs. “But you can’t open that gate without the right voices. Without all three. And you can’t forge a tether out of a soul already sworn to the hunt.”
“They tried anyway.”
“His mistake.” the first tutted.
The second tilts his head toward the shaft of moonlight. “And this one?”
A slow, wicked smile curves the other’s mouth. “She’s not broken. Not yet. She sees them. The demons. Not just what they show her—but what they are.”
The second hums, “And the demons?”
“They’re so lovesick they can’t see the storm coming.”
A low laugh, this time from both.
“The cursed king has no idea what he’s just allowed,” the first murmurs, more to himself. “He thinks the girl is a prize. A reward for obedience. He doesn’t know he’s handed them the match that could burn his throne.”
The second glances toward the moonlight. “Will it destroy him?”
“Not yet,” the first says. “But I have a feeling… this will not be like the last attempt.”
The second is quiet for a long while. Then, almost to himself, he says: “The Honmoon is fragile. Always was. Even now, it’s held together by borrowed will and borrowed song. It needs hunters to stay strong.”
“Which makes it mortal,” the first hums. “Fallible.”
There’s a long stretch of silence before the first’s eyes twinkle with promise. “She’ll choose them,” he says confidently. “Even the monstrous parts. Especially those.”
A silence that tastes like prophecy. And far away, curled in tangled limbs and soul-threads that shimmer with forbidden fate, a girl sleeps—still dreaming, still blind to what waits in the hollow places of the world.
But not for long.
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The sun barely filters through the thick blackout curtains, golden rays painting lazy stripes across the sheets. You stir, sore and drowsy, cradled against warmth. The sheets shift behind you, and a deep voice rumbles in your ear, low and teasing.
"Good morning, gorgeous," Seoha purrs, voice still laced with sleep.
You blink, turning in his arms to face him. His hair is a tousled mess, and his amber eyes shine with lazy affection. You smile, stretching slightly, only to wince at the soreness in your thighs.
"What time is it?" you mumble.
"Half past eleven," he says, trailing his hand over your side. "We let you sleep in. You needed it after last night."
Your cheeks burn, but you smile. "I feel good. Well rested."
Seoha grins, mischief curling on his lips. “Good to hear.”
And then— He grinds his hips forward, letting you feel the hard ridge of his morning wood press into your belly. You gasp. "Seoha!"
"Mmm?" he hums, mouth dipping to your jawline. "I already know what I want for breakfast."
───────── SMUT ─────────
His hands trail up, cupping your breasts, kneading them gently. You moan as his thumbs circle your nipples. "You were so good for us last night," he whispers, grinding against you again. “Do you know what you do to me?”
“Hmmm,” you mumble in reply at the sweet feel of his touch. You could get used to this.
His touch feels like fire on your skin. He peels his shirt off your frame, letting it pool at your back. "I love you in my clothes," he mutters, eyes dark, "but I love you more like this. Bare. Mine." He dips his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling until you're gasping, writhing under him. His fingers trail downward, slipping between your legs.
"So wet for me already, angel?"
You nod, breath catching as the bond flares to life, your body responding to his like it’s wired into your bones. You shouldn’t be this turned on first thing in the morning, but here you are. A victim to their touches.
"I’ve been patient," he murmurs, pushing one finger into you. You moan. Yep, you could definitely get used to this. "Watched them have you. Waited my turn. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this?"
His fingers curl just right, stroking your walls in all the places that need them, and you bite your lip, crying out softly. He groans, adding another finger. He moves above you now—shirtless, gorgeous. His skin is back to its normal hue. Defined muscle ripples beneath violet demon markings that stretch like painted desire across his arms and chest.
The bulge in his sweatpants strains. He fingers you harder, his muscular arm tensing between your thighs. Seoha’s other hand cups your breast, squeezing gently as his eyes rake your body. "So fucking beautiful," he breathes. “I’ve dreamed of this for centuries. I’ve died and lived for this. For you.”
Your body arches as he curls his fingers again, and you come with a broken cry, shattering in his hand. Seoha watches you unravel, moaning softly. Watching your beautiful face contort in pleasure almost short-circuits his brain.
He brings his slick fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices. "Fuck, you taste divine. I need to be inside you. Now." He growls, pulling down his sweats and your breath catches. Of course he was huge. These demons would be the death of you.
"Jesus. Are all of you like this?"
He smirks, palming himself. "We’re made for you, baby. Every inch."
He positions himself, placing his cock against your stomach—showing you just how deep he’ll reach. It sits just below your navel. Holy mother of-
"You’ll take all of it," he says, low and commanding. "And you’ll love it."
He kisses you deeply, possessively, claiming your mouth as his. Then he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. You pant up at him and bite your lip, helpless, and watch as his other hand guides his cock to your entrance.
He pushes in slowly, letting you feel every inch of him stretching your walls. You gasp, your legs shaking as you adjust to the sheer size. "So tight," Seoha groans, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re perfect. Fuck, you were made for me.”
Tears prick your eyes from the fullness. He kisses your face, murmuring soft praises. It would take time getting used to having all of them this way.
"Just breathe, baby. Let me in. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you."
When he bottoms out, he lets out a guttural moan. His forehead touches yours, his breath ragged. He stays like that for a moment, eyes shut. Savoring the feel of the very thing he’d been waiting for across lifetimes.
Then he starts to move.
At first, it’s slow. Torturously slow. Like he’s savoring every inch, memorizing the shape of your body from the inside. You feel everything. Every inch he gives you, every twitch of his aching cock. How it molds you from within.
You whimper. "Faster. Please."
"You sure you know what you’re asking for, angel?" he asks, voice like gravel. His eyes burn like fire. Like any confirmation from you would make him snap.
You nod.
He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in. You cry out, jolting up the bed, head tipping back. The force rocks you, pleasure flooding your senses.
And then— He sets a punishing pace. Not rushed. But hard. Each thrust drives deep, filling you over and over. The wet sounds of your sex echo through the room. Seoha groans against your neck, snapping his hips tight against you with a heavy slap each time.
Your hands claw at his that were holding them down. You’re moaning, sobbing, drowning in the sensation. "So good," he growls. "Taking it all like a good girl. Letting me fuck you open."
He bites your shoulder, hips relentless. You’re trapped beneath him, pinned and possessed. Taking all that he gives you, and it was almost too much. Then he pulls back, grabs your knees, and pushes them to your chest putting you into a mating press.
Your eyes roll with this new position as you feel him drive in deeper. Reaching places you never even knew you had. You squeal. "Seoha—ah—wait—!"
"No more waiting, baby," he snarls. "You’re mine. My turn. My reward. My love." Every sentence he says with a hard thrust of his hips. His patterns glow brighter and the force of his thrusts knocks the wind out of you. His thrusts are brutal, deep. You gasp, seeing stars.
"You were made for this. For me. Say it."
"Yours," you breathe.
He fucks into you harder. "Say it again."
Tears form in your eyes. You grit your teeth in need, desperation. "I’m yours, Seoha. Always."
"That’s right," he growls. "Let everyone hear who you belong to."
You feel your climax building, fast and sharp. He feels it too, in the way your pretty pussy flutters around his shaft. He groans. "Come for me, baby. Give it to me. Everything."
"Seoha—please—I—"
You break.
White-hot bliss crashes over you. You scream his name, your fingers grip and claw at his hand pinning them down over your head.
Seoha’s roar splits the air. He drives in one final time and stills, burying himself to the hilt as he cums deep inside you. His hips jerk, filling you. "Take it," he groans. "Take all of me. I want you leaking with my cum. Marked. Mated. Filled."
You’re panting, whimpering at the aftershocks of your orgasm. You shouldn’t feel alive, but you did. More alive than you ever have in your life before they came into it. He trembles above you, kissing your face. Whispering sweet praises. "You’re everything. You’re mine. I’ll never let you go."
He stays in you for a moment, savoring the warmth and the bond, and the feel of you wrapped around him. Like he didn’t want to leave. Then, he gently pulls out, cradling your body in his arms.
──────── SMUT ENDS ────────
You’re breathless, slick in sweat, but deliciously satisfied. You look up at the man who holds your heart and both break into a smile. Morning sex, huh. Who knew it would feel this good?
You bury your head in his slick chest. “Well, that’s one way to start the day.”
He chuckles breathily and smirks in your hair. “We could make it an everyday thing…”
You’re about to retort when a knock on the door interrupts. "Brunch is ready, lovebirds!" Haneul calls through the door. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
Seoha sighs, smirking. "Time to eat, baby. Trust me—you’ll need the energy to survive the rest of the day."
You pout up at him adorably as he lifts your arms to put his shirt back on you. “I don’t know if my legs work…”
Seoha breaks into a grin. Fully aware of how he has himself wrapped around your finger. “That’s how I know I did my job. Come on– up we go!” He lifts you up into his arms and you wrap yours around his shoulders with a smile. Now this princess treatment, you could use everyday.
The scent of freshly cooked food wafts in the air as Seoha carries you bridal-style out of the bedroom, one arm tucked firmly beneath your thighs and the other against your back like you’re something too precious to touch the ground. Which, to them, you are.
The moment you enter the open living area, the boys stir like predators catching your scent. Haneul is behind the kitchen island shirtless, golden skin glowing as he flips something in a pan like it weighs nothing. Seungho leans against the kitchen wall nursing a coffee, wearing only grey sweats that hang deliciously low on his hips. Jinu’s already seated at the table in a black tee and dark pants, his hair still damp from a shower, looking every bit like the regal leader he is. And Hwimori—your lap seat for the day—is already in the dining chair, fidgeting eagerly in a soft hoodie and shorts, eyes wide and hungry like he’s been waiting hours just to hold you.
“Good morning, princess,” Jinu greets, lifting his mug. “Sleep well?”
“More like slept like the dead,” Haneul adds with a smirk.
Seoha grins devilishly. “Made sure of that.”
There’s a sudden smack as Seungho casually slaps the back of Seoha’s head as he walks by. “Too early for your mouth, loverboy.”
You’re placed gently into Hwimori’s lap, and the demon nearly vibrates with delight. The moment you settle, he buries his nose into your hair and inhales deeply like you’re his favorite scent. “You smell so good like this,” he mumbles with a purr, voice low and worshipful. “All used up.”
Your cheeks flame as you mumble, “Good morning…” shy and small, eyes darting to each of them. The room softens. Their eyes don’t just look at you—they devour you. Dote. Adore. Like you’re something they dreamed into existence and still can’t believe is real.
They’ve tasted you. Worshipped you. And they’re already addicted. Jinu leans forward and takes your hand, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. “How are you feeling?”
You glance at all of them, heat rising to your cheeks. There’s concern in their eyes, protective and possessive, laced with love so fierce it could tear cities apart. You smile softly. “I feel amazing.”
Hwimori nuzzles your temple, purring louder now. That one sentence makes all of them exhale in relief. “That’s our girl,” Seungho mutters, watching you like he’s already planning his round.
From the corner of your eye, you see a massive blue tiger enter the dining room. You smile as he bumps his head to your lap affectionately. “Well, good morning to you too, Derpy.”
The tiger spirit purrs as your hands scratch the back of his ear. From the window, you see the bird spirit in his tiny hat fly in, landing on Jinu’s shoulder.
“Hey, hey, hey, no animals at the dining table!” Seoha jokes.
“Then why are you here?” Seungho mumbles.
With perfect timing, Haneul sets a massive brunch plate in front of you—eggs, salmon, avocado, lean sausages, fruits, yogurt, oats. “Whoa. That’s… a lot of protein,” you blink.
He winks. “Of course. Don’t want you breaking on us now.”
Your mouth drops open in disbelief and Seungho adds dryly, “Consider it meal prep.”
“… And I’m the meal?”
Seoha leans in and steals a bite from your plate—only to pass it into your mouth with his own, kissing you as you chew. “Always.”
From Jinu’s shoulder you swear the bird groaned.
You let out a helpless little whimper, cheeks flushed. “You guys are too much… I feel like I’m being fattened up for sacrifice.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Jinu says, setting a tall green smoothie before you. “Energy booster. You’ll need it.”
You’re overwhelmed—in the best way. Loved. Held. Fed. You’ve never been pampered like this before. No one in your past life… no one in this life. Slowly you begin to ponder, being soulbonded to five demons isn’t hell. It’s heaven.
You let them feed you—Hwimori slipping fruit into your mouth, Jinu dabbing your lips with a napkin, Seoha licking syrup off your fingers on purpose. The animal spirits have now gone to lounge on the balcony to soak up some sun.
You’re glowing… until something shifts. You stiffen. There’s something… damp between your legs. Your eyes widen in horror.
You’re still in Seoha’s shirt. No underwear. And his cum is leaking out of you. On Hwimori’s lap. You squirm instinctively.
“I—um—I just need to grab some underwear real quick—”
Hwimori’s arms tighten around you. “No,” he murmurs, confused but unwilling to let go.
“I really need it—”
A pause. Hwimori blinks once. Then whispers, “Seoha’s seed is leaking out of her.”
The entire table stills. And Seoha? He just laughs.
You whimper and shrink into Hwimori’s arms, mortified, you smack his chest. “Hwi!”
“Guess I stuffed her too full,” Seoha drawls.
“Seoha!” You scold, burying your face into Hwimori’s hoodie.
The boys don’t mock you. They don’t laugh. They grin. Wicked, possessive, and hungry. Seoha brushes your hair aside, lips on your ear. “I should be angry it’s leaking out.”
“But that just means,” Seungho says, licking syrup from his thumb, “we’ll have to fill you again.”
You stare at them, flustered and horrified. “Okay, okay, can I please just eat breakfast in peace?”
They chuckle, and Jinu presses a gentle kiss to your hand. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed, princess.”
“Let’s keep her cute forever,” Seungho murmurs, rubbing a lazy hand over your bare thigh.
Breakfast continues—with less scandal and more pampering—until your curiosity gets the better of you. “So… what are your plans today?”
Jinu sighs. “I’ve got some idol management stuff to deal with. Schedules, planning.”
“Just you?”
“No. Seoha’s coming too.”
Seoha freezes mid-bite. “What?”
“You didn’t check the group chat?” Haneul smirks. “Oops.”
“Why do I have to go?” Seoha protests.
“Because you and Jinu already had your turn,” Seungho replies flatly.
You snort and cover your face with your hands. “Oh my god.” You look around at the others… the way they’re still eyeing you. Yep. You have a full day ahead. A small part of you flutters in excitement. Like perhaps Christmas came early, or your birthday…
Then, a thought pops up. “Wait… when are your birthdays?”
They blink. “That’s random,” Haneul mumbles, biting into a piece of toast.
You shrug with a smile. “How can I be soul-bound to all of you and not even know when your birthdays are?”
Seoha hums, swirling his juice lazily. “Fair point. Though mine was... what, centuries ago? I’ll have to dig deep.” The table falls into a thoughtful silence as they each search their long memories for scraps of their past lives.
Jinu is the first to speak. “September 16,” he says quietly, his golden eyes far away. “The harvest season. My mother used to say I was born under the sign of order… but destined to bring chaos.”
Seoha tilts his head. “November 7,” he murmurs. “It rained that day. I remember because my mother cried, said the sky was mourning early.”
Haneul grins, drumming his fingers on the table. “March 28. I remember the trees were just starting to bloom. I used to climb them to steal fruit.”
Seungho grunts. “October 9. That year, a fire broke out the night I was born. My dad said it was an omen.”
Then, all eyes shift to Hwimori. He stiffens slightly, the fork pausing halfway to his mouth. “I... don’t think I have one,” he says softly. “Spirits aren’t born the way you are. I just... came into being.”
You frown at that, expression turning thoughtful. “Then let’s give you one.”
Hwimori blinks. “What?”
You smile. “A birthday. We’ll choose a date. And celebrate it. This week, even.”
His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of something ancient and soft crossing his face. “You’d do that?”
“Of course,” you say, reaching to brush his head. “You deserve to be celebrated too, Hwi.”
His lips twitch into a small, stunned smile, and he leans in, nuzzling your neck with a purr. “You really are too good for me.”
The others watch with softened expressions, and Jinu murmurs, “Okay, angel. Let’s do it. We’ll throw him a birthday.”
Seoha raises his glass. “To Hwimori’s first birthday—and our girl with the golden heart.”
Brunch goes on as usual. Eventually, Jinu and Seoha rise to leave. Seoha, of course, makes a production of it. He throws himself dramatically across the couch. “Tragic. Ripped away from my goddess at her peak of fertility.”
You throw a napkin at his head. “You’re so dramatic.”
He grins, snatches your wrist, and peppers kisses across your cheeks, forehead, nose and neck. “I’ll miss you. Don’t have too much fun without me.”
Jinu’s goodbye is quieter. He cups your face gently and presses his forehead to yours. “Be good, love,” he murmurs. “Call me if any of them step out of line.”
“I will.” You kiss him softly. “Come home soon.”
When the door closes behind them… you’re left with Haneul, Seungho, and Hwimori. They’re standing there. Staring. Smirking.
You clear your throat. “I’m going to… paint. See you guys later!”
And then you bolt. The sound of three possessive demons groaning behind you chases you down the hall.
────────── ⚘ ──────────
You're painting in your studio—lost in color, the strokes of the brush calming the flutter in your chest. Beside you, Derpy and Birdie take a nap, lulled by your quiet humming (and the tiger also being used as your fluffy backrest).
It’s been two hours, maybe more. After your shower, you hadn’t bothered putting on much. Just Hwi’s oversized hoodie—left for you without a word—and your panties. You’d forgotten to grab clothes, and somehow it felt right to wrap yourself in something that smelled like them. Like home.
Your bare legs are flecked with paint when your stomach growls. You set the brush down, stretch your arms, and yawn. Time for a snack.
Padding barefoot down the hallway, you slip into the kitchen, rubbing at your eyes—only to find Seungho already rummaging through the cabinets.
“Think you can run and hide from me, princess?” His voice curls into your spine before his hands do—warm and possessive as they wrap around your waist. His lips brush your neck and then he licks a slow stripe up your skin.
You shiver. “I wasn’t hiding. Just… painting.”
“Mmm.” He pulls back with a dark smirk. “Did you want a snack?”
You nod, lips parted. “Yes please.”
He grabs a bag of chips from the shelf while you open the fridge and grab a Yakult. “Where are the others?” you ask.
“Haneul’s in the gym. Hwimori’s in the studio. Want me to take you there?” He sounds casual, but his fingers tighten subtly at your hip.
“I’m okay,” you say softly, slipping a second Yakult into your hand, then a third. You hand him one. His eyes gleam, but he kisses your head and passes you the snack.
You squeak out a “Thank you!” and he just watches you walk away with that lazy predator grin, the one that makes you feel like you’re being hunted even when they let you go.
You head down the hall. Quiet. Curious. You press your hand against the gym door and gently ease it open—and freeze.
He’s there. Haneul. Shirtless. His massive frame is haloed in sunlight streaming from the tall windows. Broad back glistening with sweat. Skin flushed. Muscles carved from something godlike and brutal. He’s lifting an enormous barbell over his shoulders—something impossibly heavy—like it’s nothing but air. His biceps bulge with each curl, veins dancing across his forearms, his expression taut with focus. He doesn’t see you yet.
He’s wearing just sweatpants that hang low on his hips, clinging to his thighs in all the right ways. You swallow, hard. Your heart stutters, your thighs clench. You stare. Awestruck. A little dizzy.
The bond tugs tight inside you—want, need, hunger. You try to step back but knock into the doorframe with a soft thud.
His head turns and he spots you. A smirk creeps across his face. Slowly, deliciously dangerous. He pulls his earbuds out. “Like what you see, baby?”
You nearly drop the Yakults. “I—uh—was just… checking in. And I brought you something?” You hold out the tiny bottle, a weak defense against the wall of man walking toward you.
He doesn't stop. Each step feels heavier than the last, weighted with tension. The air thickens. He’s got that look in his eyes—the one that says he’s barely restraining himself. “You always sneak in when I’m sweating,” he says lowly, crowding into your space.
“It’s not on purpose—” you start, heart thudding, but your back hits the wall. He plants one thick forearm beside your head, trapping you gently. The muscles ripple with residual effort, still swollen from the workout. His other hand lifts the Yakult from yours without breaking eye contact.
“Then why,” he murmurs, leaning in, voice deep and slow, “are you looking at me like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen me?”
You glance down, lips parting. He’s massive. His chest is heaving from exertion, abs slick and hard and rising with every breath. His skin is warm with heat and smells like salt and cedar and something purely Haneul. He’s so close. You can see the droplets trailing down his throat.
You murmur, breath hitching, “You look… strong.”
He tilts his head. His smile sharpens. “I am strong,” he replies—and then, lower, filthier: “Wanna know what else I’m good at carrying?”
Your breath stutters as he brushes a knuckle down your jaw, then trails a line of his sweat along your throat. Your whole body shivers. He sees the way your legs press together. The way you try not to stare at his glistening chest. The way you bite your lip.
He growls, soft and low. “You make me lose my mind,” he whispers, voice rough with want. “You walk in here looking like that—wearing someone else’s hoodie and nothing underneath? You know what you do to me, baby?”
Your lips part to say something. Maybe a tease. Maybe a denial. But you don’t get the chance. Because then— His hands are suddenly at your waist, and you’re lifted off the floor like you weigh nothing at all.
His palms span your thighs, strong and sure as he settles you on the padded wall mat behind you, pinning you in place with the sheer size of his body and the searing heat of his skin pressed against your inner thighs.
Your breath hitches. He’s panting too. Face flushed. A tremor in his hands that betrays how close he is to losing control. His hips grind forward—and you feel it.
Hard. Huge. Heavy against your core.
You gasp. And Haneul? He moans. Head dropping into the crook of your neck, nose dragging up the side of your throat, lips ghosting your ear. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life,” he murmurs. Then pulls back to look at you.
Your cheeks are flushed. Your thighs trembling. And he smiles like a wolf who’s about to feast.
───────── SMUT ─────────
“Haneul… please—”
His eyes gleam like molten gold at the sound of your voice, raspy and wrecked already. You’re trembling, pressed up against the wall with your thighs bracketing his waist. His hands, massive and hot, grip your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “Please what, baby?” His voice is rough silk. Teasing. Dangerous. “You want me to touch you? Is that it?”
You nod, breath shallow. Your mind is spinning, body too sensitive, too hungry to form words. Every inch of him is overwhelming—broad shoulders gleaming with sweat, chest heaving as he takes you in like he’s starving.
His hand slides down, fingers brushing the soaked curve of your panties. He curses under his breath. “Fuck,” he growls. “Look at you. So wet… just from seeing me like this?”
You can’t respond. He sees the haze in your eyes and smirks, feral.
“My poor girl,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “You’re trembling.” He brushes over the wet spot again, and your knees nearly buckle—even with him holding you up. “You always get like this when I’m near, huh? You need me that bad?”
He doesn’t wait for your answer. With one sharp motion, he tears the thin fabric at your hips—ripped clean like it was never there. His gaze darkens. His pupils dilate. “Been dreaming about this,” he breathes, hungry. “Been patient. Too patient.”
Without warning, he drops to his knees—still holding you up with terrifying ease. He lifts your legs over his thick shoulders, locking your thighs around his neck. You squirm, breath catching in your throat. “Wait—Haneul—”
But he’s already leaning in. Your back arches instinctively as his hot breath ghosts over you. His hands grip your thighs, firm and anchoring. His mouth brushes you, once, then again—soft, teasing strokes that have your fingers flying to his hair in a desperate bid to ground yourself.
And then he moans. It’s a deep, guttural sound that vibrates straight through you.
“Fuck,” he groans again, burying his face into you like a man possessed. His tongue moves with urgency, lapping and savoring like you’re the only sustenance he’s ever known. Your moans spill out, helpless and high, bouncing off the walls of the gym.
You clutch at his sweat-dampened hair, helpless. “Haneul—oh my god—”
He looks up at you, his eyes glowing gold, demon markings beginning to shimmer across his skin. There’s no humanity left in them now. Just hunger. Just you. “You taste like a fucking dream,” he growls, voice raw with emotion. “My dream. My girl. My everything.”
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down. You can barely breathe, the intensity building so quickly you feel like you’re going to fall apart—if he lets you. But he won’t. His grip only tightens. His arms keep you pressed to the wall like you weigh nothing. You can feel every drag of his tongue, every press of his mouth, every low, ruined sound he makes as he drowns in you.
“Haneul—! I’m–!”
He groans again at your unraveling voice, dragging his mouth against you like he needs this. Like he’ll die without it. His fingers dig into your hips possessively, keeping you right where he wants you. You come apart in his arms. Shaking. Crying out. Gripping his shoulders like a lifeline as your vision flickers white.
He doesn’t stop until you’re limp in his hold—wrung out and gasping. And when he finally pulls back, lips slick, his glowing eyes rise to meet yours again. He licks his bottom lip slowly. “You’re mine,” he whispers, voice shaking with love and lust and madness. “No one gets to taste you but us. No one ever will.”
He stands with you still in his arms. The look on his face is nearly unhinged—awed and worshipful and absolutely feral. His cock strains against his waistband. He then pulls down the garter and your eyes widen at the sight of his aching shaft. Thick and heavy, pressed between your bodies. You feel the heat of it. The weight of it.
He growls, looking down at the sheer size of him compared to your torso. He murmurs low in your ear: “You’re so small, baby… but you’ll take all of me, won’t you?”
You swallow. You’ve never wanted anything more in your life. You nod, whimpering, and he captures your lips in a devouring kiss that is almost primal.
And then— he lifts you, lining you up to his shaft before he sinks into you.
The stretch is slow. Deliberate. He groans as your walls begin to accommodate him, and your back arches at the sensation. You dig your nails into his shoulders, overwhelmed, gasping.
“Haneul—I don’t think I can—”
“Yes, you can and you will,” His voice is a soft growl. “You were made for me. For this. For us. You’re doing so well, baby.”
He inches deeper, his thick length filling you like nothing else ever has. The pressure, the fullness—it’s too much, too perfect. You almost sob as he sinks the last inch in and presses flush against you, fully seated. Fully inside.
Both of you still. His body trembles slightly, jaw clenched as he tries to rein in the animal urge to just take. But then he exhales, shaky. “So warm,” he whispers. “So tight. God—baby, you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.” He grunts, almost pained. “Don't worry princess, I'm gonna mold you to my cock.”
He presses a kiss to your temple, and then—he begins to move. Lifting you up to thrust back in. That thrust has you both leaning your heads back in pleasure. It’s slow. Measured. But you feel it everywhere—how he fills you, stretches you, claims you. You whimper as you take him.
His hands grip your thighs tighter. The wall behind you shakes with each motion. Your moan escapes helplessly as your head tilts back, lost in the sensation. He growls, barely restraining himself. You see his large muscles flex and harden as he's thrusting into you.
And then he picks up the pace. Haneul pins your hips against the wall and starts jack-hammering into your heat. Going so deep you don't know where he starts and you begin. Harder. Deeper. Each thrust slams into you with devastating power. Your cries mix with his groans, the slap of skin echoing in the gym like music only the two of you can hear.
He buries his face in your neck, biting gently. His sweat mingles with yours. You cling to him as if you might fall apart—and maybe you will.
“You feel that, baby?” he pants, hips snapping into yours. “That’s me. Deep inside. Where only I get to be.”
Your legs quake as the pleasure builds again, sharp and hot. You can barely form words. But he watches your face, obsessed, ravenous, utterly in awe. “You’re taking me so well. My perfect girl. My good girl.”
He thrusts harder—faster. Then pauses, just for a moment, to look down between your bodies. A low, wicked chuckle leaves his lips. Eyes glittering in awe like he’s mesmerized as he watches himself disappear inside you— so deep in this position that it forms a bulge in your stomach. He curses at the sight. “Look at that,” he murmurs, stroking a hand over your belly. “You can see me, baby. I’m so deep.”
You gasp, breath caught. The pressure there is insane. He palms it again, groaning. “God, you’re gonna break me,” he moans. “Or I’m gonna break you.”
You cry out as he slams into you again, pace wild now. Controlled only by the need to make you his. To brand you. Body and soul.
He watches himself disappear inside you, over and over. "Where do you feel me, baby? Tell me."
You whimper, "So deep- In my tummy, Haneul-"
He growls at that and goes harder. You moan, holding onto him for dear life as the sounds of your lovemaking fill every inch of the room. He thrusts into you and lifts you as if you weigh nothing. Like a ragdoll. Your nails dig deeper into his back at the pleasure and he groans, leaning in to bite your shoulder, grunting, sheen with sweat, as he fucks you against the wall.
You feel the coil in your stomach tightening and plead, "Haneul— I'm— I’m–!"
"I know baby." he moans, angling his hips higher to reach a spot within you that has you seeing stars. You squeal. He's lost all control and sense of reason at the feel of you wrapped around him.
Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave—sharp, sweeping, uncontrollable. Your body clenches around him and he snarls against your ear. “That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he grits out. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
You’re sobbing his name, fingers clawing into his back as he keeps thrusting, desperate now. His rhythm stutters. And then—he groans, long and broken, thrusting deep one final time. His body shudders. You feel it. Heat. Flooding. Filling you. His breath catches as he presses deep, holding you flush as his arms tremble with restraint.
“You’ll take all of me,” he pants. “Every drop. Fill you so full, it’ll drip out all day unless I plug you up myself.”
You moan softly as his lips ghost over your skin, worshipping. Repeating praise in a voice cracked by emotion. “Such a good girl. You’re mine. You’re mine.”
Your heart pounds against his. And for the first time in your life, you believe—truly—that no one could ever love you like this. Not with this much fire. Not with this much worship.
Not the way Haneul does.
You’re both panting. The world outside the gym doesn’t exist—just the sound of Haneul’s uneven breathing, the rapid beat of your heart, and the heat between your tangled bodies. Your arms are still wrapped around his thick shoulders, your legs draped over his waist, and he’s still inside you. Warm. Heavy. Pulsing with the last tremors of release.
“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, voice low and raw. “Took everything I gave you. You always do.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then nuzzles your temple with his damp forehead.
Without pulling out, he carefully turns and lowers both of you to the gym mat. He leans back against the wall, cradling you in his lap like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.
“Just… wanna stay like this for a while,” he says, still breathless. His arms wind tightly around your waist, keeping you flush to his chest. “Wanna plug you up a little longer, baby.”
──────── SMUT ENDS ────────
You let out a breathless laugh, burying your face into his neck. He smells like sweat, warmth, and something distinctly him—earthy, masculine, grounding. Your fingers gently comb through his damp hair, and his hold on you tightens just slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
He exhales softly. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this. Having you. Holding you like this.”
Your hand gently cups his cheek. “You don’t have to get used to it,” you murmur. “Just… stay.”
He leans into your palm, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I used to dream of this,” he admits. “Back then… when I didn’t know if I’d ever find you again. I’d close my eyes and try to remember what you felt like in my arms. Now that you’re really here—” His voice falters. “—I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let go.”
You smile, pressing your forehead to his. “Then don’t.”
A warm, almost disbelieving smile curls on his lips. “Careful,” he whispers, “I take things literally.” You chuckle, and he hums, shifting slightly to adjust you in his lap without slipping out. His arms tighten around you.
The two of you stay like that for a while, bodies slick with sweat, hearts steadying in each other’s arms. You feel safe in his hold. Worshipped. Like every inch of you is wanted beyond reason.
Eventually, he shifts, still holding you. “Alright, princess,” he says, lips brushing your neck. “I should probably start dinner… though…” he cups your hips and gives you a teasing little grind. “…you’re already pretty full.”
You groan and swat his shoulder, and he chuckles, kissing your sternum as he starts to gently lift you off him.
“Don’t worry,” he whispers with a wicked grin. “I’m sure you’ll still have room for dessert.”
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: Wow, my ass was clenched when writing this. I kid you not, my hands flew so fast on the keyboard at the pure filth in these smut scenes. But also, I sprinkled in some fun love scenes too + more plot points tying in now. And I'm sorry I just- Abby? Hello?! Size kink go burrrr. I had to, I had to. I'm not even sorry.
I hope you guys enjoyed this one! Any bets on who's claiming next? ;) Next chapter will have more smut again just because we obviously have two more men waiting patiently for their turn, and then the conflicts will roll in a bit more as shit will start to get real. Let me know what you guys think of the chapter in the comments! Reblog, Like, etc. I appreciate it all. <3 Much love MWAH
Willa x
summary - the saja boys finally get to meet you, although they aren't too happy with the way you've been treated
warning - fem reader, light bullying, a lil spice, possessive behaviour, obsessive fan behaviour
w/c - 3,3K
a/n - wish I could like comments, the ones I got on my previous chapter had me BLUSHING I love u all sm! pls correct me if there are any mistakes, comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated, hope you enjoy!
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Blurred sounds scattered across you as you began to wake up. Your eyes were still blurry, so you couldn't make out the figures surrounding you, but they sounded oddly familiar.
"Guys, shut up. She's awake".
A warmer, much larger hand grabs yours, "Are you alright now, love? You were out for a while, we were all so worried".
The stranger sounded nice, but your vision still hadn’t cleared up enough to figure out who was talking to you, so all you could do was stare blankly at the person holding your hand.
The room went silent for a while before being interrupted by another man from your left. "I know she's just confused, but I can't lie that face she's making is so adorable". You assumed he was talking about you and a warm blush coated your cheeks.
"Romance, now is not the time!"
Romance? As in, from the Saja Boys?
Your vision soon came back, and surrounding you, you could see all five members of the Saja Boys, each staring at you fondly.
Abby was the one holding your hand. He was sitting on the infirmary bed with you and Jinu.
Mystery and Romance were on your left.
And Baby was on your right.
You couldn't help the gasp you let out once you saw them.
"Am I dreaming?" you accidentally said aloud.
Jinu lets out a chuckle, "No darling, we are very much real. I could pinch you if you don't believe me. Are you feeling better now?"
You beamed, eyes sparkling with happiness. It almost sounded too good to be true, but still, you went along with it.
After being trapped in the studio, you assumed you were too late to meet them. and concluded that it was nearly impossible for a group as popular as the Saja Boys to join a company as small as yours. Talking with other idols, especially those of the opposite gender, at things like award shows wasn't forbidden, but it was strange, so today was probably your only opportunity to meet them, and you did.
Albeit in a very unconventional way.
"I'm feeling a lot better now, thank you so much. I'm so happy to meet you guys, I'm such a big fan. But, what are you doing here with me? Shouldn't you be touring the company?" you questioned, finding it odd how they weren't with Jina, but with you.
“You passed out in Abby’s arms, how could we just leave and pretend nothing happened?” Baby spoke up calmly, although his eyes glistened with hints of worry. Your heart warmed at their thoughtfulness.
According to Hojin and the other staff members, you weren't an important member, so they often ended up forgetting about you. Whenever something happened to you, they told you to just suck it up.
But despite never meeting you, the Saja Boys already cared so much about you. So much that they would wait here in the infirmary with you.
Suddenly, you were reminded that you had forgotten to introduce yourself.
“Sorry, I forgot to say, I’m (Y/N). I'm a member of Harmoness. It's an honour to meet you”. You bowed your head, mostly in gratitude. If it weren't for them you'd probably still be stuck in the dance studio.
“We know who you are, princess. We did our research before coming here”, Romance teases, getting closer to the bed and putting his arm around your shoulders. You shivered at the close proximity between you. He began to lean closer, slowly closing the distance. By now, your body had frozen in place, your eyes locked into his. His every move was under your impenetrable gaze. You could see his lips coming closer and closer to yours, till they quickly diverted towards your ear.
You'd be lying if you said you weren't just a bit disappointed.
The feeling of his warm breath and strong grip had your mind in a frenzy. He was so close you could feel the heat radiate off him and smell the sweet, but musky scent of his cologne.
“Although you should know, princess, most of our information was from one of us,” he began, turning his head to the side. You followed his gaze, being too curious to stay frozen.
Your mouth hung slightly in shock once your eyes made contact with an awkward-looking Mystery. His feet were shuffling across the ground, and his head was drooped down, almost like he was guilty of something.
Romance walked away from you, much to your dismay, and came back dragging Mystery, who seemed very unwilling. “Go on, man, you can do it. You've been waiting so long for this moment”.
Mystery refused, shaking his head firmly. Watching the scene unfold was the equivalent of watching someone grow an extra head. You were left utterly confused. Why would Mystery know anything about you? Them doing research before coming here made sense, but out of all the people they got their information from, why was it Mystery?
Mystery was the cool, mysterious figure of the group, so watching him act like this, so embarrassed, it was honestly so adorable. Perhaps the mysterious, quiet persona he had was just a cover-up for his shy personality.
Romance shook his head in disappointment. “Mystery is a big fan of yours, (Y/N). He's a little too shy to admit it, though”. You blinked slowly, taking in the revolutionary, newfound information. For a moment, you thought you had heard him wrong.
Mystery, a fan?
Of you?
You were surprised that he even knew about you, but being a “big fan”, it just seemed impossible.
A monotone-like voice perked up, “Ever since you debuted, I've been a fan”. Taking a closer look at Mystery, you could see a red hue crawling up his neck and ears. Just saying that much was too much for him, but he pushed through the embarrassment and continued, slowly coming closer to you. “Honestly, I didn't care about the others, I only liked you”.
Despite how unbelievable it was, it was the truth. Before being recruited by Jinu and becoming one of the Saja Boys, Mystery had been obsessed with you since your debut. His time in the Underworld became a lot more bearable once you entered his life. The image of your warm smile burned layers into his brain. He’d seen countless hours of footage of other humans, and despite his very stoic face, he could tell how fake their smiles were, but yours. Yours was carved by angels.
His need to consume human souls almost completely subsided once his hunger was directed towards you.
Although it was a very different type of hunger.
Mystery had become completely infatuated with you, so when Jinu proposed that he join the Saja Boys, he knew this was his way of finally getting to you.
And now you were finally right in front of him, but all those hours of planning were in vain. He just couldn't find the right words to say. Couldn't figure out how to stand or move right. His heart wouldn't stop beating, and his head wouldn't stop replaying the images from his fantasies. It was all too much at once. He was glad Romance had stepped in to help.
You sat there, blissfully unaware of the turmoil occurring within Mystery. The other members stared at the both of you in amusement, knowing just how deep Mystery's obsession with you was. When he talked, it was only ever about you.
And once the members saw you passed out in Abby's arms, they could finally understand him. They could smell the purity radiating off you, and with that, a warm, longing feeling overcame them. They would often tease Mystery for his strange fixation with you, but now they were all just as crazy about you.
An adorable, child-like giggle interrupted their thoughts. You thought it was silly how someone as talented as Mystery would be a fan of someone like you. He even said he didn't care about the other members, which you found even more amusing.
Still, it made your heart flutter knowing you were special to him. You looked up at him and smiled even wider, almost laughing at the confused look on Mystery’s face. “Thank you for your support! I never would've thought I'd be saying that kinda thing to someone like you. I figured I was so irrelevant that no one would notice me, but it's crazy how you guys do”, you babble, oblivious to the changing emotions going through the boys.
‘Irrelevant’
The word sent ripples of disgust through them.
Being the most level-headed of the group, Jinu asked the question that was on everyone’s minds. “Why would you be irrelevant?”
Maybe it was because you’d just woken up, or the lack of food in your stomach, that you ended up speaking without thinking. “My manager likes to tell me that a lot because I'm the least popular member of Harmoness. But he thinks that that’s a good thing because my looks and vocals aren't very good”.
Looking around the room, you realized you had chosen the wrong dialogue. You could see each of their faces, drenched in what looked like rage. You couldn't understand what about your sentence made them this angry, but still you apologized.
“Sorry, I'm just rambling at this point. It's probably cause I'm so hungry, that's probably why I passed out. My manager has me on this really strict diet and I never had breakfast-”.
You quickly stopped yourself, realizing that this definitely wasn't helping the situation.
“I wasn't supposed to tell you that, please just forget everything you heard”. But looking around the room, you knew they wouldn't be able to. How could they, when someone as precious as you was forced to suffer, even just for a minute. It broke their hearts to think about.
The sound of a door slamming open quickly drew your attention towards it, and you could see Baby running out of the room in a hurry.
Did you do something to upset him?
“He's just going to do something real quick, he'll be back,” Abby says, and you nod, still a bit confused.
You felt a wave of awkwardness enter the room, so you quickly changed the subject. “So, how did you guys find the tour? Are you thinking of joining?” You were very curious to know, praying that they’d at least consider it. Because of their explosive popularity, you knew they'd be treated like gods if they were here.
Jinu spoke up, still looking frustrated. “It was alright, I mean people did keep sucking up to us. Although, Romance and Abby had no complaints about that”. You let out another giggle, yeah, that definitely sounded like them.
The sweet sound that came out of you had put the boys in a temporary trance. To them, everything you did was adorable.
They didn't bother asking what you thought of the company, already knowing how mistreated you were. It was something Mystery had picked up on from looking at hours of behind-the-scenes footage of you. He’d picked up on your changing behaviour, quick weight loss, and awkward chemistry between your members.
So after piecing together all the footage, he figured mistreatment was definitely plausible. But still, hearing it from you, seeing you try to hide it. It sickened, not just him, but all of them.
It was also suspicious the way your ‘leader’, Jina, wasn't too pleased about the idea of helping you. She was confident someone would come find you, but from your screams, they could tell no one had come for hours. How could they just walk away from you? Plus, you seemed a little too attached to Abby’s chest, even refusing to let go once you reached the infirmary.
Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing Baby holding several kinds of unhealthy-looking junk food. He plopped them down on your lap and looked away nonchalantly, “For you”.
You looked down at the pile, mouth watering at the sight of the buffet of calories. You couldn't remember the last time you had a burger, or even instant noodles. It was definitely too much for you to handle, but you appreciated his efforts.
“Thank you so much”, you beamed. You were so grateful, not just to Baby, but to all of them. Never in your life had you felt so loved and cared for.
As if possessed, you began digging into whatever random food you picked up from the pile. You scarfed down one burger for the next, and honestly, you didn't feel ashamed. It would’ve been rude if you didn't eat the food Baby bought for you, that's the only reason you were eating it, you thought.
Due to the speed of your consumption, you forgot to chew and ended up choking. You started coughing and looking around the room, in search of a drink. A hand touched your shoulder, and you look up to see Mystery, holding a bottle of water.
Quickly, you took the drink and gulped it down. Once you were done you exhaled in relief, “You saved me”, you laughed, looking up at Mystery with gratitude. “I've not eaten this much in so long, I must've gotten a bit too excited”.
You turned to Baby, who was on his phone, and asked, “How much was all this? I'll pay you back”. He turned, looking bored, before returning to his phone.
“The staff gave it to me for free”.
Honestly, you found that hard to believe, but maybe it was because of how famous Baby was. Perhaps they wanted to give a good impression of the company, so they didn’t want him paying.
The others let out a small smirk, knowing what had really happened out there. He most likely sucked out the souls of some of the staff and took the food for himself. But he wouldn't tell you that.
The sweet moment was eventually ruined by the sounds of agitated screaming coming from behind the door. “She ruined everything, Manager! I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't listen”.
Everyone, including you, cringed at the sounds of complaint. You prepared for the whirlpool of trouble you were about to receive.
The door burst open, revealing a pissed, middle-aged man. His gaze locked on you, his mouth wide open, ready to scream at you. That was until he saw the five boys surrounding you, each looking at the manager with a look that could kill.
Hojin quickly put on a rehearsed smile and came up to ask how you were. You knew it was just an act, something to look better in front of the boys but you still went along with it; you’d done enough to damage his reputation already.
Behind him, you could see your fellow members, glaring at you from the door, but once their eyes made contact with the Saja Boys, they quickly switched up, putting on a perfect smile and even fixing up their hair. The boys responded with a snarl.
“So, boys, I take it you enjoyed the tour,” Hojin remarked, not wanting to focus on you any longer. To him, the Saja Boys were a prize, and he needed to win it. Harmoness had clearly run its course, so maybe he'd have better luck with the Saja boys, he thought.
None of the boys wanted to answer, especially not to someone like him. All they wanted to do was go back to watching you. Watch you smile. Hear you giggle. And feel the warmth your heart gave out. But they couldn't, not when there were others around.
Jinu, being the leader, was forced to speak up. “It was good, definitely needs some improvements though”.
“Oh, any suggestions?” Hojin questioned, eager to please in any way he could.
“The dance studio needs to be closer to other people,” he sneered coldly, still not over how you’d been trapped for so long. His heart ached with the thought of you being scared and alone in there.
Hojin laughed awkwardly, not knowing what to say in response. Jina spoke up, coming closer to Jinu, “I'm assuming you're planning on joining our company, I'd love to see you more,” she flirts, getting closer and closer to him.
During the tour, she was so focused on the members that they barely got anywhere. She also had a nasty habit of showing off whenever she could. Being the most popular member of Harmoness really gave her an ego.
“We'll let you know at the Idol Awards,” Jinu said, backing away from Jina.
Your head shot up and turned towards Jinu, “You're going to be at the Idol Awards too?” Jinu's eyes went back to yours and immediately softened, feeling you were much easier to be around than these other pesky humans.
You could see Abby about to respond, but was cut off by Soo-ah. “Doesn't she know anything? They announced this weeks ago”. Each of the boys turned to glare at the maknae, but her attention was too focused on you for her to take notice.
Abby ignored her and spoke, leaning closer to you. “We'll be at the Idol Awards performing our new song, will you be there for us, love?”
Hojin and the girls looked at each other in confusion. How could you have gotten so close to them already? Jina was especially jealous, wondering how the spotlight was taken by someone as insignificant as you.
The nickname sent you blushing, and you nodded. “We're also going to perform a new song there, we've been working really hard on it!”
“We can't wait to hear it, darling, but unfortunately, we have to leave now,” Jinu says, and you couldn't help the frown forming on your lips. You felt like you had just met them and wanted to spend more time with them. This is the best moment you've had in years.
“Don't look too sad, princess, we'll meet again soon,” Romance smirked, and you perked up slightly at the thought. You were glad they wanted to see you, just as much as you wanted to see them.
“And don't even think about paying me back for the snacks, they're all yours,” Baby chimes, his face showing a ghost of a smirk on it.
Mystery gave you a shy wave and left along with the others. You were going to miss them. The Idol Awards weren’t that far away, but you had no idea how you were going to recover once they were gone. The mark they left on you stained layers deep.
Although it definitely motivated you to practice even harder, knowing they were going to be there watching.
Jinu was the last to leave, but not before asking Hojin and the girls to come outside with him, leaving you alone. Thank goodness, you did not want another lecture from anyone right now.
You started putting the pile of food on the nightstand, but something had caught your eye. On one of the crisp packets, you saw a Post-it note.
xx-xxxx-xxxx
call me don't text I want to hear your voice ❤
- Baby
Out of all the things you expected the note to say, it wasn't that. Despite his adorable, nonchalant on-stage persona, Baby was anything but. In person, he often kept to himself, hardly speaking and allowing his looks to do the talking for him. But online, he was the complete opposite. With his appearance hidden, he could speak his mind freely. It’s why Baby is so attached to using his phone.
It had been the reason why he was acting so bored when he was with you. On the outside, it looked as though he hardly cared for you, but on the inside, his heart was blooming with emotions just for you.
You really had no idea just how much these boys loved you. In your mind, you assumed the boys just wanted to be your friend.
What you didn't realize was that the boys weren't interested in being just friends, but so much more.
But you were going to find that out soon.
Very soon.
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a/n - thank you @jellyjellyghost for letting me know how to format korean phone numbers :D
BATBOYS BUT THEY WITNESS A STRANGER PULL F!READER INTO A HUG AND CLAIM TO BE HER BOYFRIEND. FT. MARK GRAYSON!
★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, everyone is 18+, mention of death, romance, mark is utterly devoted to you, jealousy, lots and lots of jealousy, little bit of dark!batboys, kind of dark!mark too
★ A/N: yes ik the pic is technically the mark variant who wears a shiesty but that's still mark and it's a hot pic so it's staying. anyway that poll on if y'all would read a mark grayson x reader fic alongside the batboys x reader was almost unanimously yes and i'm so happy because of it 🤭
★ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ★
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW YOU ENDED UP HERE—
—trapped in the embrace of a stranger.
One moment, you're in your kitchen, preparing a nice, hot bowl of popcorn for both you and your house guests—the next?—you're at your door, stood rigid and tight and ever-so-still as your arms are pinned to your sides by another pair. A stronger pair.
A stranger's pair.
The embrace is warm, seeping with this longing you've only ever felt from Dick that one time he returned from a mission that lasted way longer than it should've; that one time he hugged you swearing he'd never let go.
But even then... Dick did eventually pull away.
Something about this stranger's tight grip tells you they won't.
Your name is whispered, breathed out on the tongue of whoever it is holding you as he squeezes just that tad bit more, just that tad bit tighter.
It's strange. You're sure you've never met this man in your life, yet something about his embrace feels familiar, intimate in a way no stranger could ever imitate.
No stranger but this one at least.
You can ponder on it for all but a few more seconds before a new warmth is on your shoulder—this time: a recognisably familiar one—and without being given a moment to even blink, you're yanked out of the embrace of the stranger, vision flooded with the broad back of your dear friend as a click bounces off the walls of your once quiet apartment.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't lodge this bullet between your eyes."
Jason stands before you, finger nestled snug against the trigger of his gun like it's just waiting for the opportunity to pull it, like he's just as eager to give it the command to do so.
The stranger puts his hands up, and it's just then that you realise he's clad in a skin-tight suit. Yellow and blue. With goggles over his eyes.
"I don't want any trouble."
"Yeah?" scoffs Jason, "Well you shoulda thought of that before pulling up at princess here's door."
"[Name], get behind me," Dick calls from further in your apartment, a hand quick to spread out over your clothed stomach and push you even further back than before.
You know by the way your light starts to flicker that Duke's also on guard, and you can't imagine that Tim or Damian are that far off either.
The tension in the room is thick—heavy in the air and just as swallowing—the boys' muscles all taut. It's as though they're ready to lunge the moment just a strand of hair moves out of place.
You try to swallow, but all that goes down your throat is sandpaper.
He catches it though.
The stranger's head tilts ever so slightly after your gulp, just enough so that you're fully in his field of view again.
From under those goggles, you can't really see his eyes, but the way his brows visibly pinch is enough for you to feel the desperation radiating off his form when he speaks your name again.
Dick moves to cover you further. "I don't think so, buddy."
"Look," the man states simply, head subtly moving back up, "I don't mean any harm, really. I just wanna see her."
"Tt." The slink of a sword slipping out its sheath sounds from behind you. "And what business is it that you have with her?"
The stranger tilts his head again, letting out a frustrated grunt when Dick only moves to counter once more. "[Name] please," he whispers, tone uneven, watery and wavering, "it's me: Mark—"
Then he does something unlike your boys, unlike any vigilante you've ever seen really, and he moves his hand up to his mask, slipping it off with the ease and trust of someone not currently at the door of a stranger's house.
"—Your boyfriend?"
You can't even fully observe his face before a bang bounces off the walls of your home.
Your eyes widen, pupils shaking and hand already pushing Dick to the side as you hiss out a severely pissed, "Jason!"
But before you can even think of screaming your heart out at him, of having a go at your friend for shooting an innocent person at your door, your mouth falls agape, muscles tensing just as much as the rest of the vigilantes you know as you catch sight of what you're sure should've been a dead man on the ground.
Except he isn't dead. And he's nowhere near the ground.
In fact, he's floating off of it, brows now furrowed and lips pulled tight into a snarl as he yells, "What the hell, man?! You just shot me!"
"And you aren't dead," Jason replies through gritted teeth. "Why the fuck aren't you dead?"
"Not to worry," Damian replies before the stranger—before Mark—can, "I'll fix that."
All it takes is the lights flickering once more and the sound of a staff whirling in the wind for you to snap out of your little stupor, for you to see and hear and feel everything around you once again.
And once you do, your voice rings clear and final.
"Enough."
The boys tense, forms faltering as their eyes finally leave the stranger to fall on you.
You take a step forward.
Duke blocks your way.
"Duke." Your arms fold over your chest, his name stern and heavy on your tongue.
"[Name]"—his brows furrow—"you can't be serious. This is a stranger. A meta too, no less."
"And you aren't?" You quirk a brow. His jaw ticks. "He hasn't done anything. All he did was hug me."
"That doesn't mean he won't do anything," he retorts stubbornly. "That doesn't mean he can't do anything." Then, his tone softens, brows scrunching a little as he regards you with a look all too warm and familiar. "I don't wanna lose you. Not you."
Your arms uncross, one hand gesturing out as you return his gentle look. "And you won't. I promise. Just let me talk to him."
You can tell he's reluctant, can see it in the way his jaw is still tense and his eyes suddenly can't meet your own. But you also know Duke, and you know that he's a hero—one that, if given the chance, will choose the option of peace over all else.
And so, his shoulders fall, and he steps to the side to allow you through, to which you flash him a grateful smile before taking a step forward...
...only to be blocked by yet another wall, one now back to facing the person floating at your door.
"Jason," you call, but he doesn't so much as spare you a glance. "Jason."
His jaw squares, the only sign you have that he's hearing you.
"Put the gun down."
But he doesn't listen. He hears you but he doesn't listen. Because of course he doesn't listen. You're speaking to Jason Peter Todd, when the fuck does he ever listen?
"Jason!"
"I'm not putting the gun down until he's bleeding on the fucking floor."
The meta snarls at Jason's words, and the latter is quick to return it with his own look of disdain, blood boiling enough for heat waves to be visible in the air around him, for even the hottest lava to envy what courses through his veins.
"Then get out of my way so that I can speak to him."
The man lets out a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "And let him feed you another lie to bring down your guard some more? I don't think so."
"I'm not lying," Mark hisses, floating just a tad bit closer.
"Oh yeah?" Jason tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting in that familiar way it does when he mocks a crook. "Why don't you say that to your so-called girlfriend? Because to me, it doesn't look like she even knows who you are at all."
That seemed to have hit a nerve, because the next thing you know, Mark is lunging forward, and Jason is just narrowly dodging his shove, rolling to the side and letting out another bullet in his direction.
You're only able to blink once before your form is engulfed, covered by the oldest brother in the room as he regards you with soft, gentle eyes.
Yours only scrunch in return.
"Dick, let go of me."
He tosses a glance over his shoulder as another bang rings out. "Don't think that's the best idea right now, princess."
"Dick."
He meets your gaze again.
"It's either you let me go so that I can break up the fight, or you let me go so that you can break up the fight. Your pick."
He holds your gaze for a few seconds, eyes wide and disbelieving. "You can't be serious."
You don't say a word, and he blinks owlishly.
"You're serious."
"Deadly."
"Okay, fuck," he curses, head turning to the side as his eyes all but seem to run through a dozen different scenarios at once, acting more like a computer screen than sclera.
Then, after at least two more seconds pass, he turns back to you, shoulders falling in quiet resignation.
"Fine. Stay here. I'll break it up. You're not going anywhere near that fight on my watch."
You feel the way your shoulders fall at his words, a wave of relief crashing over you like a sudden change in tide as you flash Dick a smile much like the one you gave Duke earlier and he starts to slowly get up with a roll of his shoulders.
"Alright you two, break it up."
Mark pauses, and Jason takes the opportunity to lunge, but before his arms can even graze the meta human, Dick hooks them under his own, and you quickly take the opportunity to put yourself between the three men.
You then proceed to waste no time to deliver a mountain of fury to the man who started the fight.
"Really, Jason?"
He pauses his struggling against his brother.
"I mean, seriously"—you throw your arms out in front of you, scoffing the words on your tongue out in disbelief so heavy, it fogs your vision—"you're a grown ass man, starting fights like a child, over something as small as someone claiming to be my boyfriend?"
He opens his mouth to retort, but purses his lips once you send him a narrow look, opting instead to scoff and turn his head to the side.
"Oh, and don't think I didn't notice you two getting ready to join in, Tim, Damian." You turn your stern gaze to the other two currently armed individuals in the room, and they both mirror their brother's reaction to a tee.
It's funny, really, how they react like children being scolded for something like drawing on the walls rather than grown men who were planning on murdering someone in the comfort of your home.
Or at least, Jason was.
Geez, you really thought you had this talk with him already, that he'd changed his previous ways and swapped out his real bullets for rubber ones, that he'd sworn off killing for the rest of his life.
Guess not.
You pinch your nose, taking in a breath and counting up to ten just like your momma taught you when you were little, just like you always do when your veins get a little too heated for your own good.
Each second in your head is a second the heat flushes out your system—and your muscles unscrew themselves from the stiff boards this whole night reduced them to—until eventually, you can feel yourself finally calming down.
Then you open your eyes again and witness the mess that is your living room, and all that effort flushes down the drain.
"Look"—you find yourself sighing, turning to face the still-floating Mark as you address him with heavy eyes—"Mark, was it?"
In an instant, he lowers himself to your height, and now that there's no goggles in the way anymore, you witness the true extent of the way his eyes stare at you, wide, unwavering, like you're the only one they truly see.
It sends a shiver down your spine.
You swallow air. "...I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong girl. I've never seen or met you in my life. I don't even have a boyfriend."
At that, his shoulders fall, sagging in a way that has you biting your lip and half-contemplating taking it all back if it meant you'd get to see that look on his face again.
Wait... what?
"Right..." Mark starts, his solemn tone enough to pull you straight out of your thoughts. "Different dimension. My bad."
His words, though muttered, couldn't have been louder to your ears, and you raise your head in time with the rest of your friends, eyes wide and trained onto him.
summary ☆ your demon sends you on a mission to find a lost soul, and you also meet mark grayson for the first time
warnings ☆ in the masterlist
SYNOPSIS | NEXT CHAPTER
series masterlist | main masterlist | letterboxd
Your whole body feels heavy. You're scared to open your eyes, but when you do, you find yourself alone between four black walls. You take a couple of steps, hesitant. You shouldn’t have moved at all. Soon, everything is on fire. The walls, the floor, your hands — but it doesn’t burn.
You see a shadow with curly, voluminous hair, and when you can finally make out who it is, the fire starts to burn.
Your back is on fire. Your hands are falling apart. You try to reach her. You hear her scream. It's always the same.
“Help me! Why are you leaving?”
Her voice tears at your throat, and the pain increases, carving a deep, dark hole in your chest.
But none of it is real. At least, not now.
You wake up suddenly, a French fry stuck to your cheek and your eyeliner smudged.
“We're closing.”
You sigh, brushing the hair from your face and peeling off the fry. You look at the girl who served you half an hour ago. She stands with her arms akimbo, waiting for you to get up and leave.
“Aren’t you like McDonald’s? You know, the one that never closes?” Your accent tangles every word.
She blinks. She clearly doesn’t want to have a conversation. It’s past nine, and she has an exam tomorrow.
“No,” she says simply. “So please, again, I’m asking you to go.”
You grimace, leaning on your elbow. You glance at your tray, melted ice cream, and cold fries. You sigh again and smack your hands on the table.
“Fine,” you nod, lips tight. “But you guys should really consider staying open all night. It's fun coming at 3 a.m.”
The worker just blinks and lets you leave without another word.
It’s cold outside. You moved to Chicago less than a year ago, after some Mormons nearly burned you for leading their best devotees astray. Returning to the city hadn’t been easy, and getting a job was even harder.
Catholicism is in decline, exorcisms out of fashion. Now people prefer manifesting, listening to subliminal audio. Cheap witchcraft.
You don’t like calling yourself a witch. That word belongs to the women they murdered in Salem. You prefer conjurer, paranormal detective, magic user or some other delusion like that.
You pull out the last cigarette from your coat and light it. The pink lighter stands out against your all-black outfit. Loose suit pants, a satin blouse with the top two buttons undone, and a long black coat. Even your loafers are black. Sometimes you top it off with black sunglasses or a black tie.
You could open a portal home with a flick of your wrist. But today is special. Every February 3rd is. You keep walking through the Chicago suburbs until He appears.
Not He as in Jesus. That one’s probably too scared to show himself to you. And not He as in Satan. You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him yet.
But your particular demon.
You imagine him like a guardian angel, except instead of protecting you, he just makes everything worse.
He only shows himself when he wants to — at least once a year, when he needs something from you. And today is the anniversary.
It was on a February 3rd, nineteen years ago, that he decided to claim your soul, after you’d been rejected by dozens of demons. He felt like a charity case, adopting the poor soul of a wide-eyed, soft-cheeked girl.
He’s a shadow to you. An idea of a man. He takes different forms that might appeal to you, but never quite gets it right. So now, he just shows up as an average guy.
“You're a bit late, aren’t you?” You speak softly, knowing he can hear you perfectly.
Truth is, he can hear you all the time. He just doesn’t bother. There are other souls to annoy.
“So eager to see me?”
He appears beside you, dressed like any man you’d pass on the street, making you feel ridiculous in all black.
Now he’s blond with blue eyes. Last year, he was dark-haired with eyes so black they frightened you. Now he looks like an idiot.
But the face is always the same. The expressions too. And the fear he makes you feel—unchanged.
“No. You know I never want to see you.”
He can do anything he wants with you. You’re his. Your mother sold you. Didn’t even sell you—gave you away.
He steps in too close as you walk and whispers with a knife in his voice:
“You smell like greasy fast food.”
You roll your eyes, extinguishing your cigarette and stopping cold.
“Tell me, do these yearly visits mean anything or are they just to remind me that you’ll torment me forever?”
His laugh is instant. He snaps his fingers and conjures a bench for you both to sit.
“Both,” he says, draping an arm over the backrest without touching you. He looks at you, eyes shifting hue. “You’re still dreaming of her.”
You try to stand immediately. At least, you try. He’s tied you to the bench with a black thread around your waist. You clench your jaw without answering, but you know you’ll have to speak eventually.
“Yes,” you spit without looking at him. “Some of us cursed souls still have feelings.”
“Do you count yourself among them?” He challenges. “The same girl who left a chil—”
“Shut up!” You shout, trying to break free with a spell, knowing it’s useless. He’ll always be stronger.
Cursed. That’s what they call people who sold their soul for personal gain. Even if you didn’t make the deal yourself, your soul still belongs to him.
“She’s waiting for you,” He says your name like a slur. “You know it. If you surrender to me, you can be with her again.”
“Liar.” You spit at his shoe — it doesn’t even land. “There are ways to bring people back. It’s been done to me.”
“You’re wrong,” He clicks his tongue and lets you go.
He knows about the three times you’ve died. Three times he made sure you came back — to keep you from reuniting with the one you longed for.
“I won’t surrender to you,” You say through gritted teeth.
He smiles — a slow smile, every muscle in his face stretching just to mock you.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, standing from the bench. His form flickers for a moment, like sticky smoke in the icy breeze. “But the day will come, little one. And you’ll beg for it.”
You meet his eyes, though every fiber in your body screams to look away. Seeing him is like staring into a bottomless pit and feeling something inside you want to jump.
“So that’s why you came? For your annual threats, then poof?”
But he tilts his head, eyes shifting again — now a flat gray that reminds you of the sky before a storm.
“This year is different,” he says, stepping close enough for you to feel the cold radiating off him. “You owe me a favor. One that can’t wait another three hundred sixty-five days.”
Your stomach tightens.
“No.” The word comes before you even know what he wants. “I don’t do favors for demons anymore.”
His laugh is low and rough, echoing against the windows on the empty street.
“It’s not a favor, child. It’s in the contract.” He snaps his fingers again, and a charred piece of parchment floats between you. Your mother’s signature, crooked and shaky, shines in red ink — her own virgin blood. “I’m here to collect.”
You swallow hard. Your wind-chilled hands begin to sweat.
“What do you want?” Your voice is hoarse. Not because you want to know — because you have to.
He smiles, and for a moment, his teeth look far too numerous to be human.
“I want you to find someone. A soul that’s… gone missing.” He wrinkles his nose like the word disgusts him. “A soul that shouldn’t be in this plane. And if you don’t bring it to me, others will. But they won’t be as... kind as you.”
You clench your fists.
“Who?”
He smiles, pleased, and his voice slips into your ear like hot oil.
“Her name is Odessa. Odessa Wolf.”
You know that name by heart. Your mind flies back five years. You were fourteen. Odessa was thirteen. You were stuck in that awful convent in Ireland, and she was your only friend. The only one untouched by contracts.
“It can’t be,” you whisper.
Odessa was like an angel in the storm — beautiful even back then — and your first love. Or so you thought. What did a fourteen-year-old know of love?
You never imagined she’d sell her soul. And especially not to him.
“No,” you murmur, shaking your head. “It can’t be her. You won’t use her against me.”
He shrugs.
“I’m not using her. I’m giving you a chance. Bring her to me before the next full moon, and I swear on all the fires of Hell that I’ll leave her alone.” He smiles, like he’s offering you a fair deal. “But if you don’t… others will find her. And believe me, none of them will be so generous.”
You taste blood from clenching your teeth so hard.
Odessa.
The girl you left behind when you turned sixteen and went out on your own.
“Where is she?” You finally ask, voice ashes in your throat.
He smiles again. But this time, there’s no humor — only triumph.
“In Chicago. Just like you.”
And with a blink, he’s gone — leaving behind the stench of sulfur… and something worse.
Hope.
You stand there in the middle of the empty street, hands trembling, knowing you’ve just sealed your fate.
Around two months earlier
Mark had no idea why, in the middle of a crisis, Cecil had sent him to find a girl. Literally, just a girl. He’d handed him a card with an address and a name—yours—and wished him luck.
In the heart of Chicago, wedged between two brutalist buildings, stood a gothic-style house with a dark brown facade, crawling ivy, and a sort of tower on one side. It looked like mist clung to it.
Mark wore his Invincible suit, but that didn’t ease the discomfort knotting in his stomach as he climbed the steps slowly. He knocked twice. No answer. Peered through the window—no sign of life. He flew up to check the upper windows and then the back garden, overgrown and unkempt. Still, nothing.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” shouted a voice from the kitchen.
Mark jumped. You must have slipped in while he was circling the house.
“Cecil sent me,” he said, landing in the garden.
Through the glass door, he saw you lock the back door and take off your jacket. You were dressed entirely in black, eyes wide. Young—maybe his age or a year older. Why would Cecil want someone so… ordinary?
“Why? I already told that old man I wasn’t going to work for him,” you snapped, setting a kettle on the stove.
That’s when Mark noticed the accent—British? Irish? He wasn’t sure. Your dismissal irritated him. Cecil had been clear: they needed you.
“Can you let me explain what’s happening?” he raised his voice, though the glass muffled him.
You leaned against the window, studying him. The suit was ridiculous, that bright yellow clashing with his messy hair. Still, you had nothing better to do.
You yanked open the door and gave him a closer look. Same age, maybe older, hard to tell behind the mask.
“Looks like Cecil updated his roster,” you said mockingly. “He used to send cranky old immortals.”
Mark chuckled. The inside was simple—walls lined with bookshelves, jars, little figurines. A headless crucifix on the wall. The rug was purple and threadbare. Ashtrays scattered on every table, yellow lamps casting a soft glow.
“Immortal’s a grump who doesn’t take orders,” Mark stepped closer. Still uncertain what you were. Human? Something more? He had no clue.
You turned your back to him. The all-black clothing didn’t reveal much of your shape, but the pants… Mark looked at the ceiling. God, Mark, you have a girlfriend.
You spun around suddenly, leaning on the counter with your tea. “Are you going to tell me what you're doing here or just stand there like a mannequin?”
Mark blinked. “A being emerged from the ground near Evanston. I managed to contain it, but now we don’t know what to do with it. Cecil said you were the only one who could send it back.”
Your brows shot up halfway through his explanation.
“You contained a demon?” you pointed at him, clearly not buying it.
Even for you, some demons were slippery—hard to subdue even with practice. But this guy? No scratch, no curse? Strange.
You could feel he was untouched. No curse, no contact with the underworld. He probably didn’t even know it existed.
You stepped closer, suspicious. “Who are you?”
Your voice curled around the words, accent thickening.
“Invincible,” he said. But that wasn’t the answer you wanted.
“Who are you really?” you pressed, eyes narrowing again.
“Invincible.”
You rolled your eyes, stepping back. Of course he wouldn’t tell you. Boys in masks and secrets. Typical.
“I could disintegrate your mask in two seconds,” you warned, crossing your arms.
Mark clicked his tongue, unimpressed. Matter manipulation was something only Eve could do. No way there were two people like that. Foolish thought.
You took it as a challenge. “You mocking me, mannequin?”
You snapped your fingers. A spark flared. His mask disintegrated, burning away in mid-air.
“HEY! What the hell did you do?!” he shouted, backing up, breath quickening.
You laughed. It was dumb, but you remembered him. He served you a few times at the burger place. His face and name had stuck.
Mark inhaled deeply. Even his father had never been able to remove the mask. But you? You did it effortlessly.
“With another snap, I could guess your name,” you teased, just to see the horror on his face. “So don’t laugh at me again, Mark Grayson.”
“…How?” he stopped short. “Who are you? What do you do?”
You set the tea down, hopped back on the counter, feet swinging.
“Want a demonstration?”
You didn’t wait. You were already conjuring, a spell spilling from your lips. The portal opened in the middle of the living room—a ring of flame cutting through the floor.
Mark leapt back as it began to glow with a dull red light, like embers ready to burst. The hum wasn’t sound—it was a thought, pressing into the base of his skull.
“Are you a witch?” he asked, fists raised as if that would help.
You didn’t reply. Your eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the irises. Hair lifted by invisible wind. Symbols beneath your feet rotated, aligning with unnerving precision. The flames burst upward—tall, orange, but cold. A dead fire.
“Shut it off!” Mark cried, stepping back, sweat running down his back under the suit. His arms bristled with goosebumps, his gut churned. This wasn’t tech. This wasn’t science. It was something older. Wrong.
“This is where your demon came from, mannequin,” you said, voice low, reverberating.
“Okay, okay!” he shouted. “I got the message—you can shut it down!”
You paused, listening to something distant. Screams, perhaps. Then shook your head, dismissing them, and closed the portal with a flick.
You smiled. “Did you like it?”
“No!” he practically yelled. “You’re a witch!”
He pointed at you, horrified.
“Conjurer,” you corrected, lips pursed.
You watched him with amusement, your eyes still faintly glowing from the spell. Mark couldn’t stop staring at the floor, where the summoning circle had been. It still shimmered faintly with heat.
“You… do that all the time?” he asked, still pointing. “That’s your way of greeting?”
“Only to people who mock me,” you replied, turning back to your tea. “And you didn’t give me much choice. You wanted a demonstration, right?”
“I nearly threw up.”
“Well, at least you didn’t do it on the rug,” you said without looking.
Mark wiped his face, still trying to process it all. The air smelled like sulfur and scorched wood. He looked toward the door.
“Okay, we need to go. I can fly us to the GDA headquarters. It’s faster and—”
“Fly?” you interrupted, like he’d just suggested a tricycle. One arched brow. You sighed. “No style.”
Then, with another flick of your hand, you cut the air in front of you, like slicing invisible fabric. A glowing rift opened, showing the cold steel walls of the GDA base.
Mark stepped back instinctively.
“How…?”
You shrugged.
“I’ve been there. I remember the space. I fold it and open a portal. No need to ruin my hair.”
He tried to connect a few thoughts.
“Are you like… thousands of years old?”
You laughed at his disbelief.
“Turned nineteen a few months ago,” you said. “If you think I’m powerful, you should see the ones who've studied this stuff for decades.”
You both stared at the portal. He hesitated. You waited.
“After you,” said the man in the suit.
You smiled and stepped through like it was your own kitchen.
Mark exhaled. Then followed.
Cecil was waiting, arms crossed, wearing that usual air of condescension. You hated this place. All that money and tech wasted here, when so many others could use it.
“Well,” Cecil said, “I’m surprised you came.”
You sighed, nodded toward Mark. He lowered his head like a scolded child.
“Thank the mannequin and his lack of subtlety,” you muttered, striding forward without waiting. “Where is it?”
As you walked, Cecil explained how a group of teens had played with a Ouija board and accidentally opened a portal. Your sigh was sharp and tired.
“A Ouija demon. Great,” you clicked your tongue. Mark gave you a confused glance. “No decent demon is hanging around a Ouija board. That thing scrapes the surface of Hell. Bottom-feeders with nothing better to do.”
“Is that… good or bad?” Mark asked.
“Means it’s going to be a pain in the ass, but it shouldn’t be hard to send back,” you nodded. Then turned to Cecil. “Is the portal closed?”
Cecil nodded slowly.
“Yes… but it left behind a scar. Something strange. GDA sensors keep picking up unstable activity.”
You frowned.
“Unstable how? Something trying to come back?”
“We don’t know. Could be a rift, or magical residue, or both,” Cecil said, guiding you through metal corridors. “But we can’t contain it with our tech.”
You walked beside Mark, irritation building.
“Then why call me?” you snapped. “This sounds more like your problem.”
“Because you know how to truly seal things,” Cecil said. “And this demon… it doesn’t seem to want to leave.”
“Let’s go see it.”
Cecil opened the doors. Soldiers surrounded a containment field—a cage laced with red lasers. The demon inside wasn’t humanoid like Jaxoth. Reddish, glowing eyes, horns, and barely half Jax’s height. Its spine jutted visibly, curled and hunched.
“What the hell are you doing?” you demanded, walking closer. The creature bared yellowed teeth. “These lasers don’t hold you—why don’t you escape?”
You dropped your bag in the corner, glanced at Mark—just a flicker—then returned your focus to the demon.
“It’s looking for you.”
A chill ran down your spine. It knew your name. That could only mean the summoning had been intentional.
The air thickened. Your sarcasm vanished.
“Who summoned you?” you asked, voice dry and quiet.
The demon tilted its head. Its horns nearly touched the laser grid.
“No one,” it said. “No one alive.”
You stepped forward, broke the laser field with a pulse of magic, and suspended the creature in the air, your fist clenched, a column of fire holding it still.
“You’re lying,” you growled. “You’re going back to Hell like the wretched thing you are.”
“Are you sure I’m the only wretched one here?”
The ground trembled beneath your feet. You whispered words that belonged to no human language, a blend of sharp-edged syllables and choked echoes. Your palms clapped together, and a reddish glow burst from the contact, spreading like burning veins across the metallic floor, devouring the artificial patterns of the base with something that felt far too organic—too alive.
You kept whispering, and the creature screamed, recognizing the formula.
The soldiers backed away, some raising their weapons out of pure reflex, but they knew it was useless. The air turned heavy, oppressive, as if every sin humanity had ever committed gathered in that room. An invisible crack split open just beneath the suspended demon. It wasn’t like the portals you used to travel. This one was different. It was wrong. A wound. And it bled black light.
The flames didn’t rise—they fell from above, as if the sky itself had broken. They fell silently, consuming all sound. Only the heartbeats of the people remained. And then, a scream.
Distant.
Desperate.
You froze. The voice came again:
"It burns!"
The spell faltered. The embers wavered. The demon smiled, bloodied but triumphant.
"You hear her, don’t you?" the creature whispered.
"Shut up," you growled, teeth clenched. The heat surged again in your chest, wild and magical, but your pulse trembled.
You dropped to your knees. Mark stepped forward instinctively.
"What is it? Who is she?"
You stretched out your arms and the flames rose again—stronger, more alive. They began to consume the demon from the feet upward, erasing him, reducing him to ash and memory.
The demon screamed, this time without pretense. It writhed, shattered, and vanished in a final burst of infernal light, swallowed by the gaping wound in the earth.
The portal slammed shut, leaving behind a suffocating silence, as if the room had been drained of oxygen.
You didn’t collapse only by miracle, and once you steadied yourself, you pushed your way toward Mark.
"You heard her," you said—half question, half threat. Then you turned to Cecil. "Did you hear her?"
Cecil slowly shook his head. He hadn’t picked up any woman’s voice besides yours. You shoved Mark again.
"Why did you hear her?" Your voice cracked with something close to panic. Mark saw it in your gestures, in your voice, and in the glassy sheen of your eyes. "Answer me, Mark Grayson!"
"I don’t know!" he shouted, gripping your wrists—not harshly, just enough to hold you. "I just heard her... like she was speaking inside my head. I don’t know who she was."
You struggled at first, your eyes filled with a rage that had nowhere to go. But you stilled when you realized he wasn’t fighting you. He just wanted to hold you back, contain you... protect you. That unsettled you more than any spell.
"No one else heard her," said Cecil gravely, keeping his distance. "Only you and him."
You turned to him with your jaw clenched but said nothing. You looked back at Mark. Your eyes no longer burned—they were dark, wet wells. Your body trembled slightly.
"That shouldn’t be possible," you murmured.
"Who was she?" Mark asked softly, barely daring to.
You closed your eyes. Swallowed. Gently pulled your hands from his.
"You have no idea what you’ve done," you whispered. You turned, walked a few steps, and collapsed into a metal chair in the corner of the room, curling in on yourself. "You weren’t supposed to hear her. No one was."
"Was she... a child?" he asked, sitting in front of you, cautiously.
"It doesn’t matter!" you snapped, suddenly rising again as if you’d never sat down. "The job is done. Watch the rift in case it opens again—and don’t ever call me back."
... in which you, the renowned and respected hero, wonder woman, are forced back into the mess that is your questionable "family" ...
★。／｜＼。★
The blaring sound of your alarm rang through the air, the harsh sound disrupting the sereneness of the room also having drawn you from the warm comfort of sleep. A heavy groan wrung from your lips as you rolled over onto your back under the layer of blankets that were wrapped around you went to bed- now simply strewn about messily. The exhaustion of the late night you had still layed heavy on your eyelids as you looked up at the ceiling, fighting back the alluring lull of sleep. Reaching an arm out of the layer of warmth to grab your phone off the nightstand that sat next to your bed, the time on your phone read 6 AM as you turned off the alarm. Reluctantly pulling the blankets off of your figure, you stood up from the warmth of your bed, the cold of the winter air bit at your skin as you dragged yourself into the bathroom, turning on the lights as you walked in. After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you stood looking into the mirror for a few moments longer; the signs of the few hours of sleep were clear on your face. Most of the exhaustion had dissipated by the time you had entered the small kitchen of your apartment, checking the time again- 7:32 AM- you grabbed the black bag that you had discarded to a random corner of the floor the night prior and, dazed from the plethora of sleepness nights that you'd been forced to endure ever since the Guardians of the Globe were murdered. In their absence, villains and common thugs alike that usually plagued the streets were exponentially less manageable. You'd been hanging on by a thread since it happened, you were one of the only people left who could still deal with most threats that the guardians once had. The stress of it all started to consume you, you used to have the grace of being able to be a normal person by day, hero by night- but the routine of it all was flipped on its head. Hero by day, hero by night- your social life almost entirely died out and there no time whatsoever for any amount of sleep over a lucky 4 hours at most, being Wonder Woman had consumed you almost entirely.
A quiet yawn left you as set the bag down onto your couch and went to fill a cup of water, the calmness of it all felt alien to you after how everything had been playing out for you so far. The water was refreshing- the cooling freshness of it pouring down your throat felt rejuvenating in a way as you set the cup down on the counter with a soft clink. The sound of your doorbell going off cut through the air, a sigh left you weren't even aware you had been holding. Making your way to the door, you undid the lock and peaked open the door slightly- checking who it was through the gap.
“Eve, it's like 7:40 in the morning- what're you even doing here?”
You questioned, opening the door fully and stepping to the side, silently inviting her inside.
“... I don't actually know, I'm just- I'm just so tired. I don't want to be alone right now and I didn't know where else to go-”
She hesitated before finishing the rest of the thought.
“‘m sorry, I can leave if you want”
“You're always welcome here Eve, just a bit shocked to see you here so early”
A comfortable silence overtook the two of you as Eve situated herself on an end of the vaguely faded leather couch that was in your living room.
"Do you think today's gonna be like yesterday?”
“Oh gods, I hope not. I don't think I can live through another night like that.”
The constant combat from yesterday plagued your mind, and presumably Eve's too with the way her eyes were trained slightly off in the distance. It was something new every plausible moment, like anyone who could do something illegal and villainous, was doing something illegal and villainous. A small sigh of slight exasperated left you sat down on the side of the couch opposite to Eve.
“At least we got to see Condiment King”
You joked, Eve's face scrunching up in humor at the statement-
“How does someone even come up with the idea to have a gun of ketchup that'll send you into anaphylactic shock?"
“No clue but let's hope that the thought process stays *behind* bars this-”
Your statement was cut off by a simultaneously sounded alarm from off Eve and muffled from thr depths of the black bag propped up against the side of the couch.
“Are you kidding me? Not this again.”
Eve groaned as she visibly deflated into the leather of your couch. You, of course, felt much the same, the energy you had for the day seemingly draining from you, sliding off the couch to grab your phone and to get suited up- it was gonna be a long, long day.
(oops this came out way later than i wanted it to... mb gng 🥀🥀 also this is abt the shortest a chapter will get cuz this chapter is just to kinda get back in the groove of writing and i promise mark wll be in rhe next chapter!!)
“You skipped school so you could hang out with my parents?”
Mark stands in the doorway of the kitchen, his expression a cross between bewilderment and betrayal, as pretty brown eyes remain fixated on where your flour-dusted hands continue to roll various clumps of dough, your expression purely unapologetic and he watches the crinkle appear at the corners of your eyes.
“We’re making bread.”
“Oh, you’re making bread?” Mark repeats after you, his tone mocking and he lets out a huff, upper lip curled in distaste as he shuffles into the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the stools, elbows rested on the granite countertops as he watches you move around his kitchen with ease.
“How was school, Mark?” Debbie presses a kiss against Mark’s cheek, her hands dusted with flour, the scent of yeast and dough clinging to her skin, alongside a floral perfume.
“It was fine.” He hums, gaze focused on your back, watching the way your shoulder blades move beneath the constricting fabric of your T-shirt. “Why’re you making bread?”
“Your mom found a recipe and she didn’t wanna try it alone.” You respond, glancing over your shoulder towards Mark who simply lets out another hum, before shifting in his seat.
“Where’s dad?” “Perfecting his bread in his study.” Debbie snorts. “She kept evil-eyeing the dough.”
“I wasn’t evil-eyeing the dough.” You huff, almost defensively. “I was just looking and he said I was ‘sucking the flavour out of the bread’.”
And Mark snorts.
“What kind of bread are you making?” He lifts himself from his seat, hands pushing the sleeves of his sweater up, coming to stand beside Debbie. His chin rests on her shoulder, and he watches the way her hands continue to knead at the dough.
“Uyu Sikppang.” She hums softly. “Your father’s making Dutch bread.”
And Mark glances towards where you’re sprinkling chocolate chips onto your dough, your eyes twinkling deviously and Mark doesn’t really enjoy the way his belly knots when he watches the way you catch his glance from the corner of your eye, your lashes fluttering and your lips curl so prettily at the corners.
“And you?”
“I’m freestyling it.” You state proudly. “Vanilla extract, a pinch of salt, sugar and a few other things. And before you can even say anything, I’ve got faith in this bread.”
And Mark snickers, moving away from his mother, instead, plopping in the seat beside you, and he looks up at you from beneath stupidly gorgeous lashes.
“Remember when you freestyled that Math test, had faith and still got a D?” Mark’s voice is low, almost conspiratorially so and you glare at him. But goddamn, that shit-eating grin looks so good on him. Lips curled, eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples in his cheeks.
“Better than failing an English listening comprehension because Amber’s wearing shorts.”
And Mark hisses.
“I told you that in confidence.”
“You should never do that.”
And heavy thudding steps travel down the stairs, and Mark glances towards where Nolan holds a tray, its contents obscured from eyes (most likely yours).
Blue eyes crease at the sight of Mark, a smile raising his full moustache.
“How was school, champ?”
“Same old, same old.” Mark moves towards his father, attempting to lift the bowl that obscures the dough and Nolan swats Mark’s hand away.
“Not in front of her.”
“Mr Grayson, I didn’t—”
“Silence, witch.” Nolan interjects. “I know what your people do. I’ve seen ‘Hocus Pocus’.”
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