#WILL EVERYONE GET TO DO THE HEART POSE???

[fanzou]

✗ Genre: Smut

“What, best friends don’t fuck?” He poses the questions so innocently, like it’s nothing. He’s kneeling between your legs and his very prominent bulge is inches close to you.

“S-Sanji…” You’re blushing like a damn virgin, “If someone finds us out—”

“—But they won’t, we’ll be quiet, princess. Trust me.” He’s rubbing his broad hand across your lap and your skirt is threatening to expose so much more than you wanted it to, and you’d venture to think that’s exactly what he was trying to make happen.

You’re nervous, only because anyone could walk right through that wooden door into the dark room you both were in. Sanji doesn’t give a shit, and it’s written all over his face and body.

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay, fine… but make it quick alright?”

His breath hitches, and you can see his muscles relax a little bit over your demand. He’s waited so long for this and tonight was the perfect night to finally make a move. Everyone was drunk out their mind anyways, so it didn’t matter. You were the only two fully conscious on board, though the concept seems surprising.

He’s removing his belt, and his long fingers moving so skillfully makes the heat in between your legs so much more noticeable. It’s practically radiating off of you and Sanji digs his thigh closer between your legs.

You didn’t wanna seem eager but the image in front of you was nothing short of exciting and it’s getting you to almost hypnotically move your hands to take off your panties while the man across from you already had his cock sprung and ready to put inside of you. What can he say? You told him to make it quick.

With your bare cunt facing him and your legs spread wide, you’re practically begging him to start his attack. Even though this was something that he wanted to make special, thoughtful and something never to forget, he guessed this could suffice.

Sanji lines himself up, and presses his cock against you. The intrusion was so much more than you thought it’d be. And it feels amazing. Amazing in the worst and best ways, the way it fully splits you and stuffs you all the same. It’s pleasurable and painful at the same time.

But you can’t let anyone sniff you both out. You’ll just have to get your quick orgasm in before anyone starts to suspect where you both have run off to. “Fuuuuuck… g-go… faster.”

And so he obeys, so much for truly being able to relish it.

He’s hardly a man who liked to be rushed during sex, his curved cock is grazing your insides just a little rougher than when he started and the whimper you let out proves it. “D-Don’t worry my love… next time… it’ll be so much more better. But I couldn’t stand it anymore. ‘Really fuckin’ needed you… oh shit.”

Your pleasure subsides for a second trying to puzzle together his insinuation, but then you hear something; footsteps.

Your eyes widen and dart at the door, then to Sanji, but he doesn’t care, he just comes closer to you and puts hand over your mouth. His grin gets wider and wider.

And he’s fucking you so much more quieter but there’s so much power in his thrusts, he tries not to push against your thighs too much because he knows the slapping will probably alert whoever was walking towards your room. He sloppily tries covering your sides with a blanket, this’ll work, he says, and he’s back to fucking you just a little harder than he did before.

You make it known to him, vocally, that you really appreciated the gesture.

The footsteps get louder and closer to where you can almost feel the vibrations off the floor. Sanji’s hand is like tape around your mouth, he wants you quiet but he fucks you like he’s daring you. He looks at you, then he looks to the door.

The steps are right by the door now, and they stop. Your heart drops.

“Where do you think shitty cook’s gone? Need him to get me some more booze.”

Sanji’s ecstatic. Like he wants Zoro to walk in, walk in on you getting fucked like your life depended on it. And you could sit here and pretend that you were absolutely in great terror of being found out by someone about the predicament you were in, but your pussy told the truth.

Much to Sanji’s disappointment, his sloppy and drunk footsteps walk the other direction. He removes his hand and watches your frustrated expression manifest.

You were clenching around him tighter and tighter and he knew exactly what that meant for you, the closer proximity between his cock in your tightened cunt made him feel like reeling into his own orgasm.

“You wanted him to walk in. Didn’t y-you? Yeah. You’re so d-dirty… ‘Wanted this more than me, huh princess?”

You could only take so much dirty talk. “Saaaaaaanji… stop talking… oh—” he pushes impossibly deep inside of you, and that’s when you let go. It was too much.

You squirted everywhere. And that was an understatement. It was bad. Like a lot of it went onto the floor and you’d have to clean it immediately after. But for now, Sanji’s chasing his own high. “You’re so… perfect. Fuck you’re amazing. Where do you want me, beautiful?” His thrusts get messy and the blanket is long gone, his skin on yours.

Not wanting anymore mess and a more obvious crime scene, “Just c-cum on my—fuck—stom-ach.

He obeys, and pulls out, he strokes himself on your stomach, with some of it pulling into your belly button. “Yeeees princeeeeess, oh shit…”

His chest is moving up and down and he stares at you lovingly before he smiles, it’s a genuine one, not laced with anything impure or malicious this time, fortunately for you. He’s back to normal Sanji.

“So… what would you have done if he walked in?” You ask him, genuinely curious.

“He’s plastered so, would’ve just made him watch us fuck. He probably wouldn’t have remembered it anyway.” He lays down next to you. “And if he did? ‘Nother thing to hold over his head.” You nuzzle into his chest for the short duration of time you had.

✗ A/N: Was drunk writing this. Do not mind the grammatical errors if there is any.

[sleepyorchidmonster]

Okay, Riddle's dream in a few hours and now it's time for the last bits of ideas and headcanons:

- Everything's the same, but all students have been replaced by hedgehogs/tsums (Riddle thinks he keeps fumbling friendships and social cues, but he's never had a problem with the hedgehogs. So now everybody's a hedgehog/ hedgehog-sized bean);

- We meet child Riddle but he doesn't recognize the group. They have to pretend Trey is a distant cousin of the Clovers who went to College abroad;

- Sebek's yelling makes child Riddle flinch and hide in fear. Sebek whispers for the rest of the chapter (Silver didn't even have to scold him this time, he was struck with guilt already);

- Return of the King (Unca Leona). He's still trying to understand why children think he's a good role model (Deuce quotes Epel and says that it's because he's cool, Silver and Ortho think Leona's calm demeanor makes the kids trust him, meanwhile tiny Riddle was just reminded of Chen'ya);

- Riddle's dream was shattered and we have to wake up multiple versions of him (the group's so big we can easily separate them in five teams or less). Chen'ya makes an appearance as the culprit of the dream's shattering;

- We run into a world where everythings the exact same as reality, from the general timeline of events to the character's personalities (blame Riddle's prefect memory). It's nice that it means Riddle's already living his dream, even with Adeuce's mischief and other shenanigans, though it poses the problem of finding disparities between dream and reality to wake him up.

They later find out that there are no Queen of Heart's rules in the dream. Which means they'll have to scour through the entire rulebook that they got from the school's website (thanks Ortho). Do note that, while there isn't an official rulebook, people are still feeding the flamingoes while wearing pink and painting the roses, they just have a new explanation for what they're doing (or not doing, since Riddle's dream also remembers rule breakers and their routines), mostly based in historical facts;

- Instead of being dragged into the darkness for the boss fight, Riddle dives into the darkness like the Alice in Wonderland-esque shonen protagonist that he is;

- Trey temporarily overwrites Riddle's magic, only for him to turn his scepter into a sword or scythe and start trading blows with Silver and Sebek;

- References to Rapunzel event that will only make sense in hindsight;

- Flashback just like Malleus's birth in Lillia's dream, the moment when the Senate glitched from praising Lillia as a hero to banishing him from Briar Valley. Except it's Mrs. Rosehearts;

- We get a puzzle or crossword game. Idia and Leona had a great time with the crosswords and later asked Riddle just where he found such challenging puzzles that weren't even in Ortho's database. Cue Riddle casually mentioning how he created the crosswords himself, they were supposed to be gifts for Trey and Chen'ya, and now he has 3.000 of them;

- Chess game, chess game, CHESS GAME!!!

BONUS:

Cater: Welp, looks like Riddle's dream is exactly like the real world.

Idia: The Adeuce NPCs are trying to ride a blastcycle in the dorm's roof!?

Silver: And Trey is chasing students with a giant toothbrush?!???

Cater: Yep, happens once a week, EVERY FUCKING WEEK. Careful with the giant hedgehog!!

Silver, Leona, Idia, Sebek and Ortho: ....

Leona: Why, Little Red! Looks like your card soldiers forgot to wear pink to feed the flamingoes.

Riddle: That's impossible. Everyone here knows the risks of such an act.

Riddle: After all, the time-travelling pre-historic crocodiles won't eat you if they think you're a flamingo, and pink is the most reliable option...

Leona: The what now?!?!

Riddle: Time-travelling pre-historic crocodiles. While their numbers have been dwindling over the years, they were a serious threat in the times of the Great Seven.

*Sounds of screaming in the distance*

Idia: Heh, good to know...

*The group, searching through the rulebook*

Ace: Well, my brain's about to explode now...

Cater: Cheer up, Acey! Only one rule left!!

Deuce: "Rule 810, you can easily traverse through dreams by finding the correct mirrors or rabbit holes in the dreamscape...."

Everyone: ....

Sebek: You Heartslabyul students are a DISAPPOINTMENT TO THE DORM, NO, TO SOCIETY!!!

Grim: Myahaha! Looks like someone's in trouble!

Sebek: You're just as much of an Heartlabyul member as those two, so you're just as much to blame for this!!!!!

Grim: MYAAAH!

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤㅤִㅤㅤ ݁ ꉂ fresh love drop ᴖ ֽ ㅤᷭ

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺⠀⠀gather round, for what you're about to read is as soft as a feather's touch: it's fluff, my lovelies, where hearts swell and smiles are sure to bloom. enjoy the warmth.

you knew chris had a big heart, but you hadn't expected him to go this far. fresh love, his casual clothing brand, had always been a passion project, but this time, he wanted to do something special, something that would mean as much to him as it did to you: he decided it was time to make your relationship public, and what better way than through his art, his clothes? he took photographs of your eyes, capturing every shade, every nuance; he was obsessed with getting the colors just right for this drop, and when he couldn't find the exact shades in fabric, he didn't hesitate; he paid someone to custom dye the material. yeah, it was an extra expense, but compared to what he and his brothers made, it was a drop in the ocean, yet it meant the world to both of you. chris had you kiss a piece of paper with lipstick on, and that imprint became part of the designs - a literal kiss from you on his clothes, god, he even went the extra mile to create a heart from the union of your and his thumbprints, adding both your fingerprints to some designs, symbolizing your connection. but to make it even better and knowing you're neurodivergent, he made sure the fabrics were not just comfortable but ideal for you. some pieces were oversized, others had a boxy fit, and there were cropped options too, ensuring everyone could feel at ease and stylish. the photoshoot day arrived, and you were both buzzing, the studio was decked out with racks of clothes in colors that screamed 'you'. the photographer, a chill friend of chris's, had this smirk like he knew what was up. the place was lit with soft, natural light, with big windows showing off the city skyline, making the whole scene feel like a movie set. chris was in his element, guiding you through poses, his hands gentle but firm on your waist, his laughter infectious. "You look incredible in this," he said, holding up a hoodie that matched one of the exact various shades of your eyes, the fabric soft against your skin. you laughed, spinning around, the oversized fit making you feel free, comfortable. "Only because it's inspired by me," you teased, but your heart swelled with pride. the photographer snapped away, capturing moments of you alone, showcasing each piece, the light playing off the vibrant colors. then came the shots of chris, his playful side coming out, striking poses that made everyone laugh, his own designs fitting him like they were made for him, because in a way, they were. but the best part? the couple shots. when it came to them, chris pulled you close, his arm around you, both in matching hoodies with the thumbprint heart on the chest. "look at us, we're like walking art," he whispered in your ear, making you giggle like a schoolgirl. the warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh fabric of the clothes, it all felt so right. the photographer directed, "okay, get cozy, let's see that connection." you leaned into each other, foreheads touching, eyes locked, the moment feeling both intimate and exciting. chris would whisper silly things, making you laugh, the camera capturing those genuine moments of joy. you tried different poses, some silly, some serious, all capturing the essence of your playful, loving relationship. there was this one where you were both laughing, chris's arms around you from behind, his cheek pressed against yours, the camera catching that genuine joy, it was like every click of the shutter was a memory being made. throughout the shoot, there were breaks filled with laughter, snacks, and chris checking in on you, making sure you were comfy. "you're killing it, babe," he'd say, his eyes full of admiration as he adjusted a hoodie here, a beanie there, always ensuring you felt good, his goofy side coming out to make you laugh even when you were tired. "i just love you so damn much, babe," he'd say, his eyes full of admiration.

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

my murder of crows: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz

in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist.

[cobaltfluff]

Arajin observation notes so far:

- good reflexes? (dodging the trip in ep1)

- strong enough to hold up Matakara??

- is the punches to Matakara's kicks :3c

Kid was definitely serious about becoming strong back then 😂

[torgawl]

everytime i think about the new chapter the more and more i like it, it really consolidated yuuta and gojo's characters. the revelation of how the higher-ups were taken down and the set-up for the scene with gojo and yuuta's conversation about what their plan was for gojo's body, in case he lost, might just be the part i find most interesting. all in all, the chapter really highlights the underlying difference between the violence of oppression and the violence of resistence and revolution.

when it comes to yuuta and the archetype of his character he is the pure embodiment of love in the series. if yuuji is able to reach sukuna because he was one with him (love as oneness), yuuta's entire exitence has sorrounded love and, specifically, love as a curse. sukuna's surprise at yuuta's antics come from a place of not understanding love and therefore being unable to conceptualise that yuuta would go so far as betray his own humanity for it. he can't conceive how love can drive a person like yuuta, who's sweet and kind-hearted, to a place as cursed as this - emphasised by the sheer horror and heinosity that is seeing the usage of gojo's dead body with yuuta's innocent expression. but we know that yuuta's journey has always been marked by this concept of love as a curse, starting all the way back in jjk 0 where yuuta's unwillingness to let go of a deceased rika caused her to linger in the world in the form of a cursed spirit. one that yuuta learns to let go of by the end of the story. a lot of what he learns in that moment is about consent and mutuality in love (hence his domain expansion name), and although rika's soul passes and gets freed she is able to manifest her will into her vessel that continues to protect yuuta until this day. yuuta asking gojo for consent to use his body not only consolidates this mutual exchange and respect that he has for those he cares for - which are his main driving force - but is also exactly what separates him from someone like kenjaku, who body hops with total disregard for who they were originally. so there's that layer of irony behind yuuta having rika consume kenjaku to copy his technique and make use of it in a equally disturbing but more compassionate way. which in itself can serve to both question if intent plays a role in absolution and introduce, once again, the idea that humans and curses are not so different, as explored between mahito and yuuji in shibuya with them mirroring each other.

in regards to gojo i think his aknowledgement of his own inertia when it came to the revolution that he was leading was the cherry on top to consolidate who gojo really was as a person. gojo's greatest character flaw was arguably that he simply wasn't radical enough, allowing his students to be targets under the influence of the higher-ups. he had reasons not to kill them, as he explained before in the series, but he still failed to weight the consequences of his own actions and how no one is rewarded by working under a broken system. and i feel like having the youth he guided watching as he killed them is also quite significant as they're followers of this new revolutionary ideology.

i think the shock or impact these violent or twisted acts by the hands of those forced to survive within the status quo (like maki slaughtering her clan, gojo killing the higher-ups, yuuta taking over gojo's body) as a reaction to the violence they're subjeted to by this same system serves some purpose. and i think this is the reason the higher-ups are these anonymous faceless figures, barely-there personalities who have such a big influence in the lives of so many people. even in the real world, and we can think of systems like capitalism and how it exploits people in such a casual way and it relies on that exploration to survive, we sort of take for granted that violence coming from those institutions, having our attention driven away from the minority that's upholding these systems to other things instead. that violence is more "acceptable" because we've been conditioned to it whereas the violence in response to those acts is always met with more scrutiny. and that kind of contextualises why shoko and nanami, for example, much like gojo, aren't really revolutionary with their ideals either - or rather, do not get that priviledge. the difference being gojo was someone these higher-ups were actively afraid of, because if he wanted to, he could have done more. and that's exactly why the instant he was sealed it was the perfect opportunity for them to do whatever they could to prevent him from coming back and place new-drawn targets on the backs of the people gojo was protecting. the gruesome nature of maki slaughtering her clan or the off-putting way people react to yuuta discarding his own humanity and going against what he believes is right to make sure gojo's legacy continues is almost forcing this question of what are people willing to stomach in the name of survival and change.

gojo remembering geto in that crucial moment ("i was falling behind" or "i have to catch up") and just having in mind how they were both so young and naive is so incredibly bittersweet. geto had radical ideals, no matter how misguided. he looked at the world and he had this unshakeable conviction that things couldn't continue to be the way they were. he reached incredibly misplaced conclusions, yes, which came from a place of great pain and alienation, but gojo finally stepping forward to follow that same path, to be more radical, also sort of confirms that things could have been so different if only gojo had the same level of consciousness back then; that they could have found a way better solution together instead of the tragedy that ensued. the parallels between them add an extra layer of wistfulness to their bond, too. their fates have and always will be so intertwined, in such a beautiful and tragic way. and i think geto's unwillingness to force gojo to take a certain path will always be one of the biggest proofs of his love towards him. at the end of the day, even knowing gojo was who he was, geto always seemed to want to protect gojo's path from being stained like his.

at the core, jjk really is a story about revolution and humanity; a story about love and curses and how love is the most twisted curse of all (which has been reinforced over and over again). the fact some are rewarded and some are punished for taking certain paths under the same system is there to convey a very specific message. i really love the incorporation of eastern philosophies within the story and the role horror plays, too. the usage of the genre to deepen the impact of these themes and the way things are introduced with the intention to provoke almost visceral reactions in the readers (much like yuuta's own reaction) also makes the message much more impactful. i think this chapter was great!!!

[honeyblockm]

.

[ayyponine]

had the real joy of attending a life drawing class last night! it was a highly productive 3hrs tbh

[acid-ixx]

ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the near fourteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fourteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fourteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

[ayoyoungg]

I finally met JO1 😭😭😭

8.20.23

[rmview]

when you’re just too cute, ATEEZ.

featuring — ateez members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — headcanons of what the ateez boys are like when you’re just too darn cute for words!

contents — fluff, cute aggression, no warnings.

hong ♥ joong

⟶ tries to play it cool but ends up stuttering whenever you do something adorable. ⟶ covers his face with his hands to hide his smile and mutters, “stop, you’re too much.” ⟶ pulls out his phone to record you, pretending it’s for memories but secretly watches the videos later. ⟶ uses your cuteness as inspiration for lyrics, often scribbling down phrases like, “you make my heart skip a beat.” ⟶ calls you “too dangerous” jokingly because your cuteness distracts him from work. ⟶ tries to tease you to balance the power dynamic but ends up melting when you pout. ⟶ gifts you oversized clothes because he thinks you’d look even cuter in them. ⟶ regularly mutters under his breath, “how can someone be this cute?” ⟶ always gives in when you ask for something in a sweet voice or with puppy eyes. ⟶ quietly brags about you to the other members, but acts nonchalant when they tease him about it.

seong ♥ hwa

⟶ softly pinches your cheeks and coos, “how are you so cute?” ⟶ tries to remain composed but ends up giggling whenever you do something adorable. ⟶ constantly offers to carry things for you, saying, “cute people shouldn’t have to lift a finger.” ⟶ gently fixes your hair or clothing while smiling fondly at you. ⟶ buys you cute accessories or plushies that remind him of you. ⟶ holds your hand more often, just so he can admire how small and delicate it is in his. ⟶ whenever you’re being too cute, he jokingly says, “i can’t handle this,” and pretends to walk away. ⟶ talks about your cuteness as if it’s a world-changing phenomenon. ⟶ tries to teach you his “cool” expressions but melts when you fail adorably. ⟶ protectively hovers around you in public, thinking everyone else must also find you too cute.

yun ♥ ho

⟶ laughs so hard at your cuteness that he has to sit down to recover. ⟶ constantly pokes your cheeks or playfully taps your nose, saying, “boop!” ⟶ teases you about how adorable you are but gets flustered when you call him cute in return. ⟶ loves it when you match his playful energy, especially with silly poses or expressions. ⟶ challenges you to aegyo battles but declares you the winner every time. ⟶ takes a million photos of you doing cute things, claiming he needs “evidence.” ⟶ randomly hugs you tightly and says, “you’re too cute. i’m keeping you.” ⟶ tries to keep a straight face but bursts into laughter when you catch him staring. ⟶ complains jokingly, “you’re going to give me a heart attack with that cuteness.” ⟶ encourages your cute behavior, saying, “don’t ever change. it’s perfect.”

yeo ♥ sang

⟶ quietly stares at you with a small smile, occasionally muttering, “so cute.” ⟶ pretends to be unbothered but blushes furiously when you catch him staring. ⟶ gently pokes your cheeks and murmurs, “i don’t think this is fair.” ⟶ buys you matching items, like plushies or keychains, because he loves seeing you happy. ⟶ when you’re being especially cute, he hides his face in his hands, saying, “you’re killing me.” ⟶ tries to tease you, but his soft voice gives away how much he’s enjoying it. ⟶ loves watching you get excited over little things and secretly takes pictures of those moments. ⟶ often uses your cuteness as a reason to spoil you. “how could i ever say no to that face?” ⟶ gives you his hoodie, just to see how adorable you look drowning in it. ⟶ sometimes tells the members, “they’re too cute. what do i do?”

san ♥

⟶ dramatically clutches his chest and exclaims, “i’m not strong enough for this!” ⟶ squeezes you in tight hugs and says, “you’re like a teddy bear. so squishy!” ⟶ constantly tells you how adorable you are, no matter what you’re doing. ⟶ pinches your cheeks gently while giggling, “so cute, it hurts.” ⟶ acts jealous if you’re being cute with the other members, saying, “that’s my cuteness!” ⟶ shows you off to everyone, bragging about how “the cutest person in the world” is his. ⟶ whines playfully when you’re cute during serious moments. “how am I supposed to focus now?” ⟶ randomly bursts into song about how cute you are, complete with dramatic gestures. ⟶ insists on taking selfies with you every time you do something adorable. ⟶ calls you his “weakness” and dramatically pretends to faint when you do aegyo.

min ♥ gi

⟶ laughs and squeezes you to his chest uncontrollably whenever you do something cute, sometimes until tears form. ⟶ ruffles your hair constantly, calling you his “little fluff.” ⟶ teases you about how small you are compared to him but secretly adores it. ⟶ tries to mimic your cute expressions but ends up making you laugh instead. ⟶ randomly picks you up and spins you around, saying, “i can’t help it — you’re too cute!” ⟶ constantly compliments you, saying, “you’re like a real-life cartoon character.” ⟶ pretends your cuteness “annoys” him but can’t stop smiling. ⟶ buys you snacks or small gifts just to keep seeing your excited reactions. ⟶ gushes about you to his members, saying, “they’re so cute, i don’t know what to do!” ⟶ like yeosang, always gives in to your requests because, as he says, “how can i say no to that face?”

woo ♥ young

⟶ playfully scolds you for being “too cute,” saying, “this is illegal!” ⟶ mimics your cute behavior but makes it extra dramatic for laughs. ⟶ pretends to faint or clutch his heart every time you do something adorable. ⟶ constantly calls you pet names like “cutie pie” or “baby.” ⟶ shows off your cuteness to everyone, saying, “look at them! aren’t they the cutest?” ⟶ takes countless candid pictures of you and saves them in a special album. ⟶ whines jokingly when you’re cute, saying, “you’re going to ruin me!” ⟶ pulls you into playful dances just to see you smile and giggle. ⟶ teases you, “you’re lucky i love you, or i’d be jealous of how cute you are.” ⟶ admits in quieter moments, “i never thought someone could make me this soft.”

jong ♥ ho

⟶ tries to act unaffected but ends up smiling every time you’re cute. ⟶ gently pokes your cheek and says, “you’re not supposed to be this cute, you know.” ⟶ loves teasing you about your cuteness but secretly thinks it’s the best thing about you. ⟶ randomly sings for you when he’s overwhelmed by your adorableness. ⟶ pretends to be “tough,” saying, “cute things don’t work on me,” but folds instantly. ⟶ often shakes his head in disbelief and says, “what am i going to do with you?” ⟶ buys you little treats or gifts, claiming, “i couldn’t resist because it’s cute like you.” ⟶ protectively hovers around you, saying, “you’re too cute to handle the world alone.” ⟶ laughs when you try to be serious because look adorable while doing it. ⟶ although always admits, “i don’t think i’ll ever get used to how cute you are.”

notes: i’m actually against doing the same trope for multiple groups, but if this is something you guys like then i might do it for my other groups too!

[yuvany]

HEART SHAPED EYES

꒰ 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 when they're caught admiring you ꒱

OT7 ENHYPEN x f ! reader CONTENT / WARNING(S) fluff WORD COUNT : 976 CHECK BOX !!

don't forget to reblog or like if you liked this !

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

"You look like a fool, Heeseung." His friend, Riki commented with a cackle and cheeky grin. "You don't get it, you're too young." Heeseung snaps back, his eyes still trailing your figure as you walk around the library with your friends whilst looking at books, giggling amongst yourselves. "If you really love her, just go and confess." Heeseung shakes his head with a click of his tounge. "I can't." "Then don't stare at her like you two are already together." Riki rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers in his face to wake his friend from his trance that you had unintentionally set him under. "I'm not staring!" He calls out, a bit too loud, accidentally making you and your friends' heads turn to him.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

He had stayed behind after their training session to 'catch-up' on his own. The others believed him and told him goodnight before heading to their own rooms. Jay hums to himself and groove along to the songs he had been singing. Jay takes a deep breath and picks up his phone to send you a message. As he clicks the send button, he sprung up and throws his phone onto the bags for a cushioned landing before running around the studio. After calming down, he sits in front of the mirror and looks at himself before talking with himself. "y/n, you are so pretty and funny-" before he manages to finish, he hears the door creak open and Jake walks inside with a stunned face. "I heard that." "No you didn't." Jake then bursts out laughing.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

He had created a playlist just for you, though it was more like a playlist inspired or meant for you since he never had the courage to confess his feeling. The playlist was labelled with your initial and a heart, and set on private so that no one, absolutely no one, would figure out his little secret. Jake had been playing the same playlist for what seemed to be over a week by now, but he could never get tired of it. One day though, he shared his airpod with Sunghoon. "This song is nice. What is it called?" He asked, and Jake carelessly handed his phone over to Sunghoon who looked at the screen, his eyes noticing the title of the playlist. "Am I seeing this correct?" Jake starts getting sweaty and gulps. "What?" "The name of the playlist is very...how do I say this." Jake snatches his phone back, cutting him off.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

You had tagged along for their photoshoot to help when needed. It all seemed to go smoothly, everyone knowing what to do and the day's schedule. You had gone onto your phone, trying to find something to entertain you when Sunghoon walks up to you. He clears his throat nervously. You look up and raise an eyebrow. "Hey y/n." Sunghoon stands there awkwardly with his hands on the sides of his body. "Hi Hoon. Need something?" You ask. "Could you help me with this tie, please." He says and hands you a navy and white striped tie. "Of course." You smile, and stand up from your seat. As you tie it around his neck, his eyes are glued to your face and slowly trail down to your lips. Of course Jake had to bump into his shoulder just then and give him a smirk.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

Everyone was gathered behind the scene, you as their special guest and vip to be able to support them from behind the stage. Everyone poses at the sound of their manager counting down and then the camera snaps. The two youngest run over and inspect the photo closely before calling the rest over as well. You take a quick glance at it and approve of it. "Could you send it to me later, please?" You ask, and they nod. You then take a look at the time and say farewell because you need to be part of the crowd, and they let you go after handshakes and hugs. "Sunoo, look here." Riki taps Sunoo on the shoulder and points to him in the photo where he is looking at something. "What is it?" Sunoo asks, and Jungwon who at first was confused finally seemed to connect the dots and balled up in laughter. Riki's pointer travles to where Sunoo's eyes are, and they led to you.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

"You're doing it again." Sunoo sighs from beside him. Jungwon looks at him puzzled and then turn around again, trying to remember what he was doing. "Doing what?" He asks. Sunoo diverts his eyes over to you before looking at him again. When Jungwon doesn't get it, Sunoo repeats it again, but a lot faster and aggrevated. Sunoo sighs before leaning over to whisper to Jungwon, "You've been staring at her for a while. Again." When Sunoo parts he sees that Jungwon's eyes have been connected with you again. "So?" He asks. "So...it's creepy." Sunoo wrinkles his forehead in confusion and looks inbetween you and Jungwon before groaning and giving up.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

When rehearsing, Riki finds himself turing to you for feedback and opinions even though he is a lot more of an exppert when it comes to dancing than you. "It literally looks perfect, not sure what input I should make?" You comment, shifting your weight from one leg to another as you speak with him, your eyes shifting around the room's ceiling. "Really? Thanks." He says and spins around, letting you be for a while. As he is faced away from you, he has a grin on his face. The rest of his group members stare at him with wide eyes as they look around to see if anyone else was seeing what they were seeing. "What?" Riki hisses after noticing. "You're lovetsruck and it shows bro."

[writersdrug]

I need, need need neeeeed to know who you would picture bar owner price with 😩 picturing bar owner price has me week in the knees. I need more, how would he be around the bar when he was there? Supporting, bossy,silly? The possibilities are endless. 🥰

I'm loving how people are requesting things for the rest of the 141!!

Bar Owner!Price isn't there every day, and most often not during the actual shift. He's there some mornings, already at his desk on the floor above the pub, setting up the next inventory order and dealing out everyone's tips before Simon climbs down from his flat on the third floor. They both grunt at each other, tired and in need of a hot breakfast and some tea.

He helps set up for the shift - he likes being in the kitchen with Soap. He feels bad the man is back there all by himself, even though he says he doesn't mind it. "I get to cuss 'n bitch all I want back 'ere, sir." Still, Price spends a majority of his time back there with him, prepping burger patties and making sure everything is stocked and ready. Gets on his case about updating the menu, but Soap insists the customers like it the way it is.

Price makes an appearance on the floor every now and then, opting to help run food or bartend on the busier nights. He checks in with the regulars, leaning his forearms on the bar with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, laughing and chatting with them and occasionally offering to refill their drinks. Simon grumbles quietly about him being in the way, but Price doesn't take it to heart.

He doesn't stay late. John isn't that old, but he likes to be back at home by a decent hour. One ruined sleep schedule and he's a shot for the rest of the week. He likes to get back to his flat, make himself a sandwich and pour himself some whiskey, and be on on his sofa and reading his book no later than ten in the evening. Routines have always been a part of his military career, and what can he say? Old habits really fo die hard.

Then you came along.

You didn't just rock Simon's world - you'd gotten Price, too. Though introductions could have been smoother (you nearly beat him with a keg when he came in through the back door and scared you), he's grown fond of you. First, as a hard worker and go-getter; then, as a pretty little waitress with a dazzling smile that likes to keep him on his toes. You love poking fun at him, calling him "bossman" or "barmaster" (doesn't make sense to him, since he's hardly behind the bar - but he finds it cute). You tease him for the way he runs your food, then gets stuck at the table for five minutes just chatting up the customers. You ask him things like, "Who do you prefer, Cardi B or Nicki Minaj?" And laugh when he just stares at you with a furrowed brow. He'll happily let you tease him for being an "old" man just to hear your laughter.

Then Simon sent that photo in the group chat, and Price felt something stir in his chest: looking at you, posing all prettily for your picture, working to push your little idea out there and bring in a crowd. He's impressed, but he's also intrigued. He's got his sights on you, and he's dying to figure out more about his waitress.

"'S the post making any headway?" He asks one night, leaning on the bar next to where you sit. Your tips are finished, money waded into the pocket of your apron as you scroll on your phone, sipping on a screwdriver.

"Kinda..." You mumble, a pout on your face, creasing the skin between your eyebrows. "People are seeing it, and there are a few likes, but no one's really engaging. Not sure if this will do well."

Price hums thoughtfully, looking at your lips while you stare at your screen. He's holding back the urge to lean in and take a whiff of your perfume, afraid it might seem just a bit too strange. "Have you tried promoting it?"

You look at him, laying your phone on the bar top. "Well... I could, but..." You wanted to finish with 'it would cost money'. But then, you'd be insinuating that you expected him to pay you. You could boost the post yourself, but you'd rather not spend money on something that might flop.

"'S there a problem?" Price asked, leaning in closer to you.

"I mean... promoting a post costs some money. Like, for it to be advertised to five hundred people, you'd pay around one fifty. And I think, depending on how far you wanted the post to reach - like, literally, how big of a geographic area - that would cost even more."

Price chuckles. "You do realize how much business you've brought in since you've joined the team, hmm?"

That makes your cheeks warm, pressing your lips into a line to avoid grinning like an idiot at the compliment. "I mean... sure..."

"Go upstairs to the office and get my wallet." he says, standing up from his seat at the bar.

You watch with a stupefied expression as he walks to the POS and prints some blank receipt paper. "You- you mean it? Are you sure?"

He sits on a barstool near the kitchen door. "Wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. Hurry up- before I change my mind."

You don't need to be told twice. You drop your phone onto the bar and bolt towards the stairs - you stop yourself, running back to where Price sits and hugging him from behind. He lets out a surprise grunt as you do your best to smother him.

"You're the best boss ever!" you squeal. Then, just like that - you're off to the office upstairs. He preens over the compliment as he hears you leaping two steps at a time.

"Be careful." he calls over his shoulder. He sits there a moment, staring at the paper in front of him. He's surprised he hadn't accidentally thrown you off of him purely out of instinct, but he can't say he isn't absolutely delighted by the hug. It lingers in his mind, his chest still remembering your arms around him. He shakes his head, reaching forward to grab a pen from behind the bar.

His eyes meet Simon's - the man is glaring daggers, his head framed by the window in the kitchen door, mask hanging from his ear. His lips are pulled down into quite possibly the angriest frown Price has ever seen. His nostrils flare as he exhales - Price wonders what sort of insults are flying through the bartender's head right now.

He glares right back. If Simon wants something, he'll give it to him. But he'll make him ask for it, like any normal human being. John isn't going to surrender just because Ghost is huffing and puffing, expecting his boss to back away from you just because he's stomping his foot and looking menacing. But how can he be sure that Simon really wants you, more than he thinks Price deserves you, if the lad won't say anything? It's only reasonable, right?

"If you want something, Simon, say something." Price calls out, never backing down from Simon's jealous gaze.

He huffs again and disappears from the kitchen window. Price can hear shuffling and banging, followed by Soap's irritated voice: "Oi, I got it! Get yourself outta my kitchen n' go your own shite, 'fore you break my stuff."

Price sighs, scribbling down some numbers on the paper in front of him. He'll cave, eventually.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Malleus Draconia: Made Up

… Why does Malleus continue to have some of the most “hey are u lost bbg” facial expressions + poses ever on his initial birthday card artworks… 💀

He really looks like his mom when his hair is all pinned back like in his alt and Groovy look. xbjsbsjww The makeup products he’s using… They look like Giorgio Armani 💰

Rise and Shine!

Humans were blessed with two hands with which to do all of their work. Malleus Draconia had no need for either of his.

Lipstick, liquid eyeshadow, and finishing powder lifted into the air, glowing an eerie green. They uncapped and began applying themselves, gliding easily across his lips, painting his lids, and patting down his pale skin. Already, a cloth was busy polishing his horns, and a brush ran through his hair. A mirror, magically suspended before him, displayed his regal visage--a work of art slowly coming into its peak form.

You had heard Scarabia's vice dorm leader mention that he used magic to do his hair--a complex, precise process--but had never in your life witnessed a show like this. You clapped for Malleus, as if a spectator that had just seen a most wonderous trick.

He cut you a curious look. "May I ask why the applause, child of man?"

"It's just so cool seeing you use your magic," you replied truthfully. "There's so many things happening at once, it's hard to know where to keep my eyes. You're really amazing!"

There was a sound akin to a stifled chortle. These, you had grown accustomed to.

"You never cease to surprise. This is but a modicum of what I am capable of." He almost seemed to pout as he said it, as if itching to demonstrate the full extent of his powers. Wanting praise for something more.

"Oh, trust me. I know you are--but it's nice to see the Malleus Draconia using his magic to do normal, everyday stuff too." You grinned, ducking behind him to peek into his mirror. Your gazes met in the sparkling glass. "I wish everyone could see this."

"It is hardly a matter of importance to share the details of my morning routine with the masses. Besides, Grandmother would no doubt grant me a thorough scolding for allowing myself to be seen in such an improper state.”

He yawned, and a hand moved to cover his mouth, where you caught a glimpse of pointed canines. A rare moment of cuteness, of vulnerability. A side of himself kept private. Such a mundane thing--it reminded you that he, too, was but a student, preparing to tackle another day.

"Maybe not, but then again… maybe they'd see what I see too."

You quirked a brow. "And what is it that you see?"

"That you're not as scary as whatever scary made-up version of yourself they have in their heads. It's not all doom and gloom, wrath and lightning. You're someone that laughs and cries too."

"... Do they have that impression of me?" Malleus brought a hand to his chin. "Odd. When I last conversed with a peer of mine, they were so elated to be in my presence that they fainted on the spot. Lilia commended me for making such a strong impression on them."

"Erm... Lilia might not be the best judge for that." You poked at the corners of your mouth. "You have a nice smile, so how about showing it more? That might draw people to you."

"Hmmm. Like this, perhaps?"

He attempted to imitate you. The result was an awkward facsimile of your smile. Not quite the same curve, and with the tips of his fangs poking out. His eyes, still ominous.

Clumsy, but a little dangerous.

Your heart sprouted wings and fluttered. “It’s a good start! You’ll get the hang of it with more practice.”

Malleus sighed, and at once, the items that had been hovering around him collapsed along with his breath. “This is a conundrum. As a public figure and representative of my country, it’s imperative that I maintain my reputation.”

The fluttering in your chest settled like a stone sinking into the bottom of a lake. A sudden weight, a sadness, sitting in your stomach. He cut a gallant figure--but without the fairy lights and fire, he was but a pitiful creature trapped within stone walls.

Lonely and misunderstood.

Without a word, you slipped a hand into his. Malleus felt cold to the touch, like some long-forgotten relic dug up from some ruins.

His eyes shot wide open with alarm. "What are you..."

"Let's walk to class like this," you suggested softly. "I know you wouldn't harm me. If everyone else can see that... they'd understand, right?"

Shock flooded Malleus's face. Then, like a flash of lightning and a fleeting bellow of thunder, it was over, replaced by the faintest chuckle.

"... Very well." He squeezed your hand, the motion sending sparks of electricity through you. "I would not be opposed to this. If they are to weave tall tales, then all we must do is flip the script and write a story of our own to combat theirs."

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (03)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 8.1k words (get ready for #reallove)

Aliyah's Notes: whats that one saying? rainbows before the storm or wtv tf.

You didn’t believe in hatred.

Dislike? Sure. Irritation? Absolutely. But hatred was for people with time to waste, and in your world, every second was precious. Even now, as you posed under the bright lights of your latest Chanel photoshoot, your mind wandered to the few people you disliked.

Rude stylists, overly critical photographs, maybe a couple of models who thought being catty made them superior—but hate? No, that wasn’t your style.

You were in the middle of changing poses when your phone loudly buzzed on the nearby table. You ignored it at first, moving your chin slightly as the photographer directed you. You could answer it later.

“Gorgeous, Y/N! Hold that pose… yeah, just like that!” the photographer called out, camera clicking away.

The phone buzzed again, more insistent this time. You shifted your weight to one side, flipping your hair for the next shot. But the third buzz was enough to make you sigh.

“Alright, take five!” the photographer announced, waving his assistant over.

You stepped down from the set and grabbed your phone, frowning when you saw Rafe Cameron on the screen. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you swiped to answer.

“Finally answering my calls, sweetheart?” his voice came through, cocky and irritatingly smooth.

“Rafe, I’m working,” you replied, as you pulled your robe around yourself. “Not everyone gets paid to play with a ball.”

“Work, huh? I thought posing in front of a camera was more of a hobby.”

“You’re so funny,” you said flatly, glancing back at the crew who were resetting the lights. “What do you want?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I’m taking you out tonight.”

You snorted. “Excuse me? Did I miss the part where I agreed to go anywhere with you?”

“You didn’t,” he replied, completely unfazed. “That’s what I’m fixing right now.”

You raised an eyebrow, even though he couldn’t see it. “You don’t ‘fix’ things with me, Rafe. You ask, I decide.”

“Is that our dynamic?” Rafe’s tone dripped with amusement. “You sure? Because I remember you agreeing to marry me.”

“That’s business,” you shot back. “Don’t confuse it with me actually wanting to spend time with you.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, clearly not buying it. “Business or not, we’ve got a public to convince. Tonight, we’re making our debut as a couple. We wouldn’t want the media thinking you’re too good for me, would we?”

“I am too good for you,” you replied smoothly, your lips quirking up. “But go on.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Dinner at La Belle, 8 PM. Be ready. I’ll pick you up.”

You glanced at the time. Seriously? “Wait, how do you know where I live?”

“I have my sources. I’m a basketball player; I can afford to have a few eyes on my future wife.”

“Creep,” you mumbled, ignoring the flutter of annoyance in your stomach. “And what makes you think I’m free tonight?”

“Because you’re talking to me instead of saying no.”

“I haven’t said yes, either.”

“You will, though. I can hear it in your voice.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, a smug edge in his tone. “But I’m also persistent.”

You exhaled through your nose, staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror as the makeup artist approached with a fresh brush. The look you gave yourself was somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Fine.”

There was a pause, and you could almost hear the smirk stretching across his lips. “See you tonight.”

Before you could respond, he hung up, leaving you scowling at the screen.

“Everything okay?” your stylist asked, glancing at your reflection with a raised brow. She has been listening in.

You plastered on a smile. “Yeah… Just…  a guy, you know.”

She snorted. “Sounds like he’s already giving you headaches.”

“Don’t even get me started.”

Your thoughts swirled as you prepared to finish the photoshoot. Rafe’s voice still rang in your eyes. Dinner at La Belle? You weren’t sure why he frustrated you so much—you weren’t like this. Being optimistic and smiley was your trademark, it was who you were, but whenever Rafe was mentioned or around he made you snappy and full of attitude… and you didn’t know why. 

Hours passed in a blur of flashing cameras and outfit changes, and soon enough, it was nearing 7:30. Maya, your stylist, was packing up the last of your things when she gave you a look. “You better get going if you’re gonna make that date.”

“You’re right,” you muttered, checking your phone for the first time in hours. “Oh my God! I have 30 minutes—I gotta go bye, Maya.”

“Bye, girl,” she laughed and waved. “I hope you get dicked—”

“Lalalalala,” you screamed and ran away.

You slipped into your black trench coat and hopped in the car. You texted Rafe.

You: “I might be late. I’m sorry.”

Rafe: “What happened?”

You: “Shooting went overtime.”

Rafe: “Okay.”

You: “You should’ve picked a later time.”

Rafe: “Just get here in one piece. I like my women alive.”

You rolled your eyes, like every time with him, but couldn’t help but smile at his sarcastic tone. You fished out your small makeup bag and quickly powdered your face, adding concealer, mascara, blush, eyeliner, and lipstick. Now, you were one step ahead—ready to slip into an outfit as soon as you got home.

The car pulled up to your apartment, and you rushed into your apartment, your heart raced. You threw open your closet, eyeing the racks of beautiful dresses, each one tempting. 

You finally chose an elegant, sleek black dress that hugged your curves flawlessly, the smooth fabric flowing over your body with a low, scooped neckline. The rich black material shimmered under the light, emphasizing your figure with every movement. In a rush, you worked mousse through your hair, then applied a smoky eye that intensified your gaze, blending shades of charcoal and bronze. The look was bold, and perfectly matched the confidence you were determined to exude tonight.

Your phone buzzed.

Rafe: “You taking too long. I’m coming up.”

A series of sharp knocks echoed through your apartment, almost making you drop your phone. You whipped your head towards the door, quickly adjusting the strap of your dress as you glanced at the clock. 8:20—fuck!

“Give me a minute!” you shouted, frantically slipping on your heels. Your heart raced as you grabbed your earrings, juggling them in your hand while heading towards the door.

When you swung it open, Rafe stood on the other side, leaning casually against the doorframe, wearing that smirk that could only belong to him. His eyes immediately swept over your figure, starting at your legs, up to your waist, your exposed breasts, and finally your face. His gaze lingered, and though he didn’t say anything, the heat in his stare would’ve given you chills down your spine.

You didn’t notice. You were too busy hesitating on what to do with your hair.

“I am not ready yet,” you groaned, stepping aside to let him in. “I got home late, and I haven’t even had time to—ugh. I knew shooting was taking some time but I didn’t think it’d be this much. I’m sorry for making you wait. I swear I’m not usually like this—I hate being late.” You didn’t pause for a breath, just rambled on as you tossed the earrings on the coffee table and made a beeline for your room.

Rafe closed the door behind him, but his attention was fixed on you. He watched as you moved, the dress hugging your ass perfectly, accentuating your hurried movements. The sight of you—flustered, elegant, and completely unaware of his gaze—only deepened the smirk on his face.

“Nice place,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His gaze followed you down the hallway, where your bedroom was slightly ajar.

Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped through the threshold and followed you inside, finding you in your room—which was the perfect picture of chaos. Clothes were draped over the bed, shoes tossed in random covers, and a vanity table cluttered with makeup. It was the kind of organized mess that only you could make sense of.

Rafe leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, watching as you rifled through your vanity drawer for something. His eyes swept over the pastel-colored blankets and the flowery décor, stark contrasts to the girl who had been all sass and attitude with him up until now.

But he liked that. It turned him on, for some reason.

“I didn’t take you for the ‘pink floral everything’ type,” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

You shot him a glance through the mirror, briefly pausing from rummaging through your drawer. “And I didn’t take you for the ‘nosy guest who barges into rooms uninvited’ type,” you quipped, raising an eyebrow back at him. Your fingers grazed over a tube of lipstick, which you quickly uncapped and re-applied.

Rafe’s smirk only widened. “What can I say? I’m a man full of surprises.”

“Yeah, well, try surprising me by sitting quietly on my bed like a normal person,” you shot back, giving your lips one final press together before throwing the lipstick into the pile of clutter on your vanity.

Rafe made a show of glancing around your room. “I think ‘normal’ left the building when I saw this,” he said, gesturing to the soft pink pillows and floral patterns that clashed with the image you projected. “Didn’t peg you for the type to have a room that looks like a rom-com set.”

You turned, finally facing him fully, one hand on your hip. “Oh, look, a creep overanalyzing a girl’s bedroom.”

Rafe chuckled. “Just making an observation. It’s cute. A little... princessy for someone who tries to pretend she’s all tough, but hey, I can roll with it.”

You tried to fight the smile threatening to creep up. “First of all, I am tough. Secondly, I like pink, sue me.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said with a wink, his voice dropping a little lower. “You look good in pink.”

You scoffed and turned back to the mirror, fiddling with your dress. “You’re insane.”

Rafe just grinned, watching you trying so hard to look occupied, clearly flustered. “Probably, but I think you like that,” he said, his tone teasing. He stepped closer, now standing right behind you. His presence was warm, and his gaze never left your reflection.

You met his eyes in the mirror, your hands faltering with your hair as his intense gaze locked onto yours. The air between you thickened just a little, but you weren’t about to give in to his charm. “I don’t like anything that involves you, Cameron,” you said, but the words lacked the bite you intended.

He leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “I don’t believe you.”

The heat of his breath on your neck made your skin tingle, and for a brief second, you forgot what you were supposed to be doing. But then you snapped out of it, stepping away to grab your perfume from the vanity. “Well, believe this: we’re leaving in five minutes, and I still need to finish getting ready,” you said, your voice firm, though your cheeks betrayed you with a faint flush.

Rafe raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you finish...”

As you spritzed the perfume, you caught him eyeing you again, his gaze lingering on your tits. You couldn’t help but shake your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Eyes up here, Rafe.”

He shrugged, shameless as ever. “Can’t blame a guy for appreciating the view.” He paused for a beat, then added, “Besides, in five minutes, you’ll be mine for the night.”

You threw him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Creepy... This is just for show, remember?”

Rafe nodded, and as you finally slipped on your coat, he followed you toward the door, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, there was no hiding the smile. “Yup! Ready, Cameron.”

Rafe’s hand wrapped around your wrist just as you reached for the door, his touch firm but gentle enough to send a flicker of electricity up your arm. You turned, brow furrowed.

“What now?” you sighed, trying to sound annoyed.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. “You know what? I think we should practice.”

You blinked, trying to read his expression. “Practice?”

His gaze dipped to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah, practice… For when we’re in public,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, almost daring you to look away. “When we’re kissing… we wouldn’t want our kisses to look unconvincing, mmh?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, partly from surprise and partly to keep yourself from being completely thrown off by the heat in his stare. “You’re kidding.”

He raised an eyebrow, inching closer, the space between you shrinking until the scent of his cologne mixed with the tension already thick in the air. “Am I?” His voice was smooth, dripping with amusement, but beneath it, there was something else. Something far more dangerous.

Your breath hitched as you took a step back, your body colliding with the door. “You’re serious...”

Rafe’s smirk widened, but this time it was laced with something primal. “Yeah,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips were just a whisper away from yours. “You look so fucking good tonight, sweetheart.”

Your pulse raced, and for a split second, you considered pushing him away, but your body betrayed you. You stayed there, frozen in the moment, trapped by the intensity in his gaze, the closeness of his body.

Before you could even form a reply, he closed the distance, his lips pressing against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It wasn’t the playful, teasing peck you were expecting—it was deep, his hand sliding to the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was full of fire and heat, a simmering tension that had been building between the two of you since the moment you met.

Your mind went blank, the world outside disappearing as your lips moved against his, as though you had been kissing him forever. His fingers tightened on your waist, and a low moan escaped from the back of your throat, sending a wave of warmth through your entire body.

When you finally broke apart, your chest was heaving, and you could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours. You stared at him, wide-eyed, struggling to catch your breath. Rafe’s blue eyes were dark, his smile gone, replaced by a hungry look that made your stomach twist in knots.

“That was...” you trailed off, trying to find the right word. But nothing seemed to fit.

Rafe’s thumb brushed over your lower lip, wiping away some of your smeared lipstick. “For practice,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “You know… just in case.”

Your heart pounded in your ears, but your brain finally caught up. “Uh-huh,” you mumbled, still feeling the warmth of his thumb on your lip. “Just practice.”

You tried to step away, but his hand was still on your waist, holding you there, his thumb brushing the delicate skin of your hip as if testing the boundaries between you.

“You, uh…” Your voice wavered, and you blinked, trying to find something—anything—to cut through the tension. “You’ve also got lipstick all over you.”

Rafe’s lips twitched into a grin, though his eyes remained locked on yours, full of heat. “I do?”

You nodded, taking a breath to calm your racing pulse. “Here, let me…” Without thinking, you reached up and brushed your thumb across his lips, wiping away the smear of color.

It should’ve been innocent. It should’ve been nothing.

But the moment your thumb touched his lips, Rafe’s eyes darkened even more. He caught your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it gently but firmly, his gaze never leaving yours. The warmth of his skin seeped into you, and the atmosphere between you both thickened, the tension pulling tighter.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper aware of how close you were, how your bodies seemed to gravitate towards each other without you even realizing it. The way he was looking at you—like he wanted to devour you—it made you feel dizzy.

His voice was a low rasp when he finally spoke. “You’re killing me here.”

Your breath hitched at the huskiness in his tone, your stomach twisting with nerves and something else entirely. You tried to laugh it off, to shake the moment. “It’s just lipstick, Rafe.”

His thumb brushed over your pulse, the simplest touch sending sparks down your spine. “It’s not the lipstick,” he murmured, his eyes flicking back to your lips.

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperate to break the tension before you did something you’d regret. “You’re all cleaned up now, Romeo. We should go,” you said, your voice shaky but determined.

Rafe’s hand lingered a moment longer on your wrist, his gaze searching yours, as if considering whether or not to push further. But then he dropped your hand, stepping back with a slow, devilish grin. “Yeah,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “We should.”

You turned toward the door, your heart still racing as you tried to pull yourself together. But even as you reached for the handle, you felt his presence right behind you, his breath ghosting over the back of your neck, sending a shiver through your body.

“I like the dress, by the way,” his tone lighter now but still tinged with the lingering tension.

You glanced back at him. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes glinting as he opened the door for you. You stepped out into the hallway, your head still spinning from the kiss, from the way he looked at you, from everything. 

He followed closely behind, his presence lingering in the space around like shadows. The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and you stepped inside.

“That’s a nice place you’ve got, by the way,” he remarked, his tone casual.

You glanced at him sideways, unwilling to give him more than a passing look. “Thanks, but I’m sure you say that to all the girls you visit uninvited.”

He smiled. “Only the ones I’m marrying.”

“Look at me swooning,” you rolled your eyes as the elevator began its descent, the silence between you settling into something almost comfortable.

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped out quickly, determined to put some space between you and him. But even as you reached the front entrance of your building, Rafe was right behind you, his hand lightly brushing against your back as he guided you toward the black car waiting at the curb.

“Such a gentleman,” you whispered sarcastically.

“I try,” he shot back, opening the car door for you. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he added, “Besides, it’s part of my job as your husband to be a gentleman towards you, right?”

You slid into the car, crossing your legs as you settled into the plush leather seat. “We’re not married yet, you do know that, right?”

“But we will be, so what’s the difference?” he said, slipping into the seat next to you. His arm stretched out along the back of the seat, brushing against your shoulder.

“Well, there’s a big difference actually…” you whispered more to yourself, smoothing down your dress as you glanced out the window, trying to ignore the way his proximity made your pulse quicken.

As the car pulled away from the curb, silence filled the space between you. You weren’t sure if it was the lingering effects of the kiss or the fact that Rafe was sitting so close, but the air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.

“So, we’re going to La Belle, huh?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah, you ever been there before?”

You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “The five-star restaurant in New York City where all the celebs go to get photographed? Of course, I’ve been there.”

Rafe grinned. “Perfect spot for our big debut, don’t you think?”

“You did your big one, bravo!” you nodded with a smile.

The car pulled to a stop outside of the restaurant, and you felt your heart skip a beat at the sight of the flashing lights. Paparazzi filled the sidewalk, their cameras already trained on the car. You took a steadying breath, feeling Rafe’s eyes on you.

“Ready?” he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and something else—concern, maybe.

You let a truthful smile spread across your lips as you met his gaze. “Fuck yeah!”

He laughed, and for a moment, you felt his hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of reassurance. The car door opened, and before you could second-guess anything, you felt yourself being gently tugged out into the swirl of flashing cameras, Rafe’s hand warm and steady around yours.

“Rafe! Y/N! Over here!”

“Look this way!”

“Is she your new girlfriend?”

Questions flew around, shouted from all the angles as you made your way toward the entrance. You kept your chin up, smile fixed, the years of modeling training kicking in to keep your expression calm and collected. Meanwhile, Rafe had his arm draped around your waist, his casual confidence almost comforting.

Inside the restaurant, the lighting was dim, intimate—a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The maître led you to a private table in the back corner, and as you slid into your seat, the reality of the situation settled back in.

“I felt like I almost died out there,” you said with a laugh as you glanced at the menu.

“I thought that was fun,” he said, picking up his own menu. “them thinking you’re my girlfriend when you’re about to become my wi—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, a familiar broke through his voice. “Oh, what a surprise, Y/N.”

You froze, looking up to see none other than Alina Ivanov, her polished smile almost too bright as she approached your table. Dressed in a sleek, form-fitting red dress and with her hair swept back in a low chignon, she looked like she belonged here. And, as always, her appearance felt like a subtle reminder of the rivalry she’d always tried to stir between you.

“Alina,” you said, keeping your voice polite but cool. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Rafe’s gaze flickered between you two, sensing the tension immediately. “Friend of yours?”

Alina flashed him a charming smile before turning back to you, her expression a picture of innocence. “We’re worked together a few times,” she said, not missing a beat. “I was just so surprised to see you here. It’s not every day you bring a date to places like this… or just bring dates, period.”

You kept your smile polite, though your jaw was tight. “Unlike you, am I right?”

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment too long before shifting back to Rafe. “And who might you be?”

“Rafe Cameron,” he said, his tone smooth but his gaze sharp.

“I was joking. I know who you are, silly,” Alina said, chuckling softly. “My brothers are huge fans of yours. Always telling me how you’re the one to watch on the court.”

He offered a polite nod. “Glad to hear it.”

There was a beat of silence before Alina leaned in, her eyes glinting as she looked back at you. “So, Y/N, how’s everything going with… your work?” Her tone was light, casual, but the question felt like a dig.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Busy as ever.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” she replied, her smile widening. “Things have been so competitive lately. But I’m sure you’re managing.” She tilted her head, her expression turning almost pitying. “Just let me know if you need any tips on balancing everything. We know what happened the last time that you were too stressed.”

For the first time in a long while, she left you speechless. Words hung on your lips, but nothing came out. A slight tremor shook your body as memories flooded back. Alina mentioning that moment…it was like a punch to the gut. You’d convinced yourself everyone had forgotten, buried it in the past. But of course, she hadn’t. How could she? It was the most humiliating, traumatizing experience of your career.

Rafe noticed the shift immediately. He always looked forward to your sharp retorts, the way you never missed a beat with your quick-witted comebacks. But now? He saw something different—a rawness, a vulnerability he hadn’t seen in you before. His chest tightened, a protective instinct flaring up, urging him to shield you from the wound Alina had reopened. He didn’t know what she meant, didn’t need to know. Your face told him everything.

Before Alina could twist the knife any deeper, Rafe stepped in, his voice low but steady, the edge unmistakable.

"Seems like she’s been doing just fine on her own," he cut in, his gaze hardening. "Haven't you seen her work lately?"

His tone was firm, no hint of the usual lightness. He didn’t look at you—he didn’t need to—but you could feel the solidarity in his words, a silent reassurance that said, I’ve got you.

Alina’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered, brushing off his words with a delicate laugh. “Yeah, of course! I mean, I’d be hard-pressed to miss it with her face practically everywhere.” She turned to you, her gaze sharpening just a fraction. “Lucky for you, the timing’s been in your favor, huh?”

You clenched your teeth, trying to stop the trembles in your body. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

Her smile stretched a little too wide as she inclined her head. “Oh, I totally get it, babe. Well, enjoy your night, you two.” She cast a lingering, almost possessive look at Rafe, her gaze dragging over him as though he were something she intended to claim. “And, Rafe, it was lovely meeting you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other soon.”

Without missing a beat, Rafe’s gaze stayed anchored on you as he replied, “Doubt it.”

Alina’s expression faltered, again, before she flashed a final smile and melted back into the crowd, her perfume leaving a sickly-sweet trace in her wake. The silence that followed felt dense, almost stifling, and you could still feel the sting of her words hanging in the air like smoke. You exhaled, trying to let go of the tension that had coiled in your shoulders.

Rafe’s gaze shifted, catching yours with an intensity that softened as he studied your face. “She’s... really friendly, isn’t she?” he said with a dry chuckle.

You let out a scoff, unable to resist. “That’s one way to put it.”

Rafe smirked, his eyebrows lifting. “She always this nice?”

“Only when there’s an audience.”

Rafe’s expression shifted, his humor fading into something more thoughtful. He leaned forward, just close enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne, and his eyes softened as they searched yours. “If she ever gives you trouble, you let me know. I’ve got no problem shutting her up.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected note of protectiveness in his voice. The way he looked at you was something new, something unfamiliar—and it stirred something you hadn’t anticipated. “Thanks, Cameron, but I can handle the Russian princess.”

“I know you can,” he replied, his voice low, every word rich with unspoken promise. “But you’ve got a husband now to help you with these… things”

His words hung in the air, sparking a warmth in your chest that surprised you. This side of him—serious, protective, and entirely focused on you—was so different from the cocky charm he usually wore like armor. For a moment, the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you and the quiet charge humming between your gazes.

A server approached, breaking the lingering silence as they took your orders. Once they left, quiet settled between you and Rafe again, pressing down as the sounds of clinking silverware and murmured conversations filled the space around you. For a moment, you let yourself tune into the chatter of the other tables, realizing how strange it was to be here with someone you hardly knew. Sure, you knew what the media had to say about Rafe Cameron—most people did. 

You thought back to what you actually knew about him. He was 25, a talented star on an NBA team, with a cocky smile. The media painted him as the consummate playboy, a regular at exclusive clubs, and someone who, judging by the number of girls he was photographed kissing, had perfected the art of fleeting connections. And yes, the tabloids had mentioned his dreamy abs.

It was a curious thought: this man across from you was, somehow, your future husband. Yet, aside from the stories, the rumors, and those dark blue eyes that sparked whenever he looked your way, what else did you know about him? You felt a pang of embarrassment.

Maybe it was because of the arrangement, maybe it was the fleeting glances across magazine covers and sports sites, but all you truly knew about Rafe Cameron could barely fill a sentence.

Finally, you couldn’t help it, you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table as you studied him. He looked too comfortable, too at ease, like he belonged here. He was the perfect enigma: superstar athlete and notorious heartbreaker, with eyes that seemed to hold every secret and none at all.

“So, um, Rafe, what do you know about me?”

He stilled, his easygoing expression faltering for a second. You’d caught him off guard. “What do I know about you?” his fingers wrapped around the glass, as he searched for your face. “I mean, I know what people say. What I’ve seen.”

You tilted your head, waiting. “Which is?”

“That you’re the golden girl, flawless. Beautiful and nice, sure, but… it’s more than that,” his eyes traced your face, almost tender, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “People can’t help but be in awe of you.”

A quiet breath escaped you, surprised by the way his words lingered, settling like an unexpected weight in your chest. Awe of you—it wasn’t something anyone had ever said to your face, and it sounded both charming and absurd coming from him. But something about the way he said it made you pause. You couldn’t tell if he was mocking you or if, perhaps, he actually meant it.

“So, I’m a tabloid fantasy, then?” you teased softly, trying to keep the edge of doubt in your voice.

He chuckled, but his gaze remained steady, as if searching for something hidden beneath your smile. “No, you’re more than that,” he murmured. “You’re the woman everyone wants to know, but it seems like nobody really does. Even some of my teammates can’t stop talking about you… some of them are practically in love with you. They think you’re beautiful and—”

“And would you agree?” you prompted, you didn’t why you asked. You didn’t care what he thought of you.

He hesitated, his eyes tracing over your features in a way that felt too intimate for someone you’d barely spent any time with. “You're not bad, but if you toned down the attitude and that smart mouth of yours, I might just find you beautiful.” You laughed and playfully flipped him off, earning a chuckle from him. But then his expression shifted, and he grew serious again. “But you’re nice, that’s what I wanted to say. Like, actually nice. Not the superficial stuff everyone says to stay in the good graces of the media… probably like that Alina girl who definitely pretends to be nice.”

You scoffed, but your heart betrayed you, thudding a little faster under his gaze. “Nice? You think I’m nice?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. His eyes moved slowly over your face, as if trying to peek back a layer, to see the person beneath the perfect photos and poised interviews. “You… you’ve got more edge than what people think, but still nice, you know.”

His confidence was intoxicating, an irresistible blend of cockiness and charm that made it nearly impossible to ignore the urge to close the distance between you and kiss him senseless. Tonight, he looked ridiculously good—his light yellow dress shirt with a crisp white collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms in a way that only made you rub your thighs together. The way his black trousers hugged his figure and the subtle shine of his shine only added to the magnetic pull drawing you towards him.

A quiet stretched between you, heavy with unspoken tension, his words lingering in the air. He leaned back just enough, his guarded expression softened by the way his gaze stayed on you. “But what about you?” he asked, voice low and smooth. “What do you know about me, baby?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, watching him with newfound curiosity. “Honestly? Not much,” you admitted. “I know you’re 25, a famous basketball star,” you narrowed your eyes, watching the way his intense gaze never wavered from you. “You’re cocky—maybe a bit too cocky sometimes—and you love pushing people’s buttons. Especially mine. You probably like it, though, huh? Seeing how we'll react.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Go on…”

“And you’re a bit of a party animal. From all the photos out there, it seems like you’ve got a new girl on your arm every week. But despite that, you’re fiercely dedicated to your sport—and you’re damn good at it. The media practically worships every move you make on the court. That’s all I have on you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a glint of intrigue in his eyes as he leaned in, again. “And what’s your conclusion?” he asked, voice lower, as if this moment was just for the two of you.

“Not much,” you replied with a slight shrug. “I don’t know anything about you, Rafe—only the version everyone else sees.”

He breathed out slowly, his expression softening as he thought about your words. “So, we’re both just media fantasies,” he said, voice a quiet murmur. His fingers brushed against yours, the contact so subtle yet electric, igniting warmth that raced up your arm and made your heart pound a little faster.

“Maybe we are…” you replied softly, glancing down at his hand resting near yours on the table, close enough to close the gap between you. “But I guess if we’re planning on getting married and all, we should probably learn a bit more about each other, don’t you think?”

“Right.” His gaze softened, and a playful gleam flickered in his eyes. “So, what do you want to know?”

You tilted your head, unable to keep the teasing edge from your voice. “Honestly? If it were up to me, I’d probably prefer not to know a thing about you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Can’t believe no one ever warned me about that smart mouth of yours. Haven’t seen a single headline on it.”

A smirk spread across your lips. “I’m saving it for my husband,” you replied sweetly, watching his expression shift, a spark of something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

“Future husband,” he corrected with a soft smile, as if savoring the words.

“Future husband, that’s right,” you nodded. “So… I guess since we’re supposed to be newly dating, we should start with the basics, right? You know, things like your favorite color, your favorite movie…”

"That makes sense. So, my favorite color’s green, but not just any green—I’m talking deep green, like the kind you see in plants," he rambled. "And I guess my favorite movie’s probably ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’—"

"Oh, my God! Liking that movie is such a douchey choice," you teased, and he laughed along.

"Alright, then—what's your favorite movie, Miss Judgey McJudgerson?"

"I'm not judging—" he shot you a look and you sighed, nodding in surrender. "Alright, fine, maybe I judged a little. But can you blame me? Anyway," you continued, a spark of excitement in your tone, "a movie I can watch on repeat? ‘Crazy, Stupid, Love’. And don't even think about making fun of it, because it’s honestly a masterpiece."

He tilted his head, feigning offense. "Oh, so ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ isn’t a masterpiece? Is that what you're saying?"

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms as you leaned back. "Look, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying all the jerks are obsessed with that movie."

His smirk grew, eyes glinting with challenge. "The jerks, huh?" His brows raised, his gaze holding yours. "So, I’m a jerk?"

You shrugged with a mischievous smile. "If the shoe fits."

“So,” he said, “you’re telling me my taste in movies is a red flag?”

You smirked, meeting his gaze. “I mean, ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ is practically a requirement for men with commitment issues. It’s the kind of movie someone watches to feel cool, you know?”

“Ouch.” He raised his glass, looking amused. “So what does ‘Crazy, Stupid, Love’ say about you? That you’re a sucker for impossible relationships and grand romantic gestures?”

You feigned sigh, taking the glass of wine in your hands. “Maybe. Or maybe it just says I have taste,” you glanced at him over the rim of your glass, a smile teasing at the corners of your mouth. 

“Alright, alright. Enough on how shitty my taste in movies is,” he moved his hands dismissively. “Let’s focus on whether the ‘golden girl’ is a hopeless romantic. Are you?”

“Depends on who’s asking.”

“Your husband’s asking.”

You held yourself back from correcting him, and just scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far. I just have a soft spot for movies with good storytelling, good humor, and good looking white boys.”

“You know, I might actually have a soft side for sappy movies too,” he shot back, his smile widening.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Right, and I’m the fucking queen of England.”

“What? Why? I could like them, you know.”

“Rafe, I bet you’d hate anything with a happy ending—”

“Holy shit! Rafe! My fucking dude on a date?”

The moment shattered as a voice cut through the air, loud and incredulous. Both of you turned your heads to see a tall blond guy wavering through tables with a grin as wide as the room itself.

“Topper,” Rafe muttered with a sigh and a look that bordered on agony.

“Rafe, my guy!” Topper laughed, eyes flickering between the two of you in delight. “I cannot believe my eyes. You—on a date? And with her?” He gestured to you, his excitement barely contained. “No offense, beautiful, but I thought Rafe’s only serious relationship was with basketball. You’re like a mythical creature right now.”

You fought back a laugh as Rafe shot Topper a glare, but the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“Top,” he sighed, “aren’t you supposed to be somewhere? Literally anywhere else?”

“Oh, hell no. This is a one-in-a-million chance. Besides, I have to see this through. Rafe Cameron actually out with a woman he didn’t meet at a club? Man, this is incredible.”

Rafe pressed his fingers to his temples, visibly restraining himself from shoving his teammate out. “I swear, I’m this close to throwing you out of here.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Topper said, clapping him on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. “Don’t be like that! I mean, I thought you were incapable of going on a real date, and here you are, actually acting all gentlemanly.” He glanced at you with a grin. “So, what’s it like dating Rafe? Has he tried any of his classic lines yet?”

You shrugged with a grin of your own. “If by classic lines, you mean being generally annoying? Then yes.”

Rafe raised his eyebrow, feigning offense. “Annoying? Really?”

“Am I wrong?” You met his gaze head-on, smirking. “Every time you speak, you’re trying to get under my skin—”

“Because I want to see what that smart mouth of yours will say back to me.”

Topper laughed, completely entertained, while you just shook your head, trying not to laugh. “So, I was right. You love riling people up just to see their reactions.”

He shook his head, eyes glinting. “Not people, sweetheart. Just you.”

Your cheeks warmed despite yourself, caught off guard by his focus. You quickly recovered, scoffing, “Oh, and that’s my cue to swoon, right?”

Rafe leaned back, his smirk victorious. “Whatever works.”

Topper threw his head back, laughing, as if he’d just won the best seat at the theater. “Oh, this is good. You guys… yeah, I’m getting popcorn next time.”

Rafe gave his friend one last pointed look, his eyes practically daring his friend to stick around. “I’m serious, Top. I’m here on an actual date, so if you want to keep your teeth intact, I’d suggest moving along.”

Topper raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning ear-to-ear. “Alrighty. But I’ve gotta say, I never thought I’d see the day you’d settle down—especially with someone who can actually keep you in line,” he gave you a wink. “Good luck, beautiful. You’ll need it with this one.”

With a final smile and a nod to you, Topper sauntered away, glancing back with an amused shake of his head as he left.

Rafe turned back to you, letting out an exasperated breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about him. Subtlety isn’t exactly his strong suit.”

You grinned. “Seems like he knows you pretty well, though. I’m actually surprised he didn’t say more.”

“Top’s just not used to seeing me on a date, that’s all. He’s right, though… this isn’t my usual scene,” his eyes traced over your face, lingering on the way you smiled. “But I’m getting married, so I gotta get used to it.”

The server returned with your orders, interrupting the moment. Rafe took a bite of his food and you did the same, each of you eating in a silence as the tension between you grew stronger. Finally, he spoke.

“So, back to this hopeless romantic thing you swear you’re not,” he began, his voice light but his gaze steady. “You say you’re not, but you can’t stop watching ‘Crazy, Stupid, Love’. Are you telling me you don’t want some big, dramatic love story? A guy standing in the rain, begging for a second chance?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off, though his question struck a nerve. “I mean… who wouldn’t want that? But not everyone’s looking for a grand gesture. Some of us just want someone real.”

A flicker of something flashed in his eyes. “Real, huh? So you’re looking for real?”

“Of course. That’s all anyone really wants, right?” You felt vulnerable, caught off guard by his interest in something deeper. “But real is hard to come by… especially when you’re both in the spotlight.”

Rafe’s smirk faded, and for a moment, he looked down, almost as if he were weighing your words. When he looked back up, his expression was softer, thoughtful in a way that felt almost too intimate for a first date. “Maybe that’s something we have in common then.”

Surprised, you blinked, watching as he traced the rim of his glass absently. You hadn’t expected him to say that. The Rafe you knew from headlines and public appearances was never the reflective type. And yet, here he was, letting down his guard, even if just a tiny bit.

“So, the basketball star has a soft side?” you teased, unable to resist breaking the tension. “Who would’ve guessed?”

His lips curved into a grin, smoldering. “Don’t go spreading that around. Gotta keep some mystery.”

You both continued eating in a comfortable rhythm, making light conversation about inconsequential things—places you’d been, places you still wanted to see. Each laugh that slipped out came a little easier, every smile more relaxed as you both unwound.

As the last plates were cleared and Rafe paid, you glanced over his shoulder and noticed a familiar face in the back of the restaurant. Alina Ivanov, was seated at a nearby table, staring at you both with a smirk that sent a chill down your spine. Instinctively, you looked away, pulse spiking with a mixture of irritation and unease. It felt as though you were being watched through a magnifying glass, judged, evaluated, and silently torn apart.

Rafe’s gaze followed yours, and his hand found the small of your back as he leaned in. “Don’t mind her. Let’s get out of here,” he said quietly, his voice a reassuring warmth in the sudden chill. He guided you to the door, ignoring Alina’s gaze as he led you out into the cool night air.

Outside, the city hummed around you, and Rafe’s hand lingered at your back, grounding you. The air was a welcome relief, a quiet reprieve from the intensity of the restaurant. When you reached his car, he opened the door for you, his gaze lingering on you with an unreadable intensity before he rounded the car to the driver’s side. It was a small gesture, yet oddly grounding, as if he knew exactly when to offer support without crowding you.

(The chauffeur left and let them the car.)

The car ride was a soft blur of city lights, fading into a serene silence. You leaned against the window, feeling the cool glass against your skin as you stared at the passing streets, bright with shop lights and late-night wanderers. But your mind wandered far from New York.

You thought of home—your home country, the land you hadn’t seen in far too long. Your heart ached for the family you had left behind, a pain that had quietly settled within you. You hadn’t been the perfect daughter, nor the obedient child they had wanted, but you missed them, missed your siblings. You wondered what they’d think if they saw you now—would they be proud? Or would they find this new life of yours too far from the one you left behind?

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the car slowing to a stop until Rafe’s voice broke the silence. “We’re here.”

Startled, you lifted your head, blinking as you recognized the familiar building. The faint neon sign from the bodega down the street cast a soft glow, painting the pavement in shades of blue and pink. You glanced at Rafe, his face softened in the gentle light, a calm patience in his expression as he looked at you.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said quietly, feeling a strange reluctance to leave the moment behind.

His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Anytime.” The two syllables held an unspoken promise, a rare gentleness that seemed almost out of place for him. He paused, watching you as if he wanted to say something more, but he merely gave a slight nod, lips curling in a faint smile.

You reached for the door, but his voice made you pause. “Hey.”

You turned, finding his face close, the space between you shrinking as his fingers brushed lightly against your cheek, catching you by surprise. His touch was soft, his thumb grazing over your cheekbone with an unexpected tenderness. His hand lingered, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek—a feather-light touch that sent warmth spiraling through you.

The kiss lasted just a moment, yet it was enough to make your heart race, to make you painfully aware of every point of contact. His breath fanned across your skin, and you could feel the faint scratch of stubble against your cheek. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, the usual cockiness tempered with something softer, something far more real.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, a small smile ghosting his lips.

You smiled, trying to keep your composure. “Goodnight, Cameron,” you managed, feeling the warmth still lingering on your cheek, the phantom sensation of his fingers brushing against your skin.

As you stepped out of the car, you looked back once more to see him watching you, that familiar smirk playing on his lips but softened by something else, something deeper you couldn’t place. You gave a small wave, trying not to overthink the moment as he pulled away, leaving you standing in the quiet night, the warmth of his kiss still lingering on your skin.

chapter four

[svnflowerkae]

How LADS boys reacts to Caleb's return

So...first time ever doing this type of thing and since I can't sleep and my mind keeps me on thinking about this...here we go! Also sorry if thare are typos/errors.

tw: MC can be read as reader, gn!reader, angsty, comfort, they boys are MAD (esp Zayne), mention of death, grieving, time skip (based on the story events).

Sylus has been worried all day about you. He knew something off but he never insisted on letting you talk before you were sure. You've been pacing in his living room for awhile, your phone in your hands. You couldn't believe that the Official Linkon City Hall contacted you to confirm that Grandma and Caleb were officially dead. You whole life was falling about again, right in front of you, again.

As you put stop to go in circles, Sylus carefully approached you. He didn't want to make things harder than they were already were but he couldn't bear seeing you suffering. As he hugged you, you started to sob uncontrollably, trembling in his arms. Sylus kissed your head, swaying the two of you, trying to calm you.

"It's okay, sweetie. I'm here, let it all out". His hand caressing your check. His thumb taking away a few of your tears. You were so shocked that even if you wanted to talk, tell everything to Sylus, you couldn't. It's like your voice disappeared.

Sylus continue to kiss your head, caressing your face and giving you lots and lots of comfort. After a while you fell asleep on his chest.

Sylus didn't really knew Caleb and he just knew, from you, that you two were very close friends. He knew though that something was off and he was going to investigate it. If this Caleb was really going to be back he would make sure he never hunted you again.

Rafayel the day he was aware of the possible of Caleb was on the defensive side. You talked about him a few times and Rafayel saw how you grieved about his death. Countless nights and days passed by before you could get yourself together, even a little bit to be a functioning human again. And countless were the nights and days were Rafayel spent his time beside you, even if that meant not painting at all. You were is first and for most priority and, at that time, he certainly couldn't leave you all alone.

At the news, Rafayel made sure you were always by his side. His protective side coming off and scaring everyone who was approaching you. He barely showed this side of him, but in this case? In this case he couldn't let a stupid, foolish human to be near you again, not after what he saw.

"Miss bodyguard, what about I paint something for you?" Rafayel asked, his cheerful self trying to make you smile. Your eyes were watching the distant sea, completely lost in your thoughts. But Rafayel didn't have to wait for an answer. Posing his head on your thighs he looked at the most precious thing in his life: you. Caressing your thighs and hands, Rafayel never stopped to stare at you and when you turn your gaze to him a smile was on your face. Your hands messed up Rafayel'a hair. A playful pout on his face.

But for Rafayel that was enough to know you acknowledge he was there for you.

Xavier and you were cuddling on the couch, watching a film they were making on TV. Not to lie, it was a bit boring and Xavier was about to sleep when he heard a small sob coming from you. At first he was confused but then saw you with your telephone in hands, reading a message.

If weeks prior the Linkon City Hall had texted you that Grandma and Caleb were officially deceased, now, there was a possibility that, at least Caleb, was alive. You hoped for that dearly, your heart aching at the possibility of seeing your best friend. Xavier saw you were blocked on that screen for a long time, tears streaming down your face as your body subtly twitched.

Xavier hugged you, his head on the crook of your neck. He wasn't very good with words and he knew little to nothing about this Caleb and your relationship with him. You barely talked about the accident, too hurtful for you. Xavier kissed your cheeck many times, even biting it lovingly to make you calm down. He wanted to make sure you knew he was there with you and for you.

Whoever this Caleb was, Xavier would do anything to protect you. At the end, he was your Lumiere.

Zayne knew this moment was coming, it was inevitable but after seeing you destroyed after the bomb accident he couldn't let him hurt you again. How could Zayne forget how you barely eat and sleep? How could he bear the sight of his loved one suffer again?

You been quiet for days, always going to the Hospital Zayne worked for. He knew you did this especially when something was not right. Zayne shift ended a few minutes ago and he let you into his studios. You two were in complete silence, the only sound in the room were you and Zayne chewing on your food.

Zayne felt so sorry but at the same time he was controlling himself. Seeing your face calmed him down a bit.

"How are you feeling?" He asked. He wasn't one to show easily his emotion, but he too, knew you since when you too were little. He didn't gain an answer from you, but, that was an answer for him. He tried to talk to you, comforting you but you seemed in another space. Getting up, Zayne sited on the chair next you. His hands now were taking yours, leaving kisses here and there. You sniffed and, after a long time, you finally looked at him. A small smile appeared on your face. Zayne smiled back.

If it was true that Caleb's was really alive, he would make sure that he could never be near you again.

[cupcakeslushie]

I’ve been debating on saying something because I have a lot of thoughts about this, but I just want to say a quick (maybe not so quick) thought…

“Comfort Character” is not a declaration of ownership. Just because you relate to a character deeply, and see yourself in them, does not mean you get to go around policing the stories that get told regarding them, or the how they’re depicted in said stories.

I wanna be clear. Im not saying you can’t pose genuine questions and have perfectly reasonable discussions about the intricacies of hard topics. In fact, fiction can even help make those discussions easier to digest by lowering the stakes, because there are not any actual stakes when none of it is real.

Unfortunately, I’ve been seeing the entire opposite. People taking stories that may make them “uncomfy”, and declaring that they’ve now decided they are taking it personally, to near obsessive levels. You are not the only one allowed to play with these characters. It is a huge sandbox, and these toys are mass produced enough for everyone to have their own doll to do with whatever they’d like.

I get you might see yourself in a character, but that doesn’t give you the right to go around sending death threats just because someone wrote, or drew your current blorbo in an unfavorable light. Prioritizing some cluster of lines and colors over the mental health and safety of actual real human beings, is worse than whatever fictional, moral “atrocity” that you think you’re championing against. You only end up sounding just like the people calling for book banning in schools.

You are not the character. You are not being hurt. The character is not even being hurt, because they do not in fact, exist to actually experience any of the pain creators are putting them through. And most importantly, you have no claim on how other people entertain themselves with said character. Because that is what these characters are. Entertainment. They can be used in good or bad stories. If you don’t like how a creator is using them. Move on. Don’t send death threats or attacks.

Block and filter your tags.

I have triggers, but that is my issue to control and maintain. It is appreciated when steps are taken by creators to help me avoid the things that trigger me, but I don’t wish death and pain on anyone who doesn’t view the world through the same lens as myself, and might not have considered my own personal feelings on the matter. My feelings of unease or anxiety from coming into contact with my own triggers, might be valid, but initiating an attack on a creator, because I took a personal offense to their story, is not. I do not outright assume that something was created with me and my tastes in mind.

Also, this is not aimed at any one person. This is a rampant issue that I have seen first hand, going back all the way to more than a year ago. I’ve seen it happen in multiple fandoms, but as I spend most of my time in the Rise fandom, that’s where I see the worst of it. I’ve received attacks, I know other creators have received attacks, and if this keeps up, creators will just stop wanting to share anything at all.

I also need to emphasize, I’m not mad. This is not a lashing out. This is just a frustrating and hurtful trend to constantly witness, when creators are putting their own heart, time, and energy into creating intriguing and complex works of all kinds in order to broaden the beauty of this fandom, and they’re getting anonymous messages to kill themselves.

Please think about the real life person behind the art and stories you are consuming, instead of prioritizing the fictional comfort of made up characters inside the story, that will in actuality, never have any opinions on what’s being done to them. Because they do not exist.