#couldn’t get through the game without him

[konigofmyheart]

long way down

MDNI .ᐟ

you sent risky pictures to your ex, but könig found them instead…

implied age gap, references to manipulation (on ex’s side), virgin fem!reader, suggestive!

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

könig groaned, pausing to rub his back as he bent to pick up an envelope right outside his office door, that pesky twinge in his right side reappearing due to having been sat in his office all day, sorting through piles of paperwork. he’d have complained about whoever was on mail duty, except… this letter clearly wasn’t for him. it was face down, its contents poking out: a pretty pink paper and a couple of polaroids?? the only letters he received were bills or work related.

maybe he shouldn’t have, but he took a peek at the pictures, and gott im himmel, they took his breath away. there you are, captured in film, soft shy smiles and silk and lace, such delicate looking lingerie hugging your curves…

he quickly shoves the pictures back in the envelope as his pants get uncomfortably tight, his face warming. say what you will about him, but he’s only human! he unfolds the letter, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the cute stationary and lip stick prints at the bottom of the page. without even reading a word he can tell you must really care for this guy, or else you wouldn’t have put that much effort into this letter. what he wouldn’t give to receive even a fraction of this attention, and here’s someone being so careless with gold like this!

könig slides the letter in the envelope, checking the front. stevens??? lucky bastard, he thinks as he heads to the barracks, begrudgingly intending to reunite it with the rightful owner. you’re a cute girl, you wouldn’t want some old dog salivating over your photos, right? plus, stevens isn’t that bad, a wide eyed recruit as könig himself once was, maybe he accidentally dropped this and has been searching for it frantically. turning into the barracks, he hears loud voices and barks of laughter coming from the rec room, and sure enough, there’s stevens playing a game of cards with three other rookies. they’ve got a fair amount of beer bottles stacked to the side, the losing rookie seemingly having emptied more than the others. they make to stand when their colonel enters the room, though a quick wave from könig has them relaxing back into their seats, breathing sighs of relief.

“stevens, you must have dropped this” he says, holding out your letter, happy to almost be done with his good deed of the month. imagine his surprise when stevens shares a look with his friends before responding with a flippant, slurred “ ‘m sorry about that, sir, i meant to throw that rubbish away… ‘s nothing important”, unsteadily rising to his feet and reaching for the envelope. “in that case, i’ll toss it for you. carry on with your game, men,” könig says between gritted teeth, dismissively clapping stevens on the shoulder, hard enough to make him plop back down on the chair with a grunt, before heading out.

how could stevens not care about such a gift?? unless könig got the wrong read on you… he briskly walked to his private quarters, kicking off his boots at the door and hanging his mask on the wall before settling on his bed. he plucked your letter out, opting to leave the dangerously tempting polaroids in the envelope to keep a clear head. slipping on his reading glasses, he began to read your neat script:

“happy valentine’s day, benji,

i’m really hoping this’ll arrive close enough to valentine’s day or else it’ll just be weird… look, i know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but i’m really sorry. i shouldn’t have made such a big deal about you sleeping with rebeca. i now see that you’re entirely right: it was my fault for not being mature enough for you. you have needs, and you couldn’t help it if i wasn’t there to tend to those needs. i’ve thought a lot about it, and i’ve made up my mind. i’m ready to prove my love to you. i’m still nervous, but like you said, you’re a man, and you need more than just hand holding and boring kisses, and it is getting pretty embarrassing to still be a virgin in my mid 20’s… it’s about time, i just had to realize that. i hope you like the pictures i included. i felt kinda ridiculous taking them, but i wanted to to show you just how serious i am about you, and for you to see what i bought to wear for you when you come home, as your late valentine’s day gift… would you please unblock me? i miss your voice a lot… at least text me? i can’t wait to see you again, if you’ll still have me.

p.s. will you be my valentine? please? <3

p.p.s. in case you lost it, my number is-”

and there, printed clearly, is your number. now könig’s getting the full picture. you’re a sweet girl, far too good for an arschloch like stevens and his manipulations. könig feels such anger to find out that jackass filled your head with such nonsense, pressuring you like some desperate teenager, making you feel insecure and guilty like that. stevens is definitely getting picked for every one of könig’s hand to hand demonstrations, no doubt about it. könig would give anything to have someone like you, and he’s willing to do so, to treat you right, as a lovely thing like you deserves. he takes a deep breath, dialing your number and setting with his back against the wall as the line trills. how he’ll convince you to give him a chance, he doesn’t know, but he does know he’ll do whatever it takes...

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

[wcnderlnds]

the heart wants what it wants | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: he hates himself but you kinda, sorta love him. ・❥・word count: 1.3k ・❥・warnings: usual squid game stuff, swearing. ・❥・ authors note: as if i was gonna leave my boy thanos out of valentines fics. here's something a lil fluffy while still (hopefully) in character for him.

“What’re you sitting there looking like someone just pissed in your cereal for? And don’t try and tell me it’s because of that last game or whatever because I know that’s bullshit.”

Thanos’ voice pierced through your ears as he sat down beside you on the steel stairs between the bunks. His arms rested on his knees, hands dangling between his open legs as he looked at you expectantly. That was Thanos down to a tee – he needed to know everything immediately, patience wasn’t his strong suit. It frustrated him when he didn’t get answers. You had known this man for far too long to know the signs. The way he was clenching his jaw, his fingers tapping against his leg. 

“...I don’t want to tell you because you’ll laugh at me,” you mumbled, head resting on your arms that were crossed over your pulled up knees.

“Come on, spit it out,” he waved his hand, dismissing your worries. “I probably will laugh but since when did that shit bother you?”

He was right. You never cared before so why now? Well, you knew why. Being trapped in this place with him had resurfaced something you had thought you’d got rid of a long time ago. When you had first met Su-bong, you had the world’s biggest crush on him but he had turned you down, telling you that you should just be friends so… that’s what you were. Now, eight years on and that all consuming crush was back. You were trapped in a life or death game with him, he’d been protecting you and making sure that no harm fell on you. His hand grabbed yours at any opportunity like he just had to be touching you to make sure you were still here. You had never seen so much panic in his eyes than the moment you had almost fell in Red Light, Green Light. Luckily, he had managed to grab your arm to stop you from meeting your end. Su-bong wasn’t someone that wore his heart on his sleeve but when he cared, he cared. That was one thing you were certain of; he cared about you. There were ways he showed it without saying it. Like now, he had come to sit with you, asking you what was going on even if it was in his own annoying way. He had to act like he didn’t care otherwise it would consume him, his anxiety would sky rocket. That was why he was popping those colourful little pills. They may make him act insane but inside they calmed him, made him think clearer so he could protect you.

“Fine,” you sighed. “...it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m just sad I’m stuck in here and not enjoying some chocolate covered strawberries fed to me by some super hot person. Happy now?”

Thanos couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, nudging you with his shoulder. “That’s why you’re feeling sorry for yourself?” He narrowed his eyes, examining you before he decided you weren’t telling him the full truth. A quick shuffle and he was sitting right beside you, his leg touching yours. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you into his side. It was unusually soft for him but he had these moments with you sometimes. The only person who wouldn’t judge him was you, that was something he knew for certain. “You ain’t tellin’ me the whole story so I’m gonna need you to get that pretty mouth of yours talking more before I go get Nam-su to come glare at you with those beady little eyes of his.”

“You know his name is Nam-gyu, right?” You rested your head on his shoulder, nervously wringing your hands together. Thanos noticed almost immediately, placing a hand on them to stop you. “Remember when we first met? When… uh, when I had a crush on you and your turned me down?”

“Yeah, how could I forget?”

“Well, I might be feeling that way again.”

At those words, he froze up. His body tense, panic flashing across his eyes. Yeah, you shouldn’t have said anything. He would only close himself off now and that was the last thing you needed right now. He had been your whole support system here. The silence between you was almost deafening until he finally spoke. “...you shouldn’t.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Wish it was that easy, Su-bong.”

“You wanna know why I turned you down all those years ago?” He had pulled away from you slightly, both his hands now resting on your shoulders as he made you look at him. “Because you fuckin’ deserve better than me. I’m a mess. I’ve always been a mess. I’m no good, especially not for you. Someone like you? You deserve the fuckin’ world and I can’t give you that. I wish I could but I can’t. You need someone who can treat you like the princess you are but, baby, that man ain’t me.”

If it wasn’t anyone else, they wouldn’t have caught the waver in his voice, the way he was looking at you as if pleading for you to listen to him. He meant every word he said but you didn’t. You knew he often got lost in his self loathing thoughts, thinking that he was scum of the Earth but he wasn’t. He was just a lost boy, someone had never had someone care about him like you.

“I don’t care, Su-bong. My heart knows what it wants and it wants you. It isn’t going to stop. It’s been eight years and it’s always felt this way. You are everything to me, you always have been. I wish you could see in yourself what I see in you,” your hand cupped his cheek, the gesture so soft he almost nuzzled into your palm but refrained. “Sure, you’re not perfect but neither am I. I’ll respect whatever you want but… just know that my heart belongs to you.”

His eyebrows scrunched together as if he was in deep thought, one of his hands playing with the chain of the necklace that hung around his neck. His cross; the one that contained his drugs. It looked like he was in an internal conflict with himself before, finally, he pulled the necklace over his head and onto you. You felt your heart pounding as his fingers skimmed across your chest, making sure the cross laid properly. “You’re a damn pain in my ass, you know that? But… I’ve been into you the day we met, just thought you deserved more than I can give you. So, this is my promise to you to show you that I trust you, that maybe I’ll try and be the person you deserve some day. Ain’t never let anyone wear this other than me, by the way.”

The gesture meant more to you than you could even put into words, your heart hammering against your chest as he tapped the cross. You smiled up at him, hand resting over his. “The highest honour, huh?” You couldn’t help but tease to at least ease some of the tension. “It means a lot… and Su-bong? I believe in you.”

You heard the small, breathy laugh that came from his lips as he looked at the ground trying to hide it. That meant more to him than you would know. Finally, he looked back up at you, his arm back around your shoulder to pull you back into his side. “We get out of this shithole and I’ll feed you all the damn chocolate strawberries you want.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

As you rested your head on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on yours, you knew that once you got out of here things were definitely going to change but it gave you something to look forward to. His promise the one thing that would get you through these deathly games.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @justsisse @djarindroid @angelofbooksworld @taivantaylor @sherlocke3d @basquiat-top @urmomsg1rlfreind @belladonna-303 @seunghyunwifey @infinetlyforgotten

[bitchinbarzal]

Got you | J Hughes

summary: jack shows up in the middle of the night and you’re the only one he wants.

-

The insistent buzzing of your phone jolts you awake. Disoriented, you squint at the screen, the glowing numbers reading 1:37 am, before your bleary eyes focus on the name flashing across it.

Jack.

Your stomach twists. He never calls this late. Jack is the kind of guy who falls asleep with his phone still in his hand, mid-text, and wakes up at a reasonable hour with no recollection of what he was saying. If he’s calling now, something’s wrong.

You answer, voice thick with sleep “Jack?”

There’s a pause, just long enough to make your chest tighten. Then, his voice — low, quiet.

“Can you let me in?”

You don’t think. You just move. Throwing off the covers, you rush to your front door, unlocking it without hesitation. The second you pull it open, you see him stood with his hood pulled up, hands stuffed in his pockets, the dim hallway light casting shadows across his face.

“Jack—”

He steps past you, barely meeting your eyes, his movements stiff like he’s holding something back. He paces once before sinking onto your couch, elbows on his knees, hands laced together like he’s trying to keep himself from coming undone.

You close the door softly “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head.

Jack is rarely quiet. He’s the guy who always has a chirp ready, who fills silences with offhand comments or dumb jokes just to keep the energy light. But this is different. This is Jack stripped of all his usual defenses, and it unsettles you.

You sit beside him, close but not touching “Talk to me”

He exhales sharply, tipping his head back against the couch. For a second, you think he won’t say anything at all.

“I had a bad game”

Your heart aches at the way he says it. Like it’s more than that.

You frown “Jack—”

“I know” he interrupts “I know it’s dumb. I know it’s just one game, and I know I’ll bounce back, and I know it’s not the end of the world” His voice strains on the last part, and he shakes his head, jaw clenched “But I couldn’t shut it off. The way I played, the way I let the team down. I got in my own head, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know where else to go”

The last part is barely a whisper.

You exhale slowly.

So this is why he’s here.

He didn’t come for empty reassurances. He didn’t come for someone to tell him it’s fine, that it doesn’t matter.

He came for you.

For the quiet. For the comfort.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, you shift closer, reaching for his hand. He tenses at first, but then exhales, letting you thread your fingers through his. You squeeze gently.

“It’s not dumb” you murmur. “I know how much you care. That’s not a bad thing”

He lets out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin “I just feel like I can’t get out of my own head sometimes. Like I’m never enough, no matter what I do”

Your chest tightens. Jack Hughes; rising superstar, face of a franchise, beloved by an entire city and yet, sitting here in the dim glow of your apartment, he’s just Jack. He is a boy who puts too much pressure on himself, who carries the weight of expectations too heavily on his shoulders.

You wish you could take some of it from him.

But all you can do is be here.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone” you whisper “I’m here. Always”

Something shifts in his expression. His fingers tighten around yours like he’s grounding himself in your presence. For a long moment, he just looks at you, something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Then, he moves.

He leans into you, head resting on your shoulder, body finally relaxing for the first time since he walked through the door.

You stay like that. Wrapped up in each other, your fingers still laced together. You don’t fill the silence with meaningless words. You just exist beside him, letting him take what he needs.

And when his breathing evens out, when the tension in his body finally eases, you press a soft kiss to the top of his head and whisper

“I’ve got you”

And you do.

Always.

[anticipatedexhale]

Could you do a drabble of Arcane x rockstar reader? Classic prompt that's been overused 😞

I believe this prompt will never get old darling I absolutely love this idea!!

I'm a Rockstar~~!

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, sevika, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi,

☆ ◞ summary: them absolutely being smitten by their Rockstar partner

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader, the tension is crazy , suggestive like really, I must say Viktors and sevikas parts made me feel smth..

Jayce Talis.

Jayce had never been the type to feel starstruck. He was the golden boy of Piltover, a man who walked into any room and commanded attention without even trying.

And yet, here he was, sitting front row at your concert, absolutely wrecked by the sight of you on stage.

The lights flashed behind you, turning your silhouette into something almost otherworldly. Your voice—strong, sultry, powerful—cut through the air like a drug, and Jayce swore he could feel every word vibrate through his chest.

You weren’t just performing. You were owning the stage, strutting across it with a confidence that made his blood run hot. Your fingers danced along the microphone stand, your outfit hugging every inch of you just right, your movements sharp and fluid all at once. The way you tilted your head, the teasing way your lips curled into a smirk every time you met his gaze—it was all too much.

Jayce sat there, legs spread, arms resting on his thighs, pretending to be composed when, in reality, he was anything but. His fingers twitched against his knee, gripping the fabric of his pants as his jaw clenched.

You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

And you loved it.

Your gaze flickered to him mid-song, and instead of looking away, you leaned into the mic, voice dropping lower, sultrier. “This one goes out to a very special someone tonight…”

Jayce swallowed hard.

His fingers twitched again, his body instinctively shifting in his seat. Fuck.

It wasn’t fair. He was used to being the one people looked at like this. The one who had admirers swooning over him, not the other way around. But you? You had him wrapped around your damn finger, and you knew it.

The concert ended in a blur. He barely registered the cheers, the way the entire crowd was completely enamored with you. The only thing on his mind was you—how fast he could get backstage, how soon he could have you all to himself.

When he finally pushed through the crowd, security recognizing him instantly and letting him through, he found you in your dressing room, still glowing with post-show energy.

“You,” Jayce started, voice thick, heated, as he leaned against the doorframe. “You enjoy torturing me, don’t you?”

You turned, feigning innocence. “Me? Torture you?” You took a step closer, tilting your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jayce.”

His hands were on you before you could say another word, fingers curling around your waist as he pulled you close. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips brushing against your jaw before he murmured, “You know exactly what you do to me.”

Your grin was devastating, a slow, lazy thing that sent a shiver down his spine. “Maybe I do,” you mused, fingers tracing up his chest. “And maybe I like seeing you like this.”

Jayce let out a low, almost pathetic groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me one day, you know that?”

You laughed, hands threading through his hair. “But what a way to go, huh?”

And yeah. Jayce couldn’t even argue with that.

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

Mel Medarda

Mel Medarda was not the type to lose her composure.

She had spent her entire life mastering the art of control—her words, her expressions, even the subtle tilt of her head that could make men beg for her attention. She played the political game better than anyone, moving through high society like a queen among pawns.

But then she met you.

And you—the reckless, magnetic, wildly talented rockstar who seemed to command the attention of an entire city without even trying—had the audacity to be hers.

Tonight, she sat in a private VIP booth, legs crossed, wine glass in hand, watching as you performed under the blazing stage lights. The world saw you as untouchable, a star burning too brightly to hold. But Mel? She saw the way your gaze kept flickering to her. How, even with thousands of people screaming your name, you sang for her.

The song slowed, the bass humming low through the speakers as you stepped toward the mic, voice dropping into something sultry, teasing.

“This next one,” you said, letting the words roll lazily off your tongue, “is dedicated to someone very special in the audience tonight.”

Mel raised a brow, lips curving into a knowing smirk as you lifted your hand and pointed directly at her.

A murmur ran through the crowd, people turning to try and spot who had caught your attention. Some guessed, some whispered, but Mel? She simply sipped her wine and held your gaze, unfazed.

You lived for the way her expression never wavered—cool, controlled, elegant. Unshaken. But you also knew better.

You knew how to crack that perfect, composed shell of hers.

So you turned away from the mic, running a hand through your hair, letting the sweat from the performance cling to your skin in a way you knew would drive her insane. Then, as the guitar hummed in the background, you let your fingers drag down your chest, slow and teasing, as if tracing where her hands would be if she weren’t across the room.

Mel exhaled through her nose, slow and measured, shifting in her seat.

Oh, she was seething.

Not in anger—no, Mel Medarda didn’t get angry over things like this. But she did get possessive.

She let you play your little game. Let you soak in the crowd’s adoration, let you tease and smirk and act like the stage belonged to you (which, to be fair, it did). But the second the show ended?

She was waiting for you.

You barely made it three steps backstage before her hand caught your wrist, tugging you aside into the privacy of an empty dressing room. The door clicked shut behind you, the hum of the concert still ringing in your ears as you turned, grinning.

“Enjoy the show?” you asked, feigning innocence.

Mel tilted her head, gaze sharp as she stepped closer. “You enjoy making a spectacle of yourself, don’t you?”

Your grin widened. “Only for you.”

She studied you for a moment, eyes trailing over the way your chest still heaved from the adrenaline, the way your hair was slightly damp from the stage lights. Then, without a word, she reached up and dragged her thumb across your lower lip, slow and deliberate.

A shiver ran down your spine.

“You drive me to madness,” she murmured, her voice impossibly smooth, like velvet and steel wrapped into one. "And you know it."

The air between you thickened, the tension sharp enough to cut. You swallowed, throat suddenly dry, but you refused to back down. “Maybe I do.”

Her fingers traced lower, featherlight, trailing over your pulse, her touch both gentle and possessive. “And what should I do with you now?”

The question sent a delicious shiver down your spine, but before you could answer, her lips brushed against yours—not quite a kiss, just a ghost of contact, enough to send heat pooling low in your stomach.

Then she pulled away.

“Come home with me,” she murmured, voice softer now, quieter. “I’d rather have your voice just for myself tonight.”

Your breath hitched.

You could handle teasing, the playful power struggles, the tension, but this? This was something deeper.

This was Mel Medarda wanting you—not just to chase, not just to possess, but to be with you.

And for the first time tonight, you were the one caught off guard.

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

Viktor.

Viktor wasn’t one for loud crowds.

He wasn’t the type to thrive in the flashing lights, the deafening cheers, or the overwhelming press of bodies all moving as one. He spent his days buried in blueprints and research, lost in the quiet hum of his own thoughts.

But for you?

He would endure the storm.

Because even though concerts weren’t his scene, you were.

So now, he found himself standing at the edge of the stage, tucked away from the madness of the crowd, cane resting against his leg as he watched you move under the lights.

And damn—you were breathtaking.

Not just because of how you looked up there, all fire and confidence, a force commanding the attention of an entire stadium. But because this—this—was your element. The way your body moved with the music, the way your voice carried through the speakers, raw and unfiltered, sent something sharp curling in his chest.

Viktor had spent his life chasing brilliance, seeking genius in numbers and theories. But tonight, you were the most brilliant thing he’d ever seen.

The song shifted into something slower, the guitars easing into a sultry rhythm, and you turned just slightly—just enough that your eyes found him through the haze of stage lights.

Viktor barely had time to react before you did something utterly, devastatingly reckless.

You jumped down.

Right off the damn stage.

The crowd roared, and Viktor’s heart nearly stopped as security scrambled, but you just laughed, weaving through the fans like you belonged among them. The sea of people parted for you, hands reaching, voices calling, but you weren’t stopping for them.

You were walking straight to him.

Viktor’s grip on his cane tightened. His brain short-circuited as you strode through the VIP section with that effortless, infuriating confidence—grinning, sweat still clinging to your skin from the stage lights, a live wire of energy.

Then you were there, standing in front of him, so close he could see every rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” you murmured, voice teasing, but your eyes—your eyes were something else.

Viktor swallowed thickly, forcing himself to breathe. “Somehow, I think you would’ve found me anyway.”

Your grin widened. “Of course I would.”

And before he could get another word in, before he could even process what was happening, you grabbed the front of his vest and kissed him.

The crowd screamed.

The music surged.

And Viktor? Viktor forgot how to think.

Your lips were warm, demanding, still buzzing with the adrenaline of the performance. He knew he should pull away, should say something, do something, but all he could do was brace himself against his cane and fall into you.

You broke away just enough to whisper, “You look good in the spotlight.”

Viktor let out something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head as heat curled at the tips of his ears. “I think you might be trying to kill me.”

You pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth, softer this time. “Not yet.”

Then, just as quickly as you came, you stepped back, flashing him one last wicked grin before turning and jogging right back onto the damn stage.

Viktor exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his mind struggling to catch up.

The scientist in him despised the lack of logic in how you made him feel.

But the man in him?

He was completely, utterly ruined for you.

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

Caitlyn kiramman

Caitlyn had been raised in a world of refinement—strict etiquette, hushed conversations over expensive wine, and appearances that had to be meticulously maintained.

Which is why she had no idea what the hell she was doing here.

The room throbbed with bass, the crowd a sea of energy, bodies pressed together as the lights cast dazzling colors across the venue. The air smelled like sweat, spilled drinks, and electricity.

And yet, despite the overwhelming chaos of it all, Caitlyn couldn’t focus on anything but you.

You, standing on that stage, confidence oozing from every motion, every note you sang, every teasing smirk you shot toward the audience.

You weren’t just performing—you were owning the damn room.

Caitlyn knew she was staring, but she didn’t care.

She had been raised to maintain her composure, to keep her emotions in check. But watching you up there, commanding thousands of people’s attention, only to flick your gaze right at her between verses? It did something dangerous to her.

She should have been used to it by now. You flirted with everyone—the audience, the cameras, your bandmates. It was just part of your stage persona.

But damn it, when you locked eyes with her and winked before hitting the next note, Caitlyn felt her heart stutter.

She needed a drink.

---

The concert ended in a blur of flashing lights and roaring applause, but Caitlyn didn’t move from her spot near the back.

She waited.

Security was already guiding you off the stage, fans still chanting your name as you disappeared behind the curtains.

A moment later, her earpiece crackled.

"Your VIP pass still gets you back here, Kiramman."

She rolled her eyes at the teasing lilt in your voice but didn’t hesitate to slip past the barriers, her polished boots clicking against the concrete floor as she strode toward your dressing room.

She found you exactly how she expected—leaning against the vanity, still glowing from the performance, towel draped over your shoulders, hair damp with sweat.

And grinning at her.

“You should really sit further up next time,” you mused, tilting your head as she stepped inside. “I could barely see you from back there.”

Caitlyn scoffed, crossing her arms. “I was trying not to be a distraction.”

Your smirk widened. “Oh, love, you think you’re the distraction?”

She arched a brow. “Considering you nearly tripped over a speaker when you saw me in the audience last time?”

You let out a groan, dragging a hand down your face. “That was one time—”

“—And the crew hasn’t let you live it down since.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, but the corners of your lips twitched. “Okay, detective. You win this round.”

She took a step closer, tilting her head. “There are rounds now?”

“Always.” You leaned in, lowering your voice. “And I fully intend to even the score.”

Caitlyn felt her pulse quicken, but she kept her expression unreadable. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Without missing a beat, you reached for the towel on your shoulders and, with an utterly shameless grin, tossed it at her.

Caitlyn let out a startled noise as the damp fabric smacked against her, the heat from your skin still clinging to it.

You laughed—really laughed, the sound warm and utterly carefree—before stepping closer, plucking the towel from her hands before she could react. “Don’t look so scandalized, officer. I thought you’d be used to a little sweat.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes, but her lips betrayed her, curving into something dangerously close to a smirk. “Oh, I don’t mind a little sweat.”

Your eyebrows lifted in interest, but before you could throw out another flirty remark, she turned the tables on you.

She reached forward, grabbing the front of your shirt, and yanked you in.

Your breath hitched as she leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur against your ear.

“You’re still a bit breathless,” she noted, feigning concern. “Hope I wasn’t too much of a distraction.”

You swallowed hard. “You’re always a distraction.”

Her smirk widened. “Good.”

Then, before you could regain control of the situation, she pressed a kiss to the edge of your jaw—just enough to leave you completely off balance—before stepping back with an infuriating amount of poise.

You blinked. “You little shit—”

“See you at the next show,” she said smoothly, already walking toward the door.

And just as she reached for the handle, she threw one last glance over her shoulder, smirking.

“Score: Kiramman—one.”

Then she was gone, leaving you standing in the middle of the dressing room, utterly wrecked.

“...Oh, it is so on.”

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

Vi.

Vi wasn’t exactly used to this kind of scene.

Sure, she’d been to her fair share of rowdy clubs and underground fights—places where the air buzzed with adrenaline and the energy made your bones vibrate.

But this?

This was a whole different kind of chaos.

She stood at the very edge of the packed venue, arms crossed, boots planted firmly on the ground as she watched you command the stage like you were born for it.

And damn—maybe you were.

Vi wasn’t the type to get all poetic, but shit, you were a sight.

Sweat clung to your skin under the flashing lights, your voice carried through the speakers with that raw edge that made people feel something. Every movement, every glance, every grin sent the crowd into a frenzy.

And the way you owned it?

It made her chest tighten in the best and worst ways.

Because while everyone else in the room was watching you like you were some untouchable star, she knew the version of you that crawled into bed at ridiculous hours, the one who bitched about setlists and late-night rehearsals, the one who stole her shirts and stretched them out just to mess with her.

And yet, every time she saw you up there, looking like you belonged in this chaos, she found herself falling all over again.

Which was why she wasn’t even surprised when you did something completely reckless.

Because, of course, you did.

---

You should have known better.

Vi was already giving you that look from the sidelines—the one that screamed, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Naturally, you did something stupid.

“Let’s make this interesting,” you called into the mic, and the crowd roared as you hopped off the stage without warning, security scrambling to keep up.

Vi groaned, running a hand down her face. You are going to be the death of me.

You waded through the crowd effortlessly, high-fiving fans, grinning as people reached out, soaking in the energy. And then—just to push your luck—you made your way straight toward her.

Vi could feel the heat of a thousand eyes on her the moment you grinned and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her forward.

“C’mon, Vi,” you purred into the mic, the teasing lilt in your voice making her stomach drop. “You’re not scared of a little fun, are you?”

Vi arched a brow. “Oh, you’re a menace.”

But she let you pull her in anyway.

The band picked up a steady rhythm, and before she could even process what was happening, you slid an arm around her waist and—

Oh.

You were dancing with her.

Not just moving—dancing. Slow, teasing movements, your body pressed against hers, the heat of your skin seeping through the thin material of her shirt. The crowd screamed, people losing their minds as you twirled her once, keeping your grip firm.

Vi could handle fights, she could handle explosions, she could handle damn near anything—

But this?

This was just unfair.

She should be annoyed. She should be cussing you out for pulling this stunt in front of thousands of people.

Instead, she found herself smirking.

“You’re playing with fire, babe,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You grinned. “Lucky for me, you’re fireproof.”

Oh, you were gonna pay for that.

With a wicked glint in her eye, Vi suddenly flipped the script—yanking you flush against her, dipping you low enough that you gasped into the mic.

The crowd lost their minds.

And then—just because she could—Vi dipped her head and kissed you, deep and slow, right there in front of everyone.

You barely had time to recover before she pulled back with a smirk, letting go just as fast as she’d grabbed you.

“Better get back up there, rockstar,” she teased, stepping back as you blinked up at her, dazed. “You’ve got a show to finish.”

You swallowed hard, eyes flickering between her and the screaming crowd.

“…Holy shit,” you muttered under your breath.

Vi just winked.

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

Jinx.

"Beautiful, Beautiful Chaos" (Jinx x Rockstar!GN!Reader | Reckless Love, Wild Nights, and Kissing in the Mayhem)

---

Jinx wasn’t the type to sit still.

Not in a fight, not during a job, and definitely not in a crowd of sweaty, screaming people losing their minds over you.

She thrived in chaos, lived for it, breathed it in like air.

And tonight?

Tonight was the kind of chaos she loved.

Neon lights flashed across the stage, strobes flickering as you jumped onto an amp, mic gripped tight in your hand, voice cutting through the thick, electric air of the underground venue. The bass thundered through the floor, shaking the ground beneath her feet.

Jinx wasn’t watching the crowd.

She was watching you.

Because—fuck—you looked so good when you lost yourself in the music. When you screamed into the mic, when your body moved like you didn’t care if the world fell apart around you.

You had that wild look in your eyes.

The same kind of reckless, untamed spark that made her chest tighten and her pulse race.

God, you were so—

“YO, YOU LITTLE SHITS WANNA HAVE SOME FUN?”

Your voice rang out over the speakers, wild and breathless.

The crowd roared.

Jinx grinned.

Oh, she knew that tone. That devious, impulsive tone that meant things were about to get stupid.

And Jinx loved stupid.

She pushed herself up on her toes, trying to get a better view as you suddenly jumped off the damn stage—barreling straight into the crowd, no hesitation, no security, just pure adrenaline-fueled insanity.

"OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE—"

Jinx shoved her way forward as you disappeared into the chaos, people screaming, hands grabbing for you, the whole place erupting into something unhinged.

A bottle smashed somewhere. Someone tripped over a speaker. A guy with a mohawk straight-up passed out from excitement.

And in the middle of it?

You.

Grinning like a maniac, letting the crowd carry you, singing the last chorus like you didn’t have a single fucking care in the world.

Jinx didn’t even realize she was moving until she was right there in front of you—arms crossed, head tilted, looking so unimpressed despite the fact that she was definitely impressed.

You grinned, still breathless. “What’s wrong, trouble? Didn’t think I’d come to you instead?”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah?” You leaned in,“You like it.”

Jinx didn’t like it.

Jinx loved it.

But she’d rather die than say it out loud.

So instead, she did what she did best.

She grabbed your face and kissed you stupid.

Right there.

In the middle of the chaos, with neon lights flashing and people screaming and beer spilling onto the floor.

You gasped into her mouth before melting into it, arms sliding around her waist, your body pressing flush against hers like you wanted to burn the moment into your skin.

And Jinx?

Jinx just smirked against your lips.

Because, yeah.

Maybe she did like this.

Maybe she loved it.

And maybe—just maybe—she was never gonna let you go.

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

Sevika.

The venue was packed, the air thick with anticipation. You had the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand, your voice cutting through the bass, a raw, magnetic presence on stage. The lights flickered in sync with the beat, flashing as your body moved effortlessly with the rhythm, the mic gripped in your hand like you were born to hold it.

And Sevika? Well, she was front and center, standing just off to the side, watching you with an intensity that almost felt suffocating. Her posture was rigid, her arms crossed, her gaze never once leaving you.

Her heavy, leather-clad frame was nearly a stark contrast to your energy—wild, chaotic, and untamed as you commanded the stage. But you knew what she was thinking. Knew that under all that tough exterior, there was a fire. A fire that you had kindled long ago.

And tonight? That fire was burning brighter than ever.

---

The song ended, and the crowd erupted into a roaring applause. You took a breath, your chest heaving with exertion, sweat dripping down your neck. But you weren’t done yet.

With a wicked grin, you grabbed the mic, looking straight at Sevika.

“You think you can keep up, big girl?” you teased, voice dripping with playful arrogance.

Sevika’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was a cold, almost predatory glint in her eyes. “I could do this all day,” she muttered, her voice low, the words meant just for you.

The crowd was still cheering, but all you cared about in that moment was the tension that was crackling between you and Sevika. You’d both been dancing around it for so long—the chemistry, the constant pull, the teasing glances, the silent challenges that never seemed to break. But tonight? Tonight you were done playing games.

You took a few steps toward the edge of the stage, reaching out for her, pulling her closer. The crowd was still lost in the music, the band riffing off to the side, but all that mattered now was her—her and the way she looked at you like she wanted to devour you whole.

Sevika’s large hand gripped your wrist with a firm, almost possessive force, pulling you into her space. She towered over you, but her breath was steady, controlled, as if she was trying to hold back a flood of desire.

“You think you can just waltz in here and—”

Before she could finish, you closed the distance, your lips crashing into hers. The kiss was fierce, hungry—no longer playful, but desperate. Your body pressed against hers, and you could feel the tension in her muscles, the way she resisted just enough to drive you crazy. But you weren’t having it. You needed her. And you weren’t going to stop until you had her.

Sevika’s hand slid down your back, gripping your waist with a force that left your breath stolen. She pulled you closer, her lips moving against yours with urgency, heat building between you both. Her other hand threaded into your hair, tugging you even closer, pulling you deeper into the kiss like she couldn’t get enough.

You gasped when she bit your lip, just enough to make you shiver. “You’re playing with fire,” Sevika growled, her voice raw, breath hot against your skin.

And all you could do was smirk up at her, feeling the thrill of the chase. “I’ve never been afraid of fire,” you whispered back.

Without warning, Sevika spun you around, pushing you against the nearest wall backstage, her body pressing against yours, heat radiating off of her. She leaned in close, her lips brushing your ear as her breath ghosted over your skin. “If you think this is just a game,” she murmured, “you’re wrong.”

Your hands found their way to her chest, tracing the muscles hidden beneath her leather jacket. “Then stop playing and show me,” you dared her, your voice low, taunting.

The air between you crackled with electric tension, both of you pushing, pulling, testing the boundaries until it felt like something was going to break. Sevika’s lips hovered dangerously close to yours, her breathing ragged, as if she was barely holding herself together.

And then she leaned in, capturing your lips again, deeper this time—no more teasing, no more games. It was as if the kiss itself was a release, a breaking point of every silent moment between you, every want you both kept locked away.

When she finally pulled away, she smirked down at you, her voice a dangerous whisper, “This is just the beginning, sweetheart.” Her hands were already trailing down your sides, her lips just inches from yours, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

---

Back on stage, you finished the set with a wicked grin. You knew you’d both be facing the aftermath of that moment soon. But for now, the music carried on, and you knew Sevika was right where she belonged—on the edge of control.

And you? You were done being patient. Tonight, there would be no more running from this intensity.

The chaos had only just begun.

[bewaryofpity]

please can I request fluff prompt 16: “Move in with me.” with quinn hughes 💛

thank you for requesting ! 🤍

16. “Move in with me.”

.

Quinn liked his own space, his own quiet, his own routine — so much so that, right now, he found himself forced to reconsider. 

It had been one of those days he couldn’t wait to see end. Bad games, bad practices on the road and he was beating himself up more than he had to because he was part of a team, he wasn’t alone in this. Or at least that was what you told him over the phone. They were simple words, nothing out of the ordinary and nothing you had never said before, but somehow this time it was different. He missed you —your touch, your comfort, his side of your bed, the small space in your closet just for him, his toothbrush next to yours. He missed you.

And when he landed back in Vancouver in the middle of the night, the last thing he wanted was to come back to an empty apartment. A cold bed without you to wrap himself around for warmth, without you kissing his face good morning, a lonely breakfast without you hugging his side— he couldn’t bear that.

Before he could think twice, he was already driving to your place. It was nearly two in the morning, and you were surely asleep, but he couldn’t wait for tomorrow, his heart could never wait for you. 

As quiet as possible, he moved around your apartment with ease, scared of waking you up. He was quick, not wasting any more minutes to be close to you and changed into the spare pajamas he kept at your place. Quinn slid between the warm sheets, pulling the comforter up to his chin with a contented sigh. He reached for you, his hand combing through your hair and you nuzzled into him in your sleep. 

“Quinn? What time is it?” You hummed, confused and drowsy from sleep.

“It’s me baby, don’t worry.” He whispered. 

He lightly traced his fingers down your cheek, watching the way you leaned into his palm, the moonlight casting a delicate glow on you through the blinds. Your eyes fluttered open as he ran his thumb along your lower lip, his fingers trembling slightly, almost hesitant, almost apologetic for waking you up. 

“Why’re you here?”

“I missed you.” He said, his voice soft. His hand rubbed soothing circles into the small of your back, so softly, so gentle and so sweet, while you pressed a kiss in the middle of his chest.

“And you couldn’t wait for tomorrow?”

“Nope.” 

You let out a breathy laugh as he dragged out the p. “I have the day off tomorrow, well today, we could—”

“Move in with me.” He interrupted. You were wide awake now, taken aback by his words.

You and Quinn haven’t been dating for that long to be thinking about moving in, but it wasn’t something you hadn’t thought about before. You missed him when he was away, not only during roadies, but also when he went to practice or a game or when both of your schedules didn’t align. You thought that the idea of moving in so soon in the relationship was a bold move, but you felt so much better, so much lighter when he was with you. “Yeah, okay.” 

You sealed your promise with a small kiss to his lips and, cupping your cheek, he leaned down to kiss you again when you parted, lips curling in a smile. He will get to do this everyday, kiss you, hold you, love you, finally come home to you.

[goldfades]

VALENTINE'S DAY ───── LAMELO BALL

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | lamelo is never quiet type, and it extends to your relationship — because that's just who he is, and how he shows his love. this is how your valentine's day always goes.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lamelo being the best bf ever, and just fluffy stuff!

Every year, without fail, LaMelo Ball made Valentine’s Day his personal stage. It wasn’t just a day; it was an event. No matter what was going on—road games, media obligations, team practices—he always found a way to make sure you felt like the center of his universe.

The first time it happened, you thought it was a fluke. A ridiculous, over-the-top, early-relationship flex. You had barely been together for a few months when he sent a massive bouquet of roses—three dozen, deep red, wrapped in sleek black paper—to your apartment at exactly midnight. It came with a note in his messy, looping handwriting: First Valentine’s. Not the last.

By the second year, it became clear that this wasn’t just some honeymoon-phase thing. Because this time, it was an even bigger arrangement—lilies, peonies, and the same signature roses, towering in a glass vase you were pretty sure could double as a fish tank. That, and a diamond bracelet, which he clasped around your wrist himself with the type of satisfaction that said, Yeah, I did that.

The third year, you didn’t even try to act surprised when he went even bigger. It was just how he loved—bold, unfiltered, and grand.

And now, another Valentine’s was here.

You woke up to the first sign of it: the soft ding of a text notification. Still half-asleep, you reached for your phone, eyes squinting at the brightness of the screen.

Melo 💕 Morning, Valentine. Be ready by 7.

You exhaled a quiet laugh, already knowing what that meant. Because this wasn’t just a dinner reservation or a casual date. When LaMelo said “be ready,” he meant something’s coming, and it’s coming big.

You stretched, blinking up at the ceiling as the weight of his text settled in. Be ready by 7. No further explanation. No details. Just that.

But you already knew how this would go.

You swung your legs over the bed, running a hand through your hair as you sat up. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the heater kicking in. Outside, the city still felt half-asleep, the early morning light filtering in through your curtains in muted golds and grays.

And then—ding. Another text.

Melo 💕 Check the door.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the way your lips curled into a smile as you climbed out of bed, padding toward the front door. There was no need to check the peephole. You already knew what would be waiting on the other side.

When you pulled it open, the scent hit you first—sweet, floral, overwhelming in the best way.

There, standing proudly on your doorstep, was the kind of bouquet that would put entire wedding arrangements to shame. A mix of your favorites—full-bloom peonies, creamy garden roses, white orchids threaded between delicate baby’s breath, the kind of bouquet that looked like it belonged in the lobby of a five-star hotel rather than sitting outside your apartment door.

Tucked neatly between the stems was a black envelope, your name scrawled across the front in his signature handwriting. You already knew what it would say before you even opened it.

For my Valentine, You already know what today is. Get ready. —Melo ♡

You shook your head, laughing softly. Same Melo. Always.

But that was the thing about him. He didn’t just say he loved you—he made it felt like an undeniable fact, like the sky being blue or the sun rising every morning.

You pulled the bouquet inside carefully, placing it on the counter before heading toward your bathroom. If you had any hope of making it through whatever he had planned tonight, you needed to start getting ready now.

By the time the evening rolled around, the anticipation sat in your chest like static—warm, buzzing, something you couldn't quite shake.

You stood in front of your mirror, adjusting the clasp of your necklace. The dress he sent over fit like it had been made for you—because, knowing him, it probably had been. It was elegant but understated, the type of effortless glamour Melo always liked on you.

As if on cue, your phone vibrated on the counter.

Melo 💕 I’m outside.

With one last glance in the mirror, you grabbed your clutch and headed out.

When you stepped into the crisp night air, the first thing you saw was the car—a sleek black Rolls-Royce, engine humming low and steady like it had been idling there for a while.

And then, there was him.

LaMelo stood next to the car, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed, watching you. His chain caught the glow of the streetlights, and he was wearing that easy, knowing smirk—the one that told you he knew he had outdone himself again.

“You look good, baby,” he murmured as you stepped closer. His eyes dragged over you, slow and deliberate. “Like, real good.”

Your lips curved. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before stepping forward, his hands finding your waist with the kind of ease that came from years of muscle memory. “You ready?”

You tilted your head. “Do I get any hints this time? Or are we sticking to the whole ‘mystery’ thing?”

Melo hummed, pretending to think about it. Then, with a grin, he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Nah. You’ll see.”

And with that, he opened the car door, the night stretching ahead like a promise.

You slid into the car, the scent of his cologne already wrapped thick in the air—something deep and smooth, a little woody, something that smelled expensive in the way Melo always did. The seats were buttery soft against your skin, and the hum of the engine felt impossibly steady beneath you, like the entire night was resting in the palm of his hand.

Melo climbed in next to you, one hand on the steering wheel, the other stretching across the center console to rest on your thigh like it belonged there. He always did that. A quiet reassurance. A you’re here, I’m here, that’s all that matters.

"Comfortable?" he asked, shooting you a quick glance, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You ran a hand along the sleek leather of the seat, already knowing that whatever destination he had in mind, it was going to be as excessive as always. "Do I ever have a choice with you?"

He grinned at that. “Nope.”

The car pulled off smoothly, gliding onto the road with the kind of ease that came from Melo’s particular brand of living—never rushed, always in control, like everything was happening exactly how he wanted it to.

Outside, the city lights flickered past in a blur, neon signs and warm streetlights stretching across the skyline like scattered constellations. You stole a glance at him, the glow of the dashboard casting soft shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the relaxed set of his mouth.

LaMelo Ball, for all his flash and extravagance, was surprisingly quiet in moments like these. He never felt the need to fill silences with small talk, never rushed to explain himself. He let things breathe. And maybe that was why, even when he was spoiling you to the point of ridiculousness, it never felt performative. It was just him.

You let the silence linger for a beat before finally breaking it. “So, where are we going?”

Melo exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “Always with the questions.”

You shot him a look. “You can’t drop off a thousand-dollar bouquet at my door, send me a dress, pick me up in this—” you gestured to the ridiculously luxurious car— “and not expect me to be curious.”

He hummed, eyes still on the road. "You’ll see."

"You keep saying that," you muttered, crossing your arms.

He grinned, clearly entertained. “And yet, here you are. Still in the car. Still trusting me.”

You hated that he was right.

But it wasn’t long before you started to get an idea of where he was taking you. The roads shifted, the city lights fading into something quieter, more private. When the car slowed, your brows furrowed.

This wasn’t a restaurant.

This wasn’t some exclusive, celebrity-packed dining spot with a three-month waitlist.

This was—

“Melo,” you started, eyes widening as you took in the familiar gated entrance, the dimly lit pathway leading up to an impossibly grand rooftop setup. “Did you—?”

He only smirked as he pulled the car to a smooth stop, throwing it in park before turning to you fully.

“You like it?” he asked, a certain boyish pride lacing his voice.

Like it?

Your gaze swept over the setup visible through the open terrace doors—hundreds of twinkling string lights draped from above, the soft glow of candles flickering against crisp white table linens, a private chef already setting up by the terrace’s edge. The city skyline stretched endlessly in the background, hazy and golden in the distance.

It was perfect. It was ridiculous. It was him.

“Melo,” you whispered, still stunned.

He let out a small chuckle, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I figured we’ve done the whole restaurant thing enough. Wanted to switch it up.”

You turned to him, still trying to process it all. “You booked out an entire rooftop just to ‘switch it up’?”

He shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah.”

The simplicity of it made your chest ache. Because this was how he loved—loud, effortless, like the world was his to shape and all he wanted to do was carve a space for you in it.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re insane, you know that?”

Melo’s grin softened into something fonder, something quieter. “Maybe.” Then, with a tilt of his head, “Come on. Let me show you.”

The night unraveled in golden moments.

Dinner was perfect. The kind of perfect that made your chest feel full, warm. The chef had prepared a menu tailored specifically to the things Melo knew you loved—seared scallops with that buttery sauce you were obsessed with, truffle pasta that melted on your tongue, a dessert that felt almost too beautiful to eat.

Halfway through the meal, you caught Melo watching you, chin resting lazily in his palm, amusement flickering in his gaze.

“What?” you asked, setting your fork down.

He shook his head, lips twitching. “Nothin’. You’re just cute when you’re happy.”

Your face warmed instantly. “Oh my God, shut up.”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair, one hand stretching across the table to toy with your fingers. “Nah. Just facts.”

And then there was the gift.

Because, of course, there was always a gift.

You were halfway through your glass of wine when he slid a small velvet box onto the table, completely casual, as if he was passing you the salt.

You stared at it. “Melo.”

“What?” he said, ever-so-innocent.

“You did not.”

He arched a brow. “You gon’ open it, or you just gon’ keep yellin’ at me?”

Your heart pounded as you reached for the box, flipping it open with careful fingers.

Inside, nestled against plush velvet, was a necklace.

Not just any necklace—the necklace. The one you had pointed out months ago in passing, barely thinking twice about it, assuming it would be just another one of those it’s pretty, but it’s too much moments.

But Melo had remembered.

You looked up at him, eyes soft, stunned.

“LaMelo,” you murmured. “How did you—?”

He only smirked, already reaching over to take it from the box. “Turn around.”

You swallowed, doing as he said, heart stuttering as he gently brushed your hair aside. The metal was cool against your skin, the weight of it settling perfectly as he clasped it into place.

When you turned back around, he was already watching you, gaze flickering between your eyes and the necklace, as if making sure it belonged there.

You exhaled, shaking your head with a small, overwhelmed laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

Melo grinned, leaning forward, his voice low, teasing. “And yet, here you are. Still trusting me.”

And just like that, you knew—he had won. Again.

[heliosunny]

tysm for filling in the void for yan mydei im so full just by reading through ur works ugh

more yan is always welcomed but like the plot twist is that it's reader that's the yan and mydei knows and likes it like some guy warns him about ur misdeeds and he's like 'yeah i know, got a problem with that?' listen im just deep into mutual toxic lovers okay thank u for coming to my ted talk keep writing stay hydrated mwap

Mydei x Yandere!Reader

At first, Mydei was just another face in the crowd, one more person who basked in the admiration of others, soaking up attention like it was his birthright.

And you? You acted like you couldn't care less.

When he flashed that charming smile, you barely glanced his way. When he teased, when he toyed, when he played his little games with those around him, you only met him with flat indifference, as if he were nothing special. As if he didn’t matter.

But inside, deep down, where no one could see, you were watching.

You noticed everything. The way he moved, the way his presence filled a room, the way he always seemed so confident, so untouchable. The way others chased him like desperate moths to a flame. It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. You wanted to be the only one who saw him, the only one who truly understood him.

But you couldn’t show that.

So instead, you let him think you were unaffected. You played the part of the one who simply tolerated his presence, the one who didn’t crumble under his charm. And, strangely enough, that was what caught his interest.

Because Mydei had seen admiration before. He had seen obsession, longing, love. But he had never seen someone like you—someone who met him without worship, without expectation.

That was when he started watching you.

At first, it was subtle—lingering glances, idle curiosity. Then it grew. He found himself searching for you in every room, noting the way you reacted (or didn’t) when he spoke. He tested your patience, pushed at your boundaries, just to see what you would do.

And when he finally realized the truth—when he caught that single moment where your mask cracked, when he saw the way your eyes lingered a little too long, the way your fingers twitched when someone else got too close—he smiled.

Because you were different. And that was why he loved you.

The confession came suddenly, without warning.

“I want you” Mydei had said one evening, his voice soft but certain. “You’re the only one who’s ever really seen me.”

You had scoffed, played it off like it meant nothing. "So? What do you expect me to do about it?"

His gaze didn’t waver. "Stay with me."

And that was how it started.

Your relationship was complicated, tangled in sharp edges and unspoken truths. Mydei was possessive, but he never needed to be—because you weren’t going anywhere. You watched him, he watched you, a game of quiet obsession played in the shadows.

So when some fool approached Mydei one day, warning him about you, he only chuckled.

"Obsessed?" he echoed, amusement dancing in his voice. "You act like that’s a bad thing."

After all, love meant never having to let go.

It started with whispers.

A nervous glance here, a hushed murmur there. People had always gossiped, always speculated about your relationship with Mydei, but lately, the tension had shifted. It was no longer just idle curiosity or petty jealousy. No, this was something else.

Fear.

The first warning came from a former admirer of Mydei’s, a trembling voice layered with concern.

"Mydei, I know you might not believe me, but they’re dangerous" she said, wringing her hands together. "They don’t just push people away—they get rid of them. Anyone who gets too close to you just… disappears."

Mydei tilted his head, fingers resting against his chin. "Is that so?"

She nodded quickly, relieved that he was listening. "Yes! I—I don’t think you realize just how deep this goes. I even heard that—"

He cut her off with a lazy smile. "And?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Why did that concern you?"

Her mouth opened and closed, as if struggling to process his response. "They’re obsessed with you! Aren’t you—aren’t you scared?"

"Should I be?" He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, if someone was willing to burn the world down for you… wouldn’t that be just a little bit romantic?"

The girl paled, taking a shaky step back. Mydei only laughed as she hurried away.

The second warning came from someone bolder.

"Mydei, listen to me," a man muttered, grabbing his wrist firmly. "That person you’re with? They’re unhinged. They have people watching you. I—I overheard them threatening someone just for looking at you the wrong way."

Mydei arched a brow. "And?"

The man’s grip tightened. "Don’t you get it? They’re dangerous."

A slow smirk spread across Mydei’s lips. "Good."

The man flinched, his expression shifting from urgency to something wary. "You… you knew?"

Mydei sighed, shaking his head. "Of course I knew. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?" His fingers pried the man’s hand off his wrist, his grip just a little too firm. "Tell me, do you think I look like someone who lets things slip past me?"

The man swallowed hard, but before he could say anything else, Mydei turned away, waving him off as if he were nothing more than a passing nuisance.

The warnings kept coming. People muttering in corridors, exchanging uneasy glances when they thought Mydei wasn’t looking.

They all seemed to think they were telling him some grand secret. That he was blind.

But Mydei had never been blind.

He knew exactly what kind of person you were.

And that was exactly why he stayed.

Mydei was no stranger to being watched. Admired, even. He knew the weight of lingering stares, the way people’s eyes followed him with thinly veiled longing. It was expected, predictable.

But your gaze? That was something else entirely.

He felt it before he even saw you.

It was late afternoon when he paused in the palace gardens, ignoring the meaningless chatter of nobles flitting around him. A faint rustle overhead had his lips curving into a smirk. Subtle to most—but not to him.

Ah. There you were.

Perched on a tree branch like a shadow, watching him with that same unreadable intensity you always had.

The noblewoman beside him prattled on about something inconsequential, but Mydei wasn’t listening. His focus had already shifted. He barely spared the woman a glance before turning on his heel and striding toward the tree, cutting through the manicured hedges without hesitation.

"Ah—Your highness?" The woman’s voice wavered, confused by his abrupt disinterest.

But he was already gone.

You didn’t move as he approached, still as a predator in waiting. Mydei took his time, tilting his head as he peered up at you.

"You know," he mused, amusement lacing his tone, "if you’re going to stalk me, at least put in a little more effort. This is hardly a challenge."

You didn’t dignify that with a response, though your fingers twitched ever so slightly against the bark. Mydei chuckled, stepping closer.

"Are you going to keep watching from up there, or do I have to come and get you myself?"

There was the briefest flicker of movement before you leapt down, landing soundlessly a few feet away. You dusted off your sleeves, leveling him with a blank stare.

"Busy?" you asked, voice flat.

"Not anymore" he said breezily, as if he hadn’t just walked away from an entire crowd to chase after you.

A scoff. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re predictable." His smirk widened as he leaned in slightly. "Did you think I wouldn’t notice?"

"You were taking too long."

Mydei let out a delighted laugh. "Impatient, are we?"

You rolled your eyes, but the way you lingered just a little too close, the way your fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to grab him—it was enough to make his blood hum with satisfaction.

"Let’s go somewhere less… public."

You hesitated for only a moment before following.

The nobles and servants who had been watching from afar exchanged looks, whispers passing between them. Some admired the way Mydei always gravitated toward you, the way he smiled so easily in your presence. Others found it unnerving, the intensity between you both—something electric, something dangerous.

But none of them dared to interfere.

Mydei led you through the palace gardens, away from prying eyes. He didn’t need to look back to know you were following. You always did.

That was the fun part.

You never admitted it, never said it outright, but he knew. You were obsessed with him. And, he loved that.

As you walked, his pace slowed until he was just beside you. "You know," he mused, voice light, "most people try to get my attention by speaking to me. But I suppose lurking in trees works too."

"Maybe if you weren’t surrounded by idiots all the time, I wouldn’t have to."

Mydei let out a delighted hum. "Jealous?"

You didn’t answer.

Which meant yes.

He grinned, shifting closer, until his shoulder nearly brushed against yours. "you could always just say you want me to yourself."

"I don’t care what you do"

"You're bad at lying" Mydei sing-songed, clearly entertained.

You huffed, but Mydei only smirked, pleased. He knew how to push, how to tug at the threads of your carefully composed exterior until they frayed just enough to amuse him.

After a few moments of silence, Mydei spoke again, this time more thoughtful. "You know, someone tried to warn me about you again today."

"Is that so?"

He turned to face you fully, walking backward without a care. "Apparently, you’re dangerous."

"Are you scared?"

Mydei chuckled, stepping even closer. "You tell me."

"You really don’t care, do you?"

Mydei’s grin widened. "Would I still be here if I did?"

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second, Mydei thought you might actually say something real. But instead, you scoffed and looked away.

"Tch. Idiot."

"Possessive" Mydei countered smoothly.

You shot him a glare, but he only laughed, unbothered as always.

It started with small things like a glance that lingered too long, a conversation cut too short. People who used to approach Mydei freely now hesitated, their smiles more forced, their words more cautious.

At first, he found it amusing. You were possessive—he had always known that.

But then, things began to shift.

The first real incident was at a banquet.

A noblewoman, a foreign dignitary, all fluttering lashes and saccharine words had taken an interest in him. Nothing unusual. Mydei had entertained her with easy conversation, just enough to be polite.

And then he saw you.

Standing at the edge of the room, watching.

When he met your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, as if waiting. He excused himself from the noblewoman’s company without thinking. His feet carried him toward you before he could question why.

“You’re being ridiculous..” he murmured when he reached you.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. The way your gaze flicked over his shoulder, where the noblewoman still lingered, was enough.

The next morning, the woman abruptly cut her stay short and left the palace without explanation.

People murmuring about how she had seemed shaken, about how she had refused to speak of why she was leaving.

He didn’t ask you about it.

But that wasn’t the last time.

More people began avoiding him. Conversations ended when he entered a room. Some courtiers wouldn’t even meet his gaze anymore.

And every time, when he turned to look at you, he found you already watching.

“You’re being too much.” he finally told you one evening.

You didn’t flinch. “Too much for what?”

“For them.” Mydei gestured vaguely. “You’re scaring people off.”

“Good.”

He frowned. “That’s not—”

“Do you want them?”

The question was quiet, but it made his breath catch.

You were standing too close now, eyes dark, expression unreadable. The air felt heavier, like a trap he hadn’t realized he’d stepped into.

You weren’t touching him, but he felt caged all the same.

“…No” he admitted.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He let out a slow breath, forcing a smirk onto his lips. “You’re suffocating, you know that?”

“You like it.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

And maybe that was the worst part.

---

Mydei woke to darkness.

His mind was sluggish, limbs heavy. The faint scent of something cloying still lingered at the back of his throat—something sweet.His wrists ached when he moved, the telltale tightness of silk restraints biting into his skin. He was sitting, legs spread, posture relaxed but utterly bound.

A chuckle bubbled up from his throat. “Really?” His voice was hoarse, still thick with the aftereffects of whatever you had given him.

“You went too far.”

Your voice was steady, but he could hear it—the irritation laced beneath. The anger you rarely let slip.

He should be wary. Should be unsettled by the cold metal dragging along his collarbone, the warning pressure of something sharp just barely pressing into his skin.

But he wasn’t.

Because this? This was new.

And Mydei never could resist a good game.

A sharp pain flared across his cheek—a slap, hard enough to make his head turn. The sting bloomed into heat, skin tingling.

Mydei exhaled slowly. “Ah… so that’s how it is?”

You didn’t respond. He could feel you there, hovering close, your presence a weight against his senses.

Then another hit. His lip split, a sharp copper tang filling his mouth.

His tongue darted out, tasting it.

“You don’t like it when I talk to others, do you?” His voice was almost teasing, but lower, rougher.

Your fingers curled around his throat, tightening just enough to make him swallow.

“Shut up.”

He hummed, not quite a laugh, but close. “Make me.”

Your grip tightened, cutting off his breath for just a moment before releasing.

His pulse thrummed with something heady, something dangerous. He shifted slightly, testing his restraints—not out of a desire to escape, but just to feel the silk dig deeper.

A soft chuckle escaped him. “You think this will make me stop?”

You leaned in, breath hot against his ear. “No” you murmured.

You knew him too well.

Knew that no matter how tight you held him, no matter how hard you tried to break him—

He would always let you.

Because in the end, neither of you wanted to let go.

[tkwrites]

regarding your reblog about quinn sitting out for four nations….. i’m sure sarah would also be very relieved that he’s prioritizing his health, but i’m now also so curious how you think sarah would have dealt with the whole situation leading up to now….. i.e., quinn playing with his injured hand for weeks, the fact that they kept sending him back out in that one game when he was clearly in so much pain and couldn’t even make it through a shift (the game was basically over anyway!), and even just the process of him making the decision to skip four nations. how do you imagine sarah was feeling about all of it and how outspoken do you think she would have been about her concerns? do you think quinn was asking for her opinion? do you think the topic caused any sorta tension at all? (rambly as hell as per usual mb)

Well, this took on a life of its own (rambly as hell in my own way).

We're going from injuries and Sarah's worry that Quinn is putting himself at risk for the team, all the way to her keeping to her Valentines Day plans despite the fact that they're spending the lead up to the day together.

I had this idea for Sarah gifting Quinn lingerie to get him hyped for her arrival in Montreal on Valentines Day, and I just couldn't let it go, so you get everything together.

Warnings for lots of angst, and then lots of teasing and longing at the end. Also, some praise kink stroking.

Hope you enjoy even though it's a little chaotic!

Though they live together, and they’re fully committed, she’s still not quite sure what her place is in this situation and how much she should say. All Sarah wants is for Quinn to not push himself too hard. To not injure himself any further. 

They first talked about it when he decided to join the team mid-way through the road trip after his hand injury. This caused a minor argument. She thought he shouldn’t go. He felt like the team needed him, and, as the trainers told him, he couldn’t injure his hand any more than it already was if he took the proper precautions. To him, it was a no-brainer.

“You’re not the only person on that team, Quinn,” she said as he was packing. 

“Yep, that’s the definition of a team.” 

“I just…” She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to make herself heard. “I know you’re the best player on the team, but —” 

He stiffened, “no, I’m not.” 

“Statistics don’t lie, Quinn.” 

He turned from his suitcase then, “but what?” 

The way he was looking at her, all hard edges and determination made her pause. 

“But what?” he demanded again. 

There was no good way to say this. “But, if they can’t figure out how to play without you, I’m worried you’re going to run yourself into the ground trying to keep them afloat.” 

Anger flashed in his face before he turned back to his packing, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe not,” she acquiesced, “but I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself even more. Isn’t it worth taking time off to heal?” 

“I have to help them,” he said, voice sounding like it was cut from glass. 

“Quinn, I know you want to win, but…” she trailed off, leaving out the at what cost? 

“We need to win these games, or we miss the playoffs.” 

“I know, but —” 

He slammed his suitcase closed. “I’m going, okay. I can’t hurt my hand any more.”

She winced, mind racing with images of someone targeting his injury, slashing him, or slamming him into the boards to guarantee it would get worse — keeping him out of the game even longer. 

The way she was looking at him, resigned and… almost frightened, made Quinn pause for half a second. His shoulders dropped, “I have to go, Sarah.” 

“Have to?”

“Yes. I have to help however I can.” 

Even though she’d thought this would be the outcome of this argument, she had to fight for him, even if he wasn’t going to fight for himself. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her soft voice was like a punch to the gut. 

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, pulling a half smile onto his mouth. 

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she still drove him to the airport and kissed him goodbye, hating the scratchy feel of the brace straps when his hands cupped her face. 

“I’ll call you when I get there,” he promised. 

She nodded, “Please be careful.”

“I will,” he promised. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” she said, giving him a sad smile goodbye.  

He finally understood the guilt Mysey talked about when he came back from injury as soon as possible last season. 

The night he injured his oblique, she was watching from home (of course), wincing through the whole game. Everything felt off with JT suddenly gone. Then, near the end, when they announced Quinn was off the bench, her heart started to race, and she grabbed her phone, hoping he’s sent her some kind of update. He didn’t until after the game, and after she’d watched him try, and fail to skate the way he usually did more than once, knowing it wasn’t Tocc throwing him out there, but Quinn throwing himself out on the ice. 

When he came home, wincing at every movement, she watched him with big, worried eyes. 

She didn’t talk to him when he went to the rink for the following game, angry that he was so blatantly ignoring his own welfare. She even thought about not going to the game at all but ultimately decided that would cause more damage than she wanted to repair. It was a nice surprise when he appeared next to her to watch the game. Relief flooded through her, knowing that the trainers and coaches wouldn’t let him play, despite his insistence he could push through. 

As the tournament loomed closer and closer, and his injury was getting better, but not healed, she felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

Quinn is competitive and intense, and hockey is something that brings him an enormous amount of joy. She didn’t want him to miss this opportunity to play for his country and with his brother and best friend, but she knew he just couldn’t. Hearing his grunt of pain when he sat up in bed each morning was enough to tell her he couldn’t feasibly play. His hand injury, though persistent, didn’t affect much of their everyday life, other than she’d been on top most of the time, which neither of them minded all that much. But this was different. And both of them knew it. 

When he finally announced he wasn’t playing, relief swept through her life like a wave. She’d even contemplated calling Jack to beg him to make Quinn see sense. The fact she didn’t have to made her feel almost giddy. If he hadn’t been so sad, she would have danced around the house in celebration.

The only thing she was a little sad about was the change to their Valentines Day plans. With school, she’d been planning to fly out to him on Friday night, and had care packages packed to sneak into his suit case, something to open on the 12th, 13th and 14th to get him excited for her arrival. 

She stuck to the plan, even though they were home, leaving a gift out for him to find each morning. 

When Quinn got up to go to PT on Wednesday, he had a text from Sarah. Don’t forget to open your gift! 

He had no idea what she was talking about. 

The gift she was referencing turned out to be a black silk drawstring bag, no bigger than a sheet of notebook paper, left on the dining room table. The tag tied to it read, This time, you get to choose. Package 1 of 3, which will it be? 

When he opened it, he pulled out a swath of meshy lace. Blue, to match his jersey. It took him a while to figure out which way was up, but once he did, he couldn’t help the noise that crawled up his throat. It was a lace body suit. Sheer and stretchy. Just imagining Sarah in it gave him an instant boner. 

He brought it up after she got home that evening, but she just patted his knee with a coy smile, “you have to wait to see all three options before you can make a choice.” 

“There was only one thing in that bag!” 

“I know,” she said, pressing a teasing kiss to his mouth, “they were supposed to go in your suitcase, so you’d be excited to see me on Valentine’s Day.” 

“They?” he demanded. 

“There are more,” she said simply, sauntering out of the room and leaving him feeling breathless. 

“You’ll get the second tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. 

He groaned despite the excitement that reared in his stomach. 

The next morning, after a restless night of wanting, another black bag appeared. This one on the bar counter. Two is the middle, but will it win of the three?

His fingers brushed something soft when he reached inside, and for a moment, he thought it might be empty before he realized the thing he was touching was made of the same material as the bag. He pulled out a pair of little silk shorts, trimmed in lace, then a matching black camisole. Compared to her gift from the day before, this seemed incredibly tame. All the same, he had to admit, he wanted to see it on her. He knew it would be her perfect brand of comfortably sexy. 

The thought of her in the little silk set popped into his mind even more than the blue number had. The blue lace was a fantasy — one he definitely wanted to see come to life — but the silk was real, something he could see her wearing often. He could imagine sliding it off her when they settled into bed on a normal Tuesday night. 

The image of her curvy thighs swathed in the slippery material assaulted his thoughts so often, he practically jumped on her when she got home from work, cornering her against that same bar counter where she’d left the gift that morning. 

“Hi,” she said, giggling against his mouth. 

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” 

“Am I?” she asked, innocently batting her eyelashes. 

“Why don’t you put this on?” he asked, fingering the lace where it lay on the counter behind her.

“You have to see all three,” she said, easing away from him. “Pick which one’s your favorite.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I want you to wait. And the whole point of this was to get you so excited to see me, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me once I was there.” 

“But you’re here now.” 

“Patience is a virtue, Quinn.”

“This isn't patience. This is torture.”

“Torture?” she repeated, arching a brow. 

“You don't get it! I've had a hard on for two days now, and I’m going crazy. It’d be different if I was gone, but you’re right here.” 

She smiled a satisfied smile and walked to the kitchen. 

He was so desperate for her the next morning, he followed her to the bathroom, crowding her against the sink, hips pressed to her ass as she brushed her teeth. 

“Please?” he groaned in her ear. 

She shook her head before leaning over the sink to spit out the toothpaste. The move caused her to press back against him, and he grunted. 

“Just because you’re home doesn’t mean we should skip out on the amazing Valentines Day sex I had planned.” 

“It is Valentines Day,” he reminded. “We can have amazing sex right now.” 

Shooting him a look in the mirror as she swished mouthwash, Sarah shook her head. 

Letting out a groan of frustration, Quinn let his head fall on her shoulder. 

“You just have to make it until I’m done with class,” she said, turning in his arms. “I was planning on making you wait until I would have arrived in Boston, but then I decided that was too mean.” 

“Why don’t you skip class,” he asked, nosing her jaw as his mouth dipped to her neck. 

She let out a pleasured hum. 

“Come on,” he whispered into her skin, “I’ll get you off as much as you want.” 

Swallowing her desire and clinging to the knowledge that the anticipation would make everything better, she broke away from him, “I have to go to class. I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

He was gripping the sink, breathing deeply when she left the final present on the bed, and slipped out the door. 

Barely glancing at the tag, Package 3 of 3. Are you getting excited to see me?, he tore into the silk bag, nearly ripping it in the process. Too impatient to wait, he turned it over. Several pieces of red fabric spilled onto the duvet. 

He swore as he pulled the pieces apart. The largest was a robe, satin and short. There was a bra with a bunch of straps he couldn’t figure out, but he knew would look dead sexy once Sarah had it on. Then, a pair of panties made from the same lace as the bra. Only, it seemed as though the whole back of them was missing. Like a thong in reverse. 

How was he supposed to decide which of these to pick? He wondered if he could convince her to try them all on for him so he could make an informed decision. 

In the end, after laying each piece of lingerie side by side on the bed, he decided it had to be the blue. He’d never seen her in anything like it before, and at this point, he wasn’t sure if he could wait for her to change. 

He left it out on the bed and left the apartment. He needed to clear his head and had to pick up her gifts. 

When he got back home, he called for her, hoping he hadn’t beat her home. 

“I’m up here.” 

He raced up the stairs, nearly dropping the roses and chocolates in his haste. 

“Holy fucking shit,” he said once his eyes landed on her where she was leaning against the lucky couch, wrapped in tight blue lace. 

“You like?” she asked, skimming a hand down her side.

He made a nonsensical noise that nevertheless served as an affirmative answer. She looked incredible, all lace and curves, and yet, still his loving Sarah. She was a fantasy come to life.

“You’ve been so patient for me,” she said, padding toward him and taking the gifts from him. 

She made a show of leaning over to set them on the coffee table. 

His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and he made a sort of guttural sound of longing. 

Her hand trailed up his arm when she came back to him, “you’ve been such a good boy for me, Quinn.” 

“Fuck.” 

“You know what good boys get?” 

“Rewarded?” he ventured, his voice cracking over the word. 

“That’s right. Are you ready for your reward?”

Knees wobbling, he nodded frantically. 

Giving him a sexy smile, she led him to the bedroom. 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist 

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to the idea of a threesome with another member

Request: hey!! can you possibly do !husband!svt reacting to having a threesome with another member?? kinda like if they even would consider it, or who they would choose out of all the others. thank you so much already!! + yes hubby!svt x wifey!reader x another member is what i meant!! sorry for being unclear about that!!🤍

A/N: Some of these choices might make it seem like I’m shipping, lol, but anyway—I hope this is what you wanted! I scheduled this without saving it to my drafts for a recheck, so don’t mind any mistakes I might’ve made. Tumblr doesn’t save changes, but I have way too many pending requests, and it’s getting overwhelming. I couldn’t complete the other requests because of this Tumblr issue, but today, I had an epiphany: I can just post directly instead—at least until Tumblr gets back to me. So please ignore any typos, formatting errors, etc., etc.

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Would Definitely Consider It (Under the Right Circumstances):

Jun – He’s the wildcard. He has a flirtatious and experimental streak, so he wouldn’t mind trying it if you initiated the idea. Minghao will be his choice (bahahah).

Hoshi – He’s adventurous, playful and very open-minded. He’d probably be the one to bring it up first just to see your reaction. He loves excitement and if it’s something you’re curious about, he’d be down. Woozi would be his first choice. He’d love to see his usually composed bestie in a wilder setting lol.

Mingyu – He’s open-minded and likes pushing boundaries in relationships. He’d probably joke about it first but if you were genuinely interested, he’d consider it. I think his choice would be Wonwoo or Jeonghan. They already have that chem, and they are someone Mingyu trusts completely.

Minghao – He’s open to new experiences but only if it’s something you really wanted. He’s emotionally mature enough to separate pleasure from deeper love. Jun will definitely be his choice (yes they're each other's choice). They have a natural bond and he’d feel most comfortable with him in such an intimate situation.

Would Maybe Consider It (But It’s Complicated):

Dokyeom – He’d turn beet red at the suggestion but wouldn’t be completely opposed. But the real problem is he’d get too emotionally attached and overthink things. In my opinion, I think his choice would be Mingyu. It’d feel like a fun, spontaneous thingy with someone he already vibes with.

Vernon – He’d be very nonchalant about it and respond with, “I mean…if you want to.” But deep down, he might not actually care enough to make it happen. Dino would definitely be his choice for a threesome. He’d pick someone who’s also laid-back, so nothing feels awkward.

Dino – He’d need a lot of convincing. He might go for it if it was positioned as a ‘fun experiment,’ but afterward, he’d probably get shy or maybe overthink. His choice will probably be Hoshi. There’s already a strong bond, and it would feel more like a game than anything super serious.

Absolutely Not (Too Loyal, Too Possessive, or Just Not Into It):

Seungcheol – This man is territorial. You are his, end of discussion. Suggesting it might even make him a little jealous and possessive.

Jeonghan – He loves to tease about things like this but would never actually go through with it. Deep down, he’s high-key possessive and wouldn’t want to share you.

Joshua – He’s too traditional and reserved. He doesn’t want to take even a 0.001% risk of anything that could potentially affect the relationship.

Wonwoo – Not necessarily out of jealousy, but he sees sex as something really personal and wouldn’t want you or him to share that level of intimacy with anyone other than each other.

Woozi – He’d be so so uncomfortable with the idea. He’s private and values intimacy in a one-on-one setting.

Seungkwan – Absolutely not. He would take the idea as a personal attack, wondering why he alone isn’t enough for you.

[eu-nicola]

attraction part 2

summary: after your mother's death you marry Ward Cameron to have economic stability and you meet his son who hangs around you

warnings: age-gap, cheating (?), idk tell me

word counter: 8519

author’s note: english is not my first language, ofc i’m based on one of my favorite novels

You were at home, sitting in the living room with one of the house staff while she talked to you about organizing your birthday party. It was an important event. Everything had to be perfect, from the menu to the guest list.  

"The food has to be perfect, Mrs. Cameron," the woman said professionally. "Have you decided if you prefer seafood or something more traditional?"  

You took a moment to think, running your fingers along the rim of your glass of water.  

"Seafood sounds good," you finally replied. "But I also want some classic options. Not everyone likes strong flavors."  

She nodded and took notes, then asked you about the desserts, decorations, and other details. You spent a good while discussing every aspect of the party, making sure everything would be just right.  

And then, out of nowhere, Rafe showed up.  

He walked in with that relaxed, careless stride, like he owned the place. He seemed distracted or at least pretended to be because as he passed by you, his body brushed against yours.  

It was brief, but enough for you to feel it.  

"Sorry, Mrs. Cameron," he said in a neutral tone, but there was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite read.  

You didn’t respond.  

You just gave a slight nod, not interested in starting anything. It wasn’t worth it.  

He lingered a second longer than necessary before walking away, while you simply turned back to the staff member and resumed your conversation.  

Later, you were in Ward’s office, going over some party details with him.  

"It has to be an elegant event," your husband said, scanning a list. "I don’t want anything missing."  

"Everything will be well organized," you replied confidently.  

You were focused on the conversation when, suddenly, a familiar presence filled the room.  

Rafe.  

Like the most annoying person in the world, he walked up to you with an expression that promised nothing good.  

And before you could react, he leaned in and greeted you with a kiss on the cheek.  

He had never done that before.  

He had never shown the slightest courtesy or affection.  

But now, here he was.  

The brush of his lips against your skin was quick, almost innocent.  

But what wasn’t innocent was his hand.  

Because when he kissed your cheek, his fingers slid down your back, tracing a slow, deliberate path.  

A shiver ran through you instantly.  

It wasn’t fear.  

It wasn’t pleasure.  

It was confusion.  

A small act, but with a clear intention: to get under your skin.  

And the worst part? It worked.  

After that greeting, Rafe stayed in the room, casually talking to his father like nothing had happened.  

You, on the other hand, tried to stay composed.  

You could still feel the slight tingle on your skin where his lips had touched, the sensation of his hand moving down your back with that subtle, teasing touch. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.  

You stayed put, listening to the conversation between father and son without actually paying attention to the words.  

Rafe spoke confidently, as always, with that attitude of the golden boy who never quite fit the role. Ward, for his part, responded calmly.  

You just waited.  

When the conversation ended, you stood up gracefully and left the room without saying a word.  

You weren’t in the mood for more of Rafe’s games.  

But he didn’t seem too eager to leave you alone.  

Because just seconds later, you heard him follow you out.  

You didn’t look at him right away. You kept walking, head held high, but when you noticed he was keeping up with you, you stopped and turned to face him.  

You weren’t about to let him think he could mess with you.  

"Stop doing that," you said in a low, controlled, but firm tone.  

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence.  

"Doing what?"  

"Your games," you shot back without hesitation. "You’re too old for this."  

Rafe let out a short laugh, tilting his head with an amused expression, like he couldn’t care less about your reproach.  

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," he said with fake indifference. "I was just being polite. Not my fault if you’re not used to it."  

You stared at him coldly.  

"Don’t play with me, Rafe."  

He held your gaze for a few seconds, his lips curling into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.  

"Why? Are you scared to play with me?"  

You didn’t answer.  

You weren’t going to give him any more reasons to keep provoking you.  

So you simply turned around and kept walking, not bothering to look back.  

But as you walked away, you could still feel him there, watching you.  

You kept your pace steady, trying to shake off the conversation with Rafe and the unsettling feeling he left behind. But as soon as you turned down one of the hallways, you ran into Wheezie.  

"What’s wrong?" she asked.  

You didn’t hesitate for a second before stepping closer and gently grabbing her arm, pulling her toward you.  

"You’re the only good thing in this house," you murmured, feeling a momentary sense of relief at seeing her.  

Wheezie blinked, surprised by the sudden confession, but instead of pulling away, she gave you a knowing look and nodded.  

"I know," she said with a small smile. "Trust me, I’ve thought the same thing plenty of times."  

You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. In a house where tension seemed to fill every corner, Wheezie was like a breath of fresh air.  

"How’s the birthday planning going?" she asked, casually changing the subject to lighten the mood.  

You sighed, slowly letting go of her.  

"Because of the wedding, I didn’t get to plan it properly," you admitted. "So now everything’s being rushed. It’s not what I had in mind, but I just hope Saturday goes well."  

Wheezie gave you a reassuring look, like she completely understood how you felt.  

"It will," she said with confidence. "Everything you plan always turns out amazing."  

You appreciated her faith in you with a smile.  

Saturday came way too fast for your liking.  

Between last-minute preparations, organizing the event, and the constant tension you’d been feeling since getting married, everything happened in the blink of an eye. There was no time for what you really wanted to do, but there wasn’t much you could do about it now.  

All that was left was making sure the night was perfect.  

The theme of the party was simple: an all-white celebration… except for your family, who would wear dark colors to stand out among the guests. A subtle but effective way to mark the difference.  

And you, as the hostess and the newly crowned Mrs. Cameron, would be the center of attention.  

Your dress was a masterpiece.  

An elegant, sophisticated design, entirely black. The top had a deep V neckline, covered by a fine sheer mesh with a pattern resembling a spider web. Tiny white and black pearls decorated the mesh, giving it an ethereal, delicate effect.  

The skirt flowed gracefully to the floor, hugging your figure perfectly before subtly flaring into a slight train. Every move you made made the dress seem like it was gliding through the crowd like a shadow.  

Ward was by your side in a perfectly tailored black suit, matching you. His presence was steady and confident, as always.  

The Cameron mansion had been completely transformed for the occasion.  

The garden was lit by hundreds of hanging white lights, creating an ethereal and sophisticated atmosphere. The tables were decorated with white floral centerpieces and tall candles flickering in the breeze. On the dance floor, a grand chandelier hung above the polished marble, reflecting light in all directions.  

There were about a hundred guests, businessmen, Ward’s associates, members of the Outer Banks high society, and some acquaintances you’d managed to invite despite the short notice. Everyone was dressed in white, like ghostly figures under the dim lighting.  

And among them, the Camerons stood out.  

Sarah wore a fitted black satin dress with thin straps and a slit up the leg. Her hair was down in soft waves, and even though she kept a neutral expression, she seemed to be enjoying the party.  

Wheezie had chosen a more modest navy-blue dress with long sleeves and lace details. Her excitement was obvious, this was a real celebration for her.  

And then, there was Rafe.  

Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, no tie. His relaxed demeanor stood out against the seriousness of the rest of his family. He sipped from his glass with an indifferent air, but his gaze moved through the party like he was taking everything in.  

When your eyes met his, his expression didn’t change.  

But something in the way he looked at you sent a shiver down your spine.  

Ward’s hand gently pressed against your waist, pulling you closer with a smile before whispering, “You look stunning.”  

You forced a smile, thanking him.  

The night moved quickly, like every detail had been calculated down to the last second. The soft music of violins drifted through the air as guests sipped their drinks and chatted.  

The atmosphere was filled with murmurs, quiet laughter, and the clinking of crystal glasses in occasional toasts. From the terrace, you could see the dark ocean stretching beyond the glowing garden, a stark contrast to the whiteness of the party unfolding before you.  

You stayed close to Ward, his hand resting on the small of your back.  

The guests’ eyes lingered on you with curiosity. You weren’t just the youngest wife in the recent history of the Cameron family, you stood out.  

When the time came for the official celebration, everyone was led toward one of the large garden tables, where the enormous cake sat.  

It was a masterpiece, several tiers, covered in immaculate white frosting with gold details and floral decorations in cream tones. Tiny sugar pearls shimmered under the candlelight.  

The guests formed a circle around the table, and Ward stayed beside you, his arm firm around your waist.  

Wheezie was the first to start singing “Happy Birthday,” her youthful enthusiasm shining through. One by one, the others joined in until the song filled every corner of the garden.  

Sarah smiled softly, clapping politely.  

Rafe, on the other hand, leaned against one of the porch columns, glass in hand, his face unreadable. He didn’t sing, just watched.  

When the song ended, Ward raised his glass and spoke.  

“To my wife,” his voice rang with authority, with certainty. “The woman who has brought new light to this family. May this be the first of many celebrations together.”  

The guests lifted their glasses in a graceful unison and drank to you.  

You smiled and blew out the candles.  

After everyone had enjoyed the cake and the drinks kept flowing, the music changed.  

A soft waltz began playing, and Ward extended his hand toward you with a charming smile.  

“May I have this dance, Mrs. Cameron?”  

You knew it wasn’t really a question.  

And you couldn’t refuse.  

With practiced grace, you took his hand, and he led you to the center of the dance floor.  

The guests stepped aside, giving you space. The hanging lights above twinkled like artificial stars as Ward took your hand firmly and guided you into a flawless rhythm.  

“You’re the center of attention tonight,” he murmured as he spun you smoothly. “How does it feel?”  

You gave him a measured smile.  

“It’s... different.”  

Ward tilted his head slightly, still moving with you.  

“You’ll get used to it.”  

He said it with such certainty that you couldn’t tell if it was a promise or a warning.  

As you danced, you could feel certain gazes fixed on you.  

When the song ended, the guests clapped politely.  

Ward gave a small, elegant nod before kissing your hand and leading you off the dance floor.  

The soft music and the quiet hum of conversations created the perfect atmosphere, and for the first time in a while, you were actually enjoying the night.  

You walked through the guests with grace, exchanging words with each one, asking if everything was to their liking.  

Ward was engaged in conversation with some of his business partners, occasionally glancing at you with an approving smile.  

Wheezie moved around excitedly, while Sarah stayed close to her group of friends, enjoying the night in her own way.  

Rafe… well, Rafe was another story.  

You’d caught him watching you multiple times throughout the night. His eyes followed you from different spots in the garden, but every time you met his gaze, he looked away with a smirk.  

It was annoying.  

But you decided to ignore it.  

At some point, you felt the need to step away from the noise. Pulling your phone from your purse, you quietly slipped into a more secluded part of the garden, where the light was dim and the music was just a distant echo.  

You unlocked your phone, scrolling through your messages, enjoying a brief moment of quiet.  

It didn’t last long.  

“Don’t tell me you’re bored at your own party.”  

The sound of his voice made your blood run cold.  

Rafe.  

You took a deep breath and locked your phone, ready to walk away before he had the chance to start his little game.  

But when you tried to move, he stretched out an arm, resting his hand against the wall beside you, blocking your way.  

“Relax, Mrs. Cameron,” he said with a crooked smile. “I just came to say happy twenty birthday.”  

You looked at him warily.  

“Thanks.”  

You didn’t know what else to say.  

His closeness unsettled you, not out of fear, but because his presence had an effect on you, one you refused to acknowledge.  

“Great party,” he said casually. “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting something this… elegant.”  

“What were you expecting?” you asked before you could stop yourself.  

Rafe shrugged.  

“I don’t know. Something less… sophisticated.”  

There was a teasing edge to his words, but you refused to take the bait.  

A brief silence settled between you, his eyes locked onto yours before he stepped in a little closer.  

Too close.  

A shiver ran down your spine as his scent wrapped around you, a mix of mint and tobacco you’d noticed before.  

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice lower than you would have liked.  

He didn’t answer right away.  

Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, and in one quick, unexpected movement, his mouth was on yours.  

You froze for a second, completely in shock.  

But then… you kissed him back.  

It was just a moment, barely a couple of seconds where you lost yourself in the feeling of his lips, warm and confident against yours.  

But then reality hit you like a bucket of cold water.  

You pulled away abruptly and, without thinking, raised your hand and slapped him.  

The sound echoed in the silent air.  

Rafe tilted his head at the impact, but when he looked back at you… he was smiling.  

A smug, amused smile, like he had gotten exactly what he wanted.  

“Don't ever do that again," you said through gritted teeth, still feeling the heat on your skin.  

“Why? Did it scare you how much you liked it?"

You glared at him.  

“It's disrespectful."

“To who?" he asked, his voice low, teasing.  

“To me," you answered without hesitation.  

Something flickered in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite figure out, but you didn’t stick around to find out.  

You turned around and walked away, feeling your heart pounding against your chest.  

No.  

This couldn’t happen again.  

You went back to the party, determined to act like nothing had happened.  

You blended in with the guests, smiling, accepting congratulations, toasting with those who approached you, and staying close to Ward.  

But you could feel Rafe’s gaze.  

You could sense it on your skin, following your every move, lingering and persistent.  

And even though your heart pounded every time you noticed, you refused to give it any importance.  

When the celebration finally ended, Ward and you said your goodbyes to the last guests, exchanging the final polite words. He wrapped an arm around your waist in a possessive, proud gesture, and you leaned into him.  

As you walked toward your room, you felt that gaze again.  

Instinctively, you turned your head, and there he was.  

Leaning against a wall, drink in hand, eyes locked on you.  

You didn’t do anything.  

You didn’t say anything.  

You just kept walking.  

The next morning, soft sunlight filtered through the windows.  

You woke up early, still carrying the emotional hangover from the night before, but determined to ignore it all. You got ready calmly and headed downstairs for breakfast, expecting to find only Ward, but to your misfortune, Rafe was already there.  

He looked relaxed, sitting with a cup of coffee in one hand, flipping through a newspaper like the world was perfectly normal.  

Like he hadn’t crossed a line last night.  

"Good morning, Mrs. Cameron," he said, in a tone that only you caught as a provocation.  

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.  

“Good morning," you replied neutrally.  

You sat at the far end of the table, where one of the housekeepers had already set your breakfast.  

Ward hadn’t come down yet.  

A heavy silence settled between you two.  

The only sound was Rafe’s coffee cup clinking against the saucer.  

“Did you sleep well?" he asked suddenly.  

You didn’t look at him.  

“Yes."

“Good," he replied, a slight hint of amusement in his voice sending a chill down your spine.  

You still didn’t look at him, focusing on your breakfast. But you could feel his presence in every fiber of your body.  

You knew he was watching you.  

You knew he was enjoying the discomfort you were trying to hide.  

Finally, you gathered your courage and looked up.  

Your eyes met his.  

Blue, cold, inquisitive.  

You couldn’t deny the obvious, Rafe was attractive. His face was the perfect mix of arrogance and danger, his posture always carried an air of overwhelming confidence, and the way he looked at you made your stomach twist… but not in disgust.  

You hated him, yeah.  

But that had nothing to do with his looks.  

It was his attitude, his way of provoking you, the way he moved with that maddening self-assurance, his insistence on making you react.  

A lazy smirk spread across his lips when he noticed you were staring.  

You immediately looked back at your plate.  

"Anything interesting in the paper?" you asked, trying to sound indifferent.  

“Not much," he replied casually. “But last night’s party was interesting, don’t you think?"

His words made your jaw tighten.  

You knew exactly what he meant.  

You didn’t answer.  

“Oh, come on," he said with a quiet chuckle. “Nothing to say about it?"

Finally, you set your fork down and looked at him with a neutral expression.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Rafe tilted his head, his smile never fading.  

“Sure you do."

A couple of seconds passed in silent tension between you.  

But just as you were about to respond, Ward walked into the dining room.  

“Good morning," he greeted, his usual authoritative tone filling the space.  

Both of you broke eye contact immediately.  

“Good morning, sweetheart," you said with a flawless smile, as if everything was perfectly normal.  

Rafe simply took a sip of his coffee, but before turning back to his newspaper, he murmured just low enough for only you to hear:  

“This is gonna be fun." 

After breakfast, you decided to take advantage of the sunny day and headed to the pool.  

Rafe had gone out with his girlfriend.  

Sarah wasn’t home.  

Wheezie was out with her friends.  

For the first time in a long while, the house felt like it was truly yours.  

You picked an elegant black bikini, put on your sunglasses, grabbed a book, and stretched out on one of the loungers by the pool.  

The warmth of the sun caressed your skin, the clear water shimmered with golden reflections, and for a moment, everything was peaceful.  

Just you, the sound of the water, and the soft rustling of the wind through the trees.  

Hours passed as you lost yourself between reading and moments where you simply closed your eyes to enjoy the calm.  

But that peace didn’t last long.  

You heard the sound of an engine approaching.  

Turning your head, you saw Rafe pulling into the driveway. He wasn’t alone.  

A brunette stepped out of the passenger seat with him.  

His girlfriend.  

You knew instantly.  

You’d heard her name before when someone mentioned Rafe’s girlfriend, but you’d never actually seen her. Until now.  

You shifted slightly on the lounger, dipping your feet into the water, pretending not to pay attention.  

But Rafe was paying attention.  

From the moment he stepped onto the property, his eyes had found you.  

You didn’t notice at first, too focused on acting indifferent, but every move you made had his full attention.  

The way your legs dipped into the water.  

The shimmer of droplets on your sun-kissed skin.  

The way the bikini hugged your body.  

For a few seconds, he completely forgot Sofía was next to him.  

“Rafe…" she called, snapping him out of it. He blinked, shaking his head and regaining his composure.  

With a charming smile, Sofía linked her arm through his as they walked toward you.  

“Stepmom," Rafe’s voice cut through your peace.  

You turned slowly, forcing yourself to stay calm.  

“Sofía," he said casually. “This is my dad’s wife."

There was something in his voice, a slight inflection only you caught.  

Sofía, however, didn’t seem to notice.  

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you, ma’am," she said warmly, extending her hand. “I’ve heard so many great things about you."

You shook her hand politely, offering a pleasant smile.  

“Likewise. Welcome."

For a brief moment, Rafe’s eyes drifted from your face down your body, taking in every inch of you without the slightest subtlety.  

And this time, you noticed.  

There was something in his gaze.  

You didn’t know what it was.  

The air seemed to shift for a fraction of a second.  

Then, Rafe snapped out of it.  

“Let’s go inside," he told Sofía, placing a hand on her back and guiding her toward the house without looking back.  

You stayed where you were, watching them disappear through the door.  

Later, just as you were about to head inside, you saw him coming down the stairs with a bag over his shoulder.  

He stopped near the door, and for some reason, his eyes sought yours.  

“I’m leaving for a few days," he said simply.  

You didn’t understand why he was telling you.  

It wasn’t like he owed you an explanation.  

You weren’t close.  

You barely spoke when it was necessary.  

And yet, there he was, standing in front of you, with his bag and that look you still couldn’t figure out.  

You nodded without asking any more questions.  

You assumed he was leaving with Sofía, maybe on a trip or just to her place.  

And honestly, you didn’t care.  

"See you," was all you said before stepping inside and closing the door behind you.  

A few hours later, you decided to change clothes and go out.  

You wore a simple but elegant dress with comfortable sandals. You styled your hair naturally and grabbed your car keys.  

Your destination was one of Wheezie’s friends’ houses.  

You had agreed to pick her up after she texted you, asking for a ride.  

You drove calmly through the streets of Figure Eight, watching as the sun started painting the sky in shades of orange.  

When you parked and got out of the car, you barely knocked before the door swung open.  

"Wheezie! Your mom’s here!" one of the girls called from inside.  

You froze for a moment.  

But Wheezie reacted instantly, peeking out from the living room and rolling her eyes with a smile.  

"She’s not my mom," she corrected as she walked to the door. "She’s my dad’s wife."  

The other girls, who had been eyeing you with curiosity, smiled and came over to greet you.  

"Oh, sorry," said the girl’s mom, appearing beside them. "Wheezie told us you live with them, so we assumed you were her mother."  

"No problem," you replied with a polite smile. "It’s nice to meet you all."  

You greeted the girl’s parents and friends, exchanging a few words about their afternoon together.  

Wheezie, on the other hand, seemed completely comfortable with you being there.  

"See you tomorrow," she said to her friends, and after making sure she had all her stuff, she followed you to the car.  

As you drove back home, she leaned back in her seat, looking relaxed.  

"They thought you were my mom," she said suddenly, glancing at you.  

You let out a small laugh.  

"Yeah, I heard."  

"It didn’t bother me," she admitted with a small shrug. "It doesn’t bother me when it’s you."  

You turned slightly to look at her, surprised by her honesty.  

"Thanks, Wheez," you said with a genuine smile.  

She just nodded, like it wasn’t a big deal.  

But to you, it was.  

Weeks had passed with a deceptive calm after Rafe had left.  

Life went on, and though the house was quieter without him around, you didn’t spare a second thinking about it.  

But that all changed one afternoon when you got home after being out for a few hours.  

You walked in, planning to head straight to your room, but then you noticed the odd atmosphere in the house.  

There was murmuring among the staff, an unusual movement.  

"What’s going on?" you asked one of them, stopping in the hallway.  

The man hesitated before answering.  

"Mr. Rafe is back, ma’am," he finally said. "But he’s not well. He’s sick."  

You frowned.  

"Sick?"  

"Very sick," he confirmed. "He came with Miss Sofía, but she had to go home and said she’d be back later."  

You didn’t know why, but an uneasy feeling settled in your chest.  

Without thinking too much, you turned on your heel and quickly went upstairs.  

You headed straight for his room.  

The door was slightly open.  

You pushed it gently and stepped inside.  

The first thing you noticed was the heavy air and the dim lighting.  

The curtains were drawn, leaving the room in partial darkness, and the sound of Rafe’s labored breathing filled the space.  

He was lying in bed, shirtless, with the sheets tangled around him.  

His skin was pale but covered in sweat.  

You approached carefully.  

"Rafe," you called softly.  

He shifted slightly, blinking slowly.  

When his eyes landed on you, there was a moment of confusion before he managed to focus.  

"What… what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice rough like it hurt to even speak.  

"I heard you were sick," you said. "I wanted to check on you."  

Rafe squinted, a slight grimace appearing on his face.  

"Worried about me?" he muttered, sounding disbelieving, though weak.  

"Yeah," you answered honestly.  

He let out a rough chuckle, but immediately winced like it hurt.  

"I don’t believe you," he murmured.  

You sighed.  

You weren’t in the mood to argue with him when he barely had the strength to stay awake.  

You stood up, ready to leave, but then you felt his hand grab yours.  

His grip wasn’t strong, but it was enough to stop you.  

His skin was hot, too hot.  

You turned to look at him and saw that his eyes, still a bit glassy, were locked on you.  

"Don’t go," he whispered.  

Something in his voice, in his vulnerability, made you nod without even thinking.  

"I’m just going to make you some tea for the fever," you said softly.  

It took him a couple of seconds to let go of your hand, like his body was resisting it.  

When he finally did, you turned and walked out of the room with a strange knot in your stomach.  

You headed to the kitchen with determined steps.  

You didn’t know why you cared so much.  

Rafe was a grown man; he could take care of himself, and Sofía would probably be back soon to handle it.  

But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had to do something.  

You walked into the kitchen and found one of the maids, who looked at you curiously.  

"Do you need anything, ma’am?"  

"I’m making some tea," you said, moving naturally around the cabinets.  

"I can do it for you."  

"No, I want to do it myself."  

She didn’t insist.  

You grabbed a pot and poured water into it, setting it to heat on low.  

As you waited, you carefully selected the herbs you needed.

You knew exactly what to do: a mix of mint and chamomile to ease the discomfort, a bit of ginger to help with the fever, and some lemon leaves for a good taste.  

When the water was ready, you added the ingredients and waited a few minutes, letting the herbs release their properties.  

Then, you poured the liquid into a cup and let it cool.  

There was no point in giving him something hot when his temperature was already too high.  

Once it was cool enough, you picked up the cup and left the kitchen, heading back to his room.  

When you got there, you carefully pushed the door open and stepped inside.  

Rafe was still in the same position you had left him in, eyes half-closed and breathing heavily.  

He looked completely exhausted.  

You walked over and placed the cup on the nightstand.  

"You need to sit up to drink this," you said softly.  

He groaned, clearly too drained to move.  

You rolled your eyes.  

"Come on, it’s not that hard," you insisted.  

Placing one hand on his arm and the other on his back, you helped him sit up.  

His skin burned under your touch.  

When he was finally upright, he took a shaky breath and rested his head against the headboard.  

"Here," you said, handing him the cup.  

He took it, staring at it with a confused expression.  

"What is it?"  

"Cold tea. It'll help with the fever."  

He looked at you like he was surprised you knew something like that.  

But he didn’t say anything.  

He took a sip and closed his eyes, as if the simple act of swallowing drained him.  

"Thanks," he murmured after a while.  

You weren’t sure if it surprised you that he said it or if you just didn’t expect it from him.  

"Just drink it," you replied, unsure how to react to his gratitude.  

As he did, you reached out to check his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.  

You frowned.  

"You’ve got a high fever, but it'll go down," you said calmly. "You’ll be fine soon."  

He didn’t respond, just took another sip before lying back down like even that had taken too much effort.  

You watched him for a few more seconds before deciding you had done enough.  

"Get some rest," you said quietly, turning toward the door.  

As you stepped out, you closed it softly behind you.  

And then, you let out a sigh.  

It had been a few hours since you left Rafe in his room, and the rest of the afternoon went by normally.  

The house was quiet, too quiet for your liking, leaving you with too much time to think about everything that had happened.  

When Ward got home later that night, you went to greet him and decided to mention Rafe, though you kept it casual.  

"Rafe came back today," you said as you walked with him toward his office.  

Ward nodded absentmindedly, not even looking at you.  

"Oh, yeah?"  

"Yeah. He was really sick, by the way. Had a high fever when he got here."  

Ward sighed, rubbing his temple.  

"He’ll get better. He always does."  

You frowned.  

"You don’t care at all, do you?"  

He gave you a tired smile.  

"If I had to worry every time Rafe got himself into trouble, I’d never have time for anything else."  

You didn’t know what to say to that.  

Ward just kept walking to his office, ending the conversation.  

It wasn’t the reaction you expected, but it didn’t really surprise you either.  

You sighed and went to bed, not thinking too much about it.  

The next morning, you woke up early and went downstairs to have breakfast alone.  

The dining room was completely silent, the only sound being the soft clink of porcelain as you poured tea into your cup.  

You took a sip, enjoying the quiet moment.  

But then, the door opened, and Rafe walked in.  

You looked at him in surprise.  

He looked better.  

The sickly, worn-out look from last night was gone, though he still seemed a little pale.  

"Morning," he said, his voice a bit rough.  

"Morning," you replied, setting your cup down. "How are you feeling?"  

He shrugged as he took a seat across from you.  

"Better."  

You were relieved to hear it, though you didn’t say it out loud.  

"Good."  

Rafe took a sip of his coffee before looking at you again.  

"Thanks for... yesterday."  

You tensed slightly.  

"It was nothing," you said flatly.  

He smirked a little, like he didn’t quite believe you, but he didn’t push it.  

There was a brief silence before you decided to ask,  

"Where’s Sofia? I didn’t see her when I got back yesterday."  

Rafe looked away, stirring his coffee.  

"She’s busy with her family and work."  

"Oh."  

You didn’t ask anything else.  

If there was something off about his response, you chose to ignore it.  

He didn’t seem eager to talk about it either because he changed the subject almost immediately.  

"And my dad?"  

"Working. As usual."  

He nodded, like that was no surprise.  

Another silence.  

Then, out of nowhere, Rafe looked at you with a hint of amusement in his eyes.  

"What are you doing today?"  

You raised an eyebrow, not understanding his sudden curiosity.  

"Not much."  

"Want to go for a walk?"  

His question caught you off guard.  

"I don’t think that’d be appropriate."  

"Why not?"  

You looked at him incredulously.  

"You know why."  

He smiled, tilting his head.  

"No, you tell me."  

You pursed your lips, realizing there was no point in continuing that conversation.  

So you just looked back at your cup of tea and took a sip.  

Rafe let out a small chuckle but didn’t push any further.  

After breakfast, Rafe left without saying much else.  

You stayed in the dining room a little longer, enjoying the quiet morning, but after a while, you decided you needed to get out.  

You didn’t want to spend the whole day stuck in the house, especially when you’d been feeling more restless than usual lately.  

So you grabbed your bag, left without telling anyone, and walked to the shopping district.  

You spent the afternoon going from store to store, enjoying the feeling of doing something for yourself.  

You bought a few new clothes, nothing too flashy, just enough to treat yourself a little.  

After a while, you sat down at a café, ordering a latte and a croissant.  

You looked out the window, taking small sips of your coffee, enjoying the quiet moment.  

By the time you got back home, it was already dark.  

You expected to find someone in the living room or at least hear some noise from somewhere, but the house was completely silent.  

There was no one there except Ward.  

You found him in his study, looking over some documents with a tired expression.  

"Where is everyone?" you asked, leaning against the doorframe.  

He barely glanced up before going back to his papers.  

"Sarah’s doing her thing. Wheezie’s at a friend’s house. And Rafe… who knows."  

You frowned.  

Something about his tone made you press your lips together.  

You hadn’t planned on saying anything else, but somehow, the conversation took a turn you didn’t expect.  

You weren’t even sure when it started, but suddenly, you were arguing with Ward.  

It was his indifferent tone, the way he acted like nothing mattered.  

Like he was always right.  

Like there was nothing you could say to change his mind.  

And that pissed you off.  

The words got sharper, the comments more cutting.  

You had never argued with him like this before.  

Sure, you’d had disagreements, but never like this.  

This time was different.  

More real.  

More intense.  

You didn’t even know how it got to this point, you just knew you didn’t want to be there anymore.  

And when Rafe showed up in the middle of the argument, you decided it was time to leave.  

You didn’t want him to hear any more than he already had.  

So without thinking much about it, you turned on your heels and walked out of the house.  

Ward just sighed, exhausted, and shut himself in his room.  

But Rafe didn’t let you leave alone.  

You heard his footsteps behind you, quick, following.  

You weren’t surprised.  

"Where are you going?" he asked, catching up to you and grabbing your arm to make you stop.  

You pulled away gently, but you didn’t keep walking.  

"Anywhere," you said without looking at him. "I just don’t want to be there."  

Rafe studied you in silence for a moment.  

And then, without much ceremony, he said, "I’m coming with you."  

You turned to look at him.  

"You don’t have to."  

"I know."  

You sighed, knowing there was no convincing him otherwise.  

"Fine," you said finally.  

He nodded, like he had expected that answer from the start.  

Rafe didn’t say anything when you got into the car with him, he just started the engine and pulled away from the main road.  

He drove surprisingly calmly, considering how impulsive he could be sometimes.  

The city lights faded behind you as he took a less-traveled road, surrounded by trees and darkness.  

You didn’t ask where you were going.  

You didn’t really care.  

You just wanted to be away.  

After a while, Rafe pulled up at a small abandoned dock by the lake.  

The water was calm, reflecting the dark sky with only a few stars visible.  

You got out of the car without waiting for instructions, hugging yourself when the cold night breeze brushed against your skin.

"Why here?" you asked as he closed the car door.  

"It's quiet," he answered simply.  

And it was.  

The only sound was the soft splashing of water against the old wooden dock.  

You walked together along the edge of the lake, no rush, no real destination.  

After a few minutes, you decided to break the silence.  

"Tell me the truth," you said, stopping and glancing at him.  

Rafe raised an eyebrow.  

"About what?"  

"About the first thing you thought of me when we met."  

He smiled, but it wasn’t a kind smile.  

"You want me to be honest?"  

You nodded.  

"I didn’t like you," he said bluntly.  

It wasn’t surprising, but it still stung a little to hear it out loud.  

"Why?" you asked, curious.  

"Because I thought you were an opportunist."  

You stared at him for a moment, processing his words.  

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.  

You just looked away and kept walking.  

Rafe kept up with you.  

"But I don’t think that anymore," he added after a few seconds.  

"You don’t?" you murmured skeptically.  

"You don’t seem like you’re trying to ruin my dad."  

You let out a dry laugh.  

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."  

He gave a small smile but didn’t say anything else.  

You walked a little further before stopping.  

You didn’t know why, you just felt like you couldn’t keep going.  

You stood there, staring at the water, and without warning, tears started falling.  

Rafe frowned.  

"What’s wrong?"  

You shook your head, feeling ridiculous.  

"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice shaky. "I feel overwhelmed, but I don’t know why."  

Maybe it was the argument with Ward, the constant tension in the house, or just the fact that nothing lately felt under your control.  

Everything felt like too much.  

Rafe stepped closer and, without thinking much, pulled you into him.  

You didn’t push him away.  

You didn’t want to.  

You sank into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body as his arms wrapped around you firmly.  

"You’re too beautiful to be crying," he murmured against your hair.  

You let out a soft laugh, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.  

"That was cheesy."  

"But it worked."  

You looked at him, your eyes still wet, and in that moment, he kissed you.  

You didn’t pull away.  

You didn’t want to.  

You didn’t know how long it lasted, but when you broke apart, he whispered something against your lips.  

You didn’t let him finish.  

You shook your head and took a step back.  

"We should head back."  

Rafe didn’t argue.  

He just looked at you for a moment before nodding and walking back to the car with you.  

The drive home was silent.  

Rafe drove with an unreadable expression, and you stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past.  

You didn’t speak.  

Neither did he.  

But the tension was there, thick in the air.  

When you got home, everything was calm.  

Ward was already asleep, which, in a way, was a relief.  

You didn’t have the energy for another difficult conversation.  

Without saying a word, you walked straight to your room, changed, and slipped into bed beside Ward.  

He didn’t even stir.  

His breathing was deep, lost in a heavy sleep.  

You stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, thinking about the kiss at the dock, the warmth of Rafe’s hands on your back, the sound of his voice murmuring against your lips...  

You squeezed your eyes shut and forced yourself to sleep.  

The next morning, you woke up early.  

Ward was already up and in the bathroom, so you got up, threw on a light robe, and went to the dining room.  

When you walked in, Rafe was already there, sitting at the table with Sofía next to him.  

They looked good together, or at least that’s what anyone would think at first glance.  

She was put together, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and her smile was calm.  

He, on the other hand, had the same unreadable expression from the night before.  

"Good morning," you greeted politely.  

Sofía returned the greeting warmly, and Rafe just nodded, watching you as you took a seat next to Ward, who arrived a few minutes later.  

Breakfast started off peaceful.  

The conversation was light, nothing too deep.  

Ward asked about business, Sofía talked about her family, and you kept your attention on your coffee and the plate in front of you.  

Until you saw it.  

Sofía slid her hand across the table and gently took Rafe’s, intertwining their fingers.  

You didn’t know why, but instinctively, you looked up.  

Rafe looked at you too.  

For a second, the world seemed to slow down.  

His blue eyes locked onto yours, and then, without looking away, he casually pulled his hand from Sofía’s.  

She didn’t seem to notice much, she just kept talking.  

You, on the other hand, lowered your gaze to your coffee, bringing it to your lips for a sip.  

And you smiled.  

You had always been a little possessive.  

Not in a crazy way, you didn’t like that, but there were certain things that belonged to you, and you didn’t tolerate someone else taking them.  

Seeing Rafe pull his hand away from Sofía after looking at you gave you a satisfaction you didn’t want to overanalyze.  

You took the last sip of your coffee and stood up calmly, sliding your chair back without making a sound.  

"I’m going to get ready," you said simply, not looking at anyone in particular.  

Ward nodded, focused on his conversation with Rafe. Sofía gave you a polite smile before turning back to her plate.

You went up to your room and opened the closet, scanning your options before settling on a navy blue dress, short and form-fitting.  

The neckline was elegant, just enough to highlight your figure without being too revealing.  

You paired it with nude high heels, which made your legs look longer and contrasted perfectly with the deep blue of the dress.  

You styled your hair, leaving it loose in soft waves that framed your face, and applied subtle but flattering makeup.  

When you walked downstairs, you felt a gaze slowly traveling over every inch of your body.  

Rafe.  

He was standing there, one hand in his pocket, his eyes tracing a slow path from your legs to your face.  

He didn’t say a word.  

But as you walked past him, he brushed his hand against yours in the slightest way.  

A barely-there touch, but enough to send a spark of electricity through your skin.  

You didn’t react. You just kept walking, head held high.  

Ward was sitting on the couch, looking through some documents when you approached him.  

"I’m going with Wheezie," you said casually.  

He barely lifted his eyes from his papers, nodding absentmindedly.  

"Alright, take care of her."  

"I always do."  

You gave him a small smile before turning toward the door.  

You didn’t need to look back to know that Rafe was still watching you.  

That day, you didn’t see Rafe again.  

After spending the day with Wheezie, you got back home and got ready to go out to dinner with Ward. You picked an elegant but simple dress, and the two of you went to an exclusive restaurant in the city.  

Dinner was calm, with Ward talking about business while you listened, nodding at the right moments. He asked if everything was okay, and you just smiled and told him it was.  

The next morning, breakfast was a little more crowded. Ward sat at the head of the table, Rafe and Sofia were next to each other, Sarah hadn’t come down yet, and Wheezie was busy on her phone while eating.  

That’s when you got the invitation from your sister.  

You weren’t close, barely talked, but her message said she wanted to see you.  

"We could go horseback riding together," she had written.  

You thought about it for a moment before replying that you’d go.  

Looking up from your phone, you glanced at the others at the table.  

"My sister invited us over."  

Ward nodded immediately, not thinking much about it.  

"We haven’t seen her since the wedding."  

"She said she wanted to see me," you clarified. "That we could go riding."  

You noticed the way Rafe looked at you for a second, but you looked away.  

"Are we all going?" Sofia asked curiously.  

"Yeah, if you want to," you replied.  

And just like that, it was settled. After breakfast, you all got ready for the visit.  

Your sister’s place was huge.  

The house had a classic style, with sprawling gardens and a pristine stable where they kept their horses.  

One of them was yours.  

Or at least, it had been.  

After your father passed away, you left it there. You distanced yourself from riding and hadn’t visited much since.  

Walking into the stable, the scent of hay and leather surrounded you.

Your sister was waiting for you with a measured smile on her face.  

"I thought you'd never accept my invitation."  

"I'm here," you simply said.  

She nodded and looked toward the horses.  

"Are you going to ride yours?"  

You looked at the animal that used to be yours, its coat shining and eyes alert.  

You didn’t answer right away.  

You carefully took the reins, approaching the horse with a mix of nostalgia and hesitation.  

You whispered its name softly, and the animal blinked before slightly lowering its head toward you, like it remembered you after all this time.  

A small flicker of emotion lit up in your chest, but you didn��t let it grow too much.  

You mounted easily, adjusting your posture while your sister did the same with her horse.  

You didn’t talk much as you rode around the property.  

Words between you two had always been measured, almost superficial, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t some familiarity in the silence.  

The sound of hooves on the grass set a steady rhythm until, in the distance, another horse approached.  

You turned your head and saw Rafe, riding with the confidence of someone who had done this many times before.  

"Mind if I join?" he asked with a light smile.  

Your sister nodded without objection, but not long after, she excused herself, saying she had things to do.  

So you were left alone with him.  

"Where's Sofía?" you asked, guiding your horse at a slow pace.  

"Inside. She doesn’t know how to ride."  

"I didn’t know you did."  

Rafe smirked.  

"I have a lot of surprises."  

You rolled your eyes lightly and kept riding.  

The cool afternoon air made the moment nice, even relaxing.  

But several times, you felt Rafe’s gaze on you.  

At first, you ignored it.  

But when you turned your head and caught him staring at you again, you decided to ask directly.  

"Why are you looking at me like that?"  

Rafe didn’t look away.  

"Because you're really beautiful."  

You weren’t expecting such a direct answer.  

But it didn’t make him uncomfortable to say it, either.  

You smiled, not giving it more importance than you wanted to.  

You rode for a while longer without the mood turning awkward.  

Until you decided you’d had enough.  

"We should head back."  

Rafe nodded and matched your pace, following you back.

@sweetgoldwoman @dudenhaaa27

[clairewritesfanfics]

Dragon!Sylus x Non-MC!Reader Part 1

Synopsis: A depressed, transmigrated fan dedicates their life worshipping their favorite character. (Because not everyone can be a badass like MC.)

Trigger Warnings: depression, mentions of self-harm and suicide attempts

Imagine being a depressed and overworked person, on the brink of throwing away your life, when your attempt is interrupted by an ad of Sylus' voice saying, "I adore you. There is no love purer than mine." Broken and alone, the words of a fictional character sends you to tears and you stop yourself from doing the unthinkable.

Finding hope again, if only in the brief moments spent playing a dating sim, you decided to give life a chance. You continued with the same routine, waking up, going to work, eating the same cheap meals from the convenience store and finding happiness with your favorite character. You used any spare money you had to buy Sylus merch and get all his cards. Life wasn't perfect, but you were content.

Until one day, you were sucked into a mysterious wormhole that transported you to a familiar, otherworldly room filled with rare metals, sparkling jewels and all sorts of weapons. Lying on a bed of velvet was a back all too familiar.

You’ve taken over a hundred photos of that back and have memorized every vein, every muscle, even the way the spine dipped oh so deliciously. 

Was this heaven?

Did God take pity on your pathetic existence and decided to give you a second chance?

No, this was probably a dream–”Ow!” You pinched yourself a little too hard. Nope, not a dream.

You glanced at your hands and body, you were still you. In the game, this part is when the Main Character would attempt an assassination, but you weren’t the MC here. There is a chance–no, the chances of you dying here was as good as 99%. You had no powers, no system, skill or cheat to help you here. 

But if you were going to die, at least you can go in your own terms.

“Um, excuse me? Hello?” 

The dragon said nothing and you opted to crawl towards him. “Mister Dragon? Are you awake?” Knowing that death was almost certain, you decided to throw away all inhibitions and reached out to trace the curve of his spine. “Hello–!”

His cold, spiked tail wrapped around your waist until the tip rested on your chest. You couldn’t help but gasp when your favorite turned to face you.

No 3D rendered model or painting from your world could capture even a tenth of the true thing's magnificence. Official sources said he was 6'2", but the real thing looked like he surpassed two meters. He towered over you completely. Maybe it wasn' height alone but his very aura that made you feel so small. 

He was so beautiful. 

“My, what do we have here? A stray puppy?”

That voice was smooth and deep as melted chocolate. You wanted to thank God, Buddha, Satan and all other powerful entities for letting you witness this moment. 

He stared down at you, assessing everything. If you had known you’d end up here you would’ve taken a bath and worn something better. 

“How odd. You have no magic power and you lack any muscle that most assassins and warriors have. It’s almost as if you’re an ordinary person.”

Okay, ouch. But he wasn’t wrong. 

You raised both hands. “You’re right, I’m as average as they come.” 

“Then tell me what an ‘average’ citizen such as yourself wanted with me.”

You tilted your head in thought before answering, “I wanted to meet you.”

“Surely, you’re joking.”

“I’m perfectly serious.”

“You must take me for a fool.”

“No, I truly did want to meet you.” 

“Why are you here? Surely, you didn’t come here to die.”

“No.” Though you were prepared. “I just wanted to see you.”

His eyes can pierce through any lie, but your gaze was as clear as a cloudless sky and without a trace of deception. He was unsure how to feel about this.

“You’re quite bold. But an ordinary person wanting to meet me for the sake of it feels too odd to be true. Quite stupid, even. Did it ever occur to you that I may not be so polite and just end up taking your heart?”

You raised your head, steady and unfearful as you asked, “Will taking my heart make you happy?” 

You wanted to tell him that every part of you belonged to him now, but even you would cringe at such cheesiness. You decided to be normal about this. “If my organs will make you happy then take them, but I do have a request.” You wriggled closer. “When you take my heart, please look into my eyes until I die.”

You’ve met your favorite, your savior. In a way, Sylus gave you a second chance at life. It seemed only fitting to perish with him being the last thing you saw. 

Sylus stared at you with guarded curiosity. “I’ve never met someone so eager to die before. Either that or you are an excellent liar.” Some humans are trickier than others, they will say anything to get the upper hand. 

“Don’t get cocky, human.” His tail tightened around you. “I don’t know what you’re planning but it’d be all too easy to kill you.”

He expected you to resist, to scream or cry or seduce him. 

Instead, you covered your mouth, the edges curling upwards despite your efforts to appear serious. But it’s not your fault, he’s so cute when he tries to be menacing! You had no doubt that he’d just kill an NPC, but he will always be attractive to you, even as he threatens to rip your heart out.

“This is no laughing matter. Dragons are territorial, you should’ve thought twice before trespassing into my domain.”

“Sy–ahem, Mister Dragon, please remember my request when you end my life.”

“... I’m really going to do it.”

“I know!” You nodded your head vigorously, the grin you tried so hard to suppress looked ridiculous to him. Compared to throwing yourself in front of a train or overdosing on pills, this was your ideal way to die.

“...” 

“...”

“... tsk.” He released you and you can’t help but miss the feeling of his tail choking you. Oh, well. 

“Mister Dragon?”

He returned to lying on his treasures, back turned away from you. 

Not wanting him to think that you were going to backstab him, you got down on all fours and crawled towards his makeshift bed. “Sir Dragon?” 

He remained silent.

"Amazing, extraordinary, most handsome and venerable Lord Dragon–”

"Just–” he sighed “–call me Sylus.”

“Really?!”

“This is the part where you tell me your name.” He couldn’t believe he was teaching etiquette to a human.

“Er, right.” You gave him your name. Though with that voice, he can call you whatever he wants.

“I won’t stop you so go back the way you came and leave me be.”

“I can’t.”

“This isn’t a request. Get out while I’m still being patient.”

“I mean, I literally can’t. I’m not from this place and I don’t know how to get back home.” To be frank, you had little interest in returning. Aside from the LADS update, you weren’t going to miss anything. No friends, no family, only superiors who took advantage of you and a cold, barren apartment with a rent that was two months due. 

Sylus sighed and rolled over. He lay an arm over his torso, looking gorgeous as he looked at you with eyes full of disdain. “Trying to get me to pity you, isn’t going to work.”

“I’m not.” You didn’t need his or anybody else’s pity. You were simply tired, and you were sick of pretending that you weren’t. When Sylus does lose his temper, then at least you could be honest in your final moments. 

To be continued...

[nameless-jamie]

YOU'RE LATE, IDIOT

Glimpse Into the Future - Jamie Tartt x fem!PA reader

Masterlist

TW: cursing, kissing, emotions, childbirth

Jamie Tartt was fucking furious.

The second his number went up on the board, signaling his substitution, his blood boiled. He had just found his rhythm, the game was still wide open, and suddenly he was being benched?

For what? A tactical change? Bullshit.

He stormed off the pitch, barely acknowledging the applause from the crowd. His eyes locked on Roy Kent, who stood by the dugout, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Jamie ripped off his sweat-soaked jersey as he approached. “What the fuck is this, Roy?” he snapped. “I ain’t injured, I ain’t tired, I—”

“Shut up,” Roy interrupted, voice firm but oddly… expectant. “Get your arse to the hospital.”

Jamie blinked. “What?”

Roy exhaled sharply, stepping closer, his expression almost gentle. “Y/N’s in labour, dickhead.”

Everything stopped.

Jamie’s ears rang. His heartbeat pounded. He swore the world tilted beneath him.

“What—now?” His voice came out hoarse.

Roy nodded. “Her water broke before the match. She told us not to tell you ‘cause she didn’t wanna mess with your focus, but it’s happening. You’re about to be a dad, mate.”

Jamie’s breath hitched.

He should’ve been worried, should’ve been panicking, but all he could think was—

She’s having our baby. Right now. Without me.

His feet moved before his brain caught up. “Car. Now. I need a car.”

Before he could bolt, Will grabbed him by the shoulders. “Wait, Jamie, mate—you’re still in your kit—”

“Don’t give a fuck,” Jamie blurted, already pushing past him.

Roy whistled. “Oi, someone drive his dramatic arse before he sprints there himself.”

“I got it,” Coach Beard said, already heading toward the parking lot. “Let’s go, Tartt.”

Jamie barely heard him. His head was spinning, his body running on pure adrenaline.

As he rushed past the rest of the team, Dani called out, “Tell her we love her!”

“Tell the baby we say hi!” Sam added.

Jamie waved vaguely, not slowing down.

He had one job now.

Get to her. Now.

Jamie nearly tripped over his own feet as he burst into the hospital room, his heart hammering in his chest.

Y/N was propped up in bed, looking exhausted but radiant, her hair messy, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with relief the second she saw him.

And in her arms—

Jamie froze.

Everything else disappeared.

The tiny bundle against her chest shifted, a small hand peeking out from the blanket.

His baby.

Their baby.

Jamie swallowed hard. “Oh, fuck.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh. “Nice entrance, Tartt. That's the first thing your baby's going to hear from you.”

Jamie stumbled toward her, his hands shaking. “I—I wasn’t—Roy pulled me from the match—”

“I know.” She smirked, though her eyes were glassy. “I told them not to tell you until after, but apparently Roy doesn’t listen to me.”

Jamie huffed out a disbelieving laugh, running a trembling hand through his sweat-damp hair. “You—you did all this without me?”

Y/N softened. “Barely. He came fast.”

He.

Jamie’s breath hitched. “We—we had a boy?”

Y/N nodded, shifting slightly to reveal the tiny, pink-faced baby nestled against her.

Jamie just… stared.

“I—can I—?” He couldn’t finish the sentence, too overwhelmed, too in awe.

Y/N smiled. “Of course, Jamie.”

Carefully, she shifted the baby into his arms, guiding his hands until he was cradling their son against his chest.

Jamie Tartt, Premier League footballer, man who had scored impossible goals under unimaginable pressure—

Had never been this scared in his life.

But then—

The baby yawned, his tiny fingers twitching against his skin, and just like that—

Jamie melted.

“Oh, fuck, he’s so small,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N let out a tired laugh. “That tends to happen with newborns.”

Jamie ignored her, completely enraptured. “He’s perfect.”

His son squirmed, making a tiny noise, and Jamie’s heart cracked wide open.

He bent his head, pressing the gentlest kiss to his forehead. “Hey, baby. I’m your dad.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, watching the scene with watery eyes. “He already loves you, you know.”

Jamie scoffed, but his throat was tight. “Yeah, well. I love him more.”

Y/N smiled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “You’re gonna be a great dad, Jamie.”

Jamie looked at her, his best friend, the love of his life, the mother of his child—

And he knew, without a doubt, that he would spend the rest of his life proving her right.

The next day, Jamie had barely gotten Y/N and the baby settled when the entire fucking team stormed into the hospital.

Dani, Sam, Colin, Isaac—everyone was there. Even Roy had shown up, grumbling about how he “didn’t give a shit about babies” but still sticking around.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You lot are ridiculous.”

Isaac folded his arms, feigning offense. "You really thought you could pop out a baby and we wouldn’t show up? Come on, love, we’re family."

Y/N huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "You are ridiculous."

Jamie, who was still holding their son like he was the most precious thing in the world, grinned. "She’s right, y’know. Bunch of dramatic pricks."

That earned him a round of Oi's! and Fuck off, Tartt's!, but he was too busy looking down at his baby boy to care.

Dani leaned in, beaming. "Oh my goodness, he is so beautiful."

Sam placed a gentle hand over his heart. "He looks just like you, Y/N."

Jamie scowled. "Oi, what’s that supposed to mean? You sayin’ my kid ain’t got my genes? That's my boy!"

Y/N smirked. "They’re saying he’s cute, Jamie. Unlike someone when they’re pouting."

The boys burst into laughter as Jamie groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. "Unbelievable."

Roy's gruff voice cut through the noise of the team. All of them were just arguing about who gets to hold Baby Tartt first, and the entire room went still.

Jamie blinked. "Wait—what?"

Roy sighed heavily, looking deeply inconvenienced as he held out his hands. "I said give me the kid, Tartt."

Silence.

Everyone stared.

Jamie hesitated. "You wanna hold him?"

"Do I look like I wanna hold him?" Roy grumbled. "No. But if I don’t, you lot will keep looking at me like I’m some heartless bastard. So pass him here before I change my mind. I'm his godfather after all."

Jamie exchanged a glance with Y/N, who was barely holding back a smirk.

"Alright," Jamie murmured, carefully placing the baby in Roy’s massive hands. "But you drop my baby, mate, I’m legally allowed to kill you."

Roy snorted. "Shut up, Tartt."

And then—

The impossible happened.

Roy Kent—grumpy, growling, perpetually pissed-off Roy Kent—looked down at the tiny, squirming baby in his arms… and his face softened.

Like actually softened.

Like genuinely softened.

"Well," he muttered, adjusting his hold. "He’s alright, I s’pose."

Isaac gasped. "Did Roy Kent just—"compliment"—a baby? Jamie Tartt's baby even."

"I heard it too," Jan said. "Mark this day in history."

Even Ted, who had FaceTimed in to see the baby, grinned. "Well, shoot, Roy. Didn't know you had it in ya. Big ole' softy."

Roy grumbled something about everyone shutting the fuck up, but the way he looked at the baby—like he was something worth protecting—didn’t go unnoticed.

Jamie sat beside Y/N, wrapping an arm around her as they watched Roy, Dani, and Sam argue over who got to hold the baby next.

"See?" Y/N whispered. "Told you they’d all love him."

Jamie exhaled softly, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her head.

"Yeah," he murmured. "But they don’t love him more than I do."

Y/N smiled. "Obviously. You’re his dad."

Jamie grinned, looking down at the tiny baby who had already stolen his entire heart.

"Damn right I am."

[militaryapple]

cw. panty sniffing, nasty caleb, implied masturbation, panty stealer caleb, very perverted caleb.

৻ꪆ A nosy caleb who peeks through your already semi-open door. Watching you scroll as you giggle and shuffle through your bed sheets. Intrigued on what could you possibly be looking at that has you so happy without him being there to put that big grin on your face.

৻ꪆ caleb who moves a little more towards the door. Leaning in and opening the door enough to see what you’re looking at, but just enough to make a little squeaking noise as he narrows in on your dimly-lit screen.

৻ꪆ caleb who grins in amusement as he sees a “x reader” fanfic on your screen before you jump up in embarrassment trying to explain yourself, then getting upset at him for peeking through your door and eyeing you without knocking or making himself known.

৻ꪆ caleb who pretends he didn’t just see the nastiest, smuttiest thing on your screen. Who denies that he couldn’t even see the words “cock” and “thrust” on your screen. Leaving your room as you push him out and shutting your door completely.

৻ꪆ caleb who heads to his room, with a big smile, shuffling through his drawers and rearranging the clothes in it, holding a piece a fabric up to his face and putting it back down, closing his drawer and leaving.

৻ꪆ caleb as he knocks oh-so gently on your door as he tells you he’s going to the store and that’ll he be back soon. Watching your eyes light up quickly before you return back to your neutral-state face and telling him to be safe on his way there.

৻ꪆ A very sly caleb walking to the front door, opening and closing it before shuffling silently to a hiding spot he’s always hidden in ever since he was younger, as you failed to find him during your games of hide and seek, seeing on how useful it’s come in.

৻ꪆ caleb watching you peek out your room, seeing if there was any sign of him before walking out and swiftly moving to his room. Searching through his things to find something, anything remotely close to as embarrassing as being caught reading a fanfic.

৻ꪆ A perverted caleb watching as you open his drawer, moving into a halt as you pick up a pair of pink laced underwear you swore you lost while washing. Inspecting it closely as you feel a wet spot right in the middle before shuffling through more of the clothes and finding another pair of your underwear, but with a white stain on them, still sticky.

৻ꪆ caleb, who watches you while rubbing himself. Knowing full well you would go through his things, so why wouldn’t he leave a little surprise for his sweet pip-squeak? It’s not like you would confront him on it either.

You had no right to go through his belongings anyways. ۶ৎ

[lubdubology]

Fools Rush In

SYNOPSIS: On a day meant for love, you’re sure feeling a shortage of it. Until Logan shows you, he’s not as unaffected by you as he lets on.

PAIRING: Worst Logan x fem!reader 

WC: 2.5k

WARNINGS: angst; swearing; mentions of alcohol consumption; mentions of self doubt; brief mentions of death/gore; dual POVs

A/N: If you saw this posted after Valentine’s Day, no you didn’t. Here’s my entry into the Loveuary Challenge that @yxtkiwiyxt and I hosted! Just some angsty fluff with a happy ending for our favorite Logan. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

In hindsight, you should have seen this coming. 

Who agrees to a lunch date on Valentine’s Day? 

But he had seemed nice and kind. You had spent the last few weeks talking through the dating app, discussing all those typical online dating things—jobs, pets, hobbies. Things seemed to click. You liked the same things. Seemed to have a vibe. 

Hell, he had been the one to suggest lunch this Friday. 

And here you were, dressed up and sitting alone, nursing your glass of wine desperately trying to ignore the stares from the other patrons. Thirty long minutes have dragged by, each one sinking you further and further into your seat and gnawing on your self-esteem. Embarrassment licks at your skin and you want nothing more than for the floor to open and swallow you whole. 

Anything but the pitying stares burning into your flesh. 

Downing the rest of your wine, you pull some cash from your wallet and toss it on the table before leaving the restaurant. You swear every eye in the place watches you leave, murmured gossip following you out the door. 

God, you hate dating.

There’s a chill in the air and the cold nips at your ankles as you walk down the sidewalk towards your apartment. But you relish the discomfort, the cold easing the burning shame staining your cheeks. 

Walking up to the building, you find Logan outside smoking a cigar. As if today couldn’t get worse. 

You hesitate for half a step and contemplate turning around, avoiding your apartment completely, but then Logan looks up, his sharp gaze already on you and you know there’s no escaping him now. 

Ever since Wade brought him home from the Void just over a year ago, you two have been dancing around each other. There was no denying he was a handsome man—you weren’t blind—but it was his mysterious gruffness that pulled you in. Logan seemed alone in much the same way you did—wandering through life just looking for someone to understand you, to listen without judgement, shoulder those heavy weights that threatened to sink you.

You knew he came with more baggage that most—disgraced superhero in his world and all that—but it never bothered you. If he was truly as bad as everyone in that universe thought, he wouldn’t be so hell bent on atonement. Regret basically oozed from his pores. 

And while he hasn’t fully opened up to you, you know he’s showed you a fair share of his dirty laundry. It started as quick run ins in the hallway, simple hellos and goodbyes. Then longer trudges up the stairs together, hands full of grocery bags, bitching about the weather and other inconveniences. Those simple interactions rapidly grew into an odd sort of friendship—Logan would spend time with you, watching bad reality TV and you would spend time with him, mostly making sure he didn’t kill Wade due to his antics during game nights. 

Except there was always an undercurrent of attraction that neither of you knew what to do with. You’d lean into him on the couch and he’d sling an arm around your shoulder or rest comforting hand on your thigh. Logan would gravitate towards you in group outings, tucking into your quiet acceptance of his discomfort before you’d sneak him out. You’d join him on the roof, sharing puffs of his cigar and eating food you’d smuggled in your jacket. 

That slow burn between you was warm but never burned. Until you tried to stoke the flames higher and it blew up in your face. As the countdown struck midnight on New Year’s Eve, you had leaned in and kissed him—something you had been imagining for months. 

What would it be like? Would his lips be soft or firm? Would he inhale sharply at the press of your mouth to his? What would he taste like? Would he grip your arms to pull you closer?

Instead, Logan’s entire body had stiffened, his eyes wide and instead of pulling you towards him, he pushed you away. And then, without explanation, he left, your cheeks burning in shame. 

So, seeing him today, on a day for love, was the last thing you wanted. 

You cross your arms, steeling yourself as Logan assesses you with his sharp gaze, his cigar burning between his fingers. The scent curls around him, familiar and grounding in a way you now hate. 

“You’re dolled up pretty,” he says, flicking the butt of his cigar to the ground and grinding it out beneath his boot.

You desperately try to ignore the flutters in your belly at his words. “Yeah, well, it was a wasted effort,” you mutter, hoping he drops it.

Logan frowns. “What happened?”

You sigh, debating whether to brush off his question, but something in the way he’s looking at you—steady, expectant, like the friend he used to be—makes the words slip out before you can stop yourself. “I got stood up.”

You don’t miss the way his posture stiffens and his jaw clenches and you can almost feel the indignation simmering just under the surface. But then he looks away, gaze dropping towards his feet before he says, “Guy’s a fucking moron.”

The way he says it—so matter of fact, like the idea of anyone standing you up is so unfathomably unimaginable—sends a rush of warmth through your chest. This is the Logan you miss—the one whose instant reaction is to stand by your side, be that shoulder to lean upon. But it’s not enough to cool the sting of humiliation or the frustration bubbling beneath your skin that has been threatening to boil over for over a month.

“What does that make you then?”

Logan’s eyebrow quirks at your sharp question and the brief whisp of softness between you slips away as your words fully hit him. His expression hardens, morphing into that guarded look that’s become all too familiar to you. “Wanna run that by me again?” he asks, his voice low, rougher now.

“You heard me,” you reply, lifting your chin just enough to meet his gaze, feigning a confidence you don’t entirely feel. “What does that make you? You’re the one who walked away when I kissed you. Didn’t even give me an explanation, just tucked tail and ran.”

The air between you thickens, charged and heavy, and for a moment the sounds of the city fade. All that exists is just you two, standing arm’s length out of reach, an awkward tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Logan takes an almost hesitant step forward, eyes narrowing as he attempts to read your face. “You think I walked away because I didn’t want to kiss you?” His voice is quieter, but barely controlled frustration is laced in his tone. “You really think I’m that much of an asshole?”

You scoff, crossing your arms tighter across your chest. “I don’t know what to think, Logan! You pushed me away and left me standing there like an idiot. And now you’re acting like you care when you’ve barely spoken to me since.”

Logan’s nostrils flare as he exhales sharply through his nose. His fists clench and unclench at his sides and you can see the muscle jump in his jaw. You’ve seen all this before—Logan at war with himself, all those emotions he won’t voice out loud screaming within the confines of his skull. Normally, you’d have the patience for this, allow him space and time to wrangle his emotions. 

But not today. 

“Don’t worry about it, Logan,” you say, voice tight with frustration. “Just shove it deep down where it can’t hurt you. You’re good at that.”

You don’t give him time to respond before turning on your heel and walking into the building, leaving him out in the cold. 

+++

The moment you walked away, the door slamming shut behind you, Logan could feel it. The sharp, gnawing realization that he fucked up.

Again.

Every inch of him screamed to just follow you, chase after you, explain the mess in his head that so often scrambled his intentions, to tell you that he does want you, that he always has. But his self-doubt and regret choked him, clawing at his throat and rendering him mute. 

Now, he’s just hoping he hasn’t lost you for good.

Nerves crawl up his spine and for a brief moment, he hesitates before knocking on your door. Thankfully, you answer, opening the door only enough to peer up at him, your expression drawn and tired. 

You’ve dressed down, your fancy date dress exchanged for comfortable lounge pants and a slightly too big shirt that hangs off your shoulder. Your face is scrubbed of makeup, your cheeks rosy all on their own. 

You’re lovely and Logan blinks at you, forgetting for just a moment what he was doing there. Feigning a cough, he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks slightly on his feet. 

“Look, I—" he starts, then stops, exhaling hard through his nose. 

You remain silent, watching him with guarded eyes but giving him the time to find the right words. You understand him in a way he doesn’t deserve, accepting of flaws that run deep and make him difficult to love. 

Logan shifts again, pulling one hand from his pocket to rub at the back of his neck. “Can I—will you—fuck.”

The briefest flicker of a smile dances across your lips and it’s then that he knows you’re not totally lost to him. 

“I’ve somethin’ to show you,” he finally manages, nodding back towards his apartment. 

You raise one eyebrow and cross your arms across your chest. “Something to show me?” you repeat, tone skeptical. 

Logan nods, his heart beating just a tick faster as you open the door wider, taking half a step out of your apartment. With a slight hesitance, you follow him and a surge of relief washes over him. Opening the door to his apartment, Logan doesn’t miss the way you stop short as you shuffle in behind him. 

The lights are dimmed and he’s lit every candle he could find, plus a few cheap tea lights he found at the corner store. A soft glow flickers off the walls, casting long shadows across the room. The small kitchen table is covered and set with two place settings, a vibrant spray of red tulips in the middle. 

You’re silent as you take in the space, eyes darting from the candles to the table and back to Logan’s face. He shifts on his feet, suddenly uneasy at the quiet way you’re taking everything in. 

“I, uh—“ Logan clears his throat. “‘m not very good at all this. But I figure with it being Valentine’s Day and all…” He trails off and vaguely gestures towards the room.

You turn to look at him, really look at him, and something in his chest tightens. He’s fought in wars, stared down death more times than he can count, yet standing here waiting for your response makes him more anxious than he’s been in some time. 

“You did all this?” you ask, your voice soft as you walk around the table, rubbing a tulip petal between your fingers. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I know it ain’t much, but—“

“It’s everything.”

Your voice remains soft, but words hit him like a punch to the gut. Logan’s eyes snap to yours, searching, hoping that you aren’t just talking about the candles or the flowers. That you mean the effort, the thought, the way he’s desperately trying despite all the walls he still has built around himself. 

You take a slow step towards him, the candlelight dancing in your eyes. “Logan,” you whisper, and it’s not disappointment or hesitation he hears in your voice. It’s something soft, something lovely, something that makes his pulse hammer loudly in his ears.

Logan swallows hard. “I know I messed up. And I don’t always say the right thing. Do the right thing.” He exhales, voice rough around the edges. “But I didn’t want you thinkin’ I don’t care about you. ‘Cause I do.”

Your eyes glisten, and for a moment, he thinks you might cry. Instead, you let out a small breath of laughter, shaking your head. “Oh, Logan,” you sigh, stepping close enough to feel your warmth. “You idiot.”

His brow furrows and his lips part to retort, but then your fingers curl into the hem of his shirt, tugging him forward, closer. You lean up, eyes focused on his mouth and his breath hitches in his throat. 

“I’m not a good man,” he murmurs as your lips over just over his, your breath warm and damp. 

Your eyes flick up to his, your grip tightening against his shirt. “You are.”

“I’ve hurt people.”

Logan knows he’s stalling, that he should just close the gap between you and kiss you like he’s been wanting to for months. But he needs you to know he’s not worth this, not worth your grace and acceptance and your determination to love him. Needs to give you that one final opportunity to see what he truly is. 

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes soft. “Do you regret it?” you ask, no judgement to your tone. 

He’s still haunted by the memories of his previous world. The blood, the carnage, the piled bodies of his friends—his family—all because he was too selfish, too stubborn to see what was right in front of him. Their screams echo in his mind, the one lingering reminder of all the ways he’s failed. 

You seem to read him, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek and he sighs. “Every damn day,” he finally answers, his voice thick. 

Your thumb brushes against his cheek, gentle and tender in a way that almost destroys him. “Then you’re not the monster you think you are, Logan.”

That’s it. That’s his breaking point. 

Logan closes the distance between you, finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours. It’s not gentle or soft—he’s waited too long for that. Instead, he kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s never tasted anything as sweet or as lovely as your mouth against his. 

You make a soft, desperate sound against his mouth and it nearly undoes him. Logan grips your waist, pulling you flush against him, his hands rough but reverent as he slips them underneath your shirt. You respond in kind, tangling your fingers into his hair, holding him there like you never went to let go. 

He’s not new to kissing, to loving someone. But it’s never felt like this, like the beginning of something instead of the end. 

You pull back, breathless, and start laughing, a soft giggle that warms him. 

“What?” he asks, a laugh of his own threatening to break through. 

“Nothing, just,” you beam up at him, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Logan.”

He smiles back. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

[yvaineseleneposts]

Bed Chem

Requested: no

A/N: based on Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter. This came to me on a drive home.

Pairing: Nico Hischier x reader

Words: around 1700

Warning(s): mentions of sex, swearing

It was an ordinary night at the rink. Nico Hischier had just finished a long practice session with the Devils, sweat dripping down his forehead as he made his way to the locker room. His teammates were busy joking around, talking about dinner plans, but Nico was distracted. He had been thinking about her ever since they met. It was the first time in a while that someone had caught his attention so completely.

He remembered that day clearly: the bright sunlight filtering through the windows as he hurried to his car, late for an interview with the media team. But then, there she was, standing outside the arena, her sheer dress billowing slightly in the wind. She was on the phone, clearly distracted by something. And yet, when she noticed him, her eyes caught his, and for a moment, time seemed to slow.

She was stunning—her smile radiant as she stepped forward. “You’re Nico, right?”

He nodded, still caught off guard by the whole situation.

“I’m Y/n,” she had said, “I’m a huge fan of yours. Mind if I take a quick picture?”

Nico, ever the polite guy, agreed. She snapped a few photos, but there was an undeniable spark between them, something more than just a fan meeting a player.

Before she walked away, she handed him her number with a sly grin. "In case you ever want to chat."

That was it. The brief encounter that had his heart racing long after it ended.

The next morning, as Nico sat in his flat sipping coffee. He thought about shooting her a text, not really knowing what to say to her without making it weird. So he texted her:

“Hey, I know this might be weird, but you seem cool. Let’s talk sometime :) Hope I didn’t look too sweaty yesterday haha”

A few moments later, her response popped up:

“Definitely! Lol, no worries, you looked great. :)” Nico couldn't help but smile.

They texted back and forth, talking about everything and nothing in particular. She was funny, smart, and made him feel at ease in a way that was rare for him. It wasn’t long before he found himself thinking about her all the time. He liked the way she made him laugh, how she didn’t treat him like a celebrity but as just Nico, the guy who was just as awkward about his feelings as anyone else.

___

Weeks passed, and every time Nico saw Y/n, it felt like something was pulling them closer. They met for coffee, for casual walks through the city, and sometimes just sat in his flat, talking for hours about random things. He admired her confidence, the way she looked at him with those wide, bright eyes that never seemed to shy away. There was something magnetic about her, something that kept him coming back for more.

And then, one night, everything changed. It was late, and Nico had just come back from an away game. He was tired but couldn't stop thinking about Y/n, who had just messaged him:

“Hey, are you free next week? I bet we'd have really good bed chem.”

He chuckled to himself, reading it over again. She was bold, that was for sure. But he couldn’t ignore the way his heart skipped a beat when he saw those words.

“Bed chem? What do you mean by that?” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

She didn't answer immediately. Nico put his phone down and started to get ready for bed, when suddenly, another message popped up:

“You know what I mean. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too. ;)”

Nico’s breath caught in his chest. Was it possible she was as into this as he was? There was no way it was all just in his head, right?

___

The next time they saw each other, it was at a small dinner party with a few friends. Nico had been looking for an excuse to get closer to Y/n, and now that he was here, he could barely concentrate on anything else. She walked into the room, wearing a simple yet elegant outfit, and Nico's gaze immediately landed on her. The way she smiled when she caught him staring sent a rush through him. His friends had been going on and on about the latest game, but Nico’s mind was elsewhere.

Y/n was talking with one of his teammates, laughing at something, her eyes sparkling. Nico found himself drawn to her, even across the room. When their eyes met, she flashed him that smile again, the one that made his heart skip. He couldn’t help himself. He excused himself from the conversation he was in and made his way over to her.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning against the wall beside her.

“Hey you,” she replied, her voice a little breathless. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Just trying to figure out how to ask you out without sounding like a total dork.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Well, you’re definitely not failing so far.”

Nico chuckled, relaxing a little. “I don’t know, I think I might be. Want to grab dinner next week?” He stepped even closer to her, if that was even possible.

Her eyes twinkled. “I’d love to.”  His heart pounded in his chest as he leaned in to kiss her. It was soft at first, tentative, but quickly deepened into something more intense. There was no denying it—what they had was electric.

___

The days leading up to their dinner date were filled with anticipation. Nico found himself constantly thinking about her, wondering what it would be like to finally spend more time together, alone. It was obvious that there was something between them, but he couldn’t help but feel the anxiety of not knowing where it would go.

The night of their dinner, Nico met her at a small, cozy restaurant in the city. She looked incredible in a little black dress that hugged her figure perfectly, and the way she smiled when she saw him made his heart race all over again.

As they sat down, the conversation flowed easily, just like it always had. They talked about everything—his latest games, her work, her favourite books. But underneath the casual chatter, Nico felt something more building between them. It wasn’t just attraction; it was something deeper, something that felt like it had always been there, waiting to surface.

“So,” Y/n said, taking a sip of her wine and eyeing him playfully. “How’s the whole ‘bed chem’ idea working out for you?”

Nico laughed, his cheeks reddening slightly. “Well, I’m starting to think there might be something to it.”

Y/n smiled, leaning closer. “I’m glad you’re finally catching on.”

___

A few weeks later, things were still progressing between them. They’d spent more time together, the chemistry undeniable. Nico couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so drawn to someone. They were in sync in a way he hadn’t expected, and the longer they spent together, the harder it became to imagine his life without her.

One evening, after a long practice, Nico invited Y/n over to his flat to relax. He wasn’t sure why, but something about tonight felt different. There was an electricity in the air, a tension that neither of them had acknowledged before.

As Y/n entered his flat, she smiled at him. “Hey, I brought wine. Figured we could make a night of it.”

“Sounds perfect,” Nico said, his voice low.

They sat down on the couch, the conversation easy, but Nico couldn’t stop thinking about how close she was. Her perfume filled the air, her hand just inches from his. His pulse quickened as he finally broke the silence.

“Y/n… I’ve been thinking about this—about us.”

She turned to face him, her eyes intense and curious. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “I think we’ve got something real here. Something different. And I don’t want to just keep playing around.”

Y/n smiled softly, her fingers brushing his. “I think we’ve been dancing around this long enough, Nico. I want this too.”

Without another word, Nico leaned in, kissing her gently at first, as if testing the waters. But soon, it deepened—passionate, urgent. All the unspoken tension between them spilled out in that kiss. It was a different kiss than the one they shared in the restaurant, this one felt more charged with sexual tension.

“Do you want to move this to the bedroom?” Nico asked her as he pulled away from her lips before attaching his to her neck.

She couldn’t help but gasp at the feeling. “Yes, please.” She breathed out. Nico quickly picked her up and made his way to his bedroom. He took off his shirt as soon as they entered the room. “Fuck, you’re hot.” Is all she managed to get out.

“Can I go down on you first, I really want to taste you.” He looked at her, his eyes darkening as he made his way to his bed.

“I have a better idea. Have you ever tried this one?”

___

The next week, Nico couldn’t help but laugh as he read through a text message from Y/n:

“I bet the thermostat’s set at six-nine now, huh?”

He smiled, typing back: “It’s a little warmer than that, but I think the bed chem is off the charts.”

Her reply came quickly: “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Nico’s heart swelled. She wasn’t just someone he had chemistry with—she was someone he couldn’t imagine being without. And as they lay together, tangled in the sheets, Nico knew that this was only the beginning of something truly incredible.

[goldenboywrites]

Quintus glanced up at the sound of his childhood nickname and was immediately blinded by a quick flash. His eyes squinted, and his lips turned down into a scowl aimed at the perpetrator. Part of him wanted to reach forward and snatch the phone, but a more significant part liked that Cesare had wanted a picture of him. He would have this little piece of Quin after he was gone again. 

Because he was leaving, Quin wasn’t in the habit of getting to keep nice things. He certainly wouldn’t ever be able to keep this. He knew Cesare didn’t understand, but one day, he would be grateful that Quin had left. 

There’s a tomb down the hall. Quin shivered at Cesare’s words, the hairs on his arms standing on edge. It was too true, too fitting for what he had gone through, and Cesare didn’t even have an inkling how much truth he spoke at that moment, but Quin did. He had always known. “You keep making it sound like I had a choice.” Quin brought his leg up onto the counter, bending and tucking his leg against his chest. He leaned forward, resting his chin on top of his knee, and turning to look at Cesare, who was a mere step away from him. “Max and I didn’t leave,” He parroted back mockingly.

Max and I didn’t leave. He repeated Cesare’s words over and over again in his head. It was like he was six years old again and running after them, begging to be included in their little playdates. Max and Cesare were everything to each other. Quin and Cesare had one summer together before it was ripped away. They got to stay together, but Quin was dragged away. After everything, Quin returned and still has to hear about it. It still comes back down to those two. Max and Cesare. Cesare and Max. They were a constant. It was constantly annoying. 

“What would you have done?” He raised a brow and issued the challenge. “If you were a teenager and your legal guardian packed your shit up and said you were being shipped off to another country for school? The following day, you were suddenly dropped off in a foreign country without a phone, money, or access to resources. You’re sent to this reform school that is locked down like a prison. Seriously, Cesare. Was I supposed to run away and walk back here? He would have shipped me off again, probably even further, if I did that. So, let’s hear it.” His eyes narrowed into slits. “Let’s hear your perfect little answer about how you would fight to get back to Maximus.”

“Because that’s really what this is about, isn’t it?” Quin hated feeling like this. Like a feral cat backed into a corner, fur standing on edge and ready to strike. He couldn’t help himself. He had always been torn between locking down his emotions and being suffocated by them. “You think I should have fought harder. It’s what you and Max would have done, right? Fight tooth and nail to get back to each other.” He looked away from Cesare, unable to keep their gaze connected, as he spat angry accusations at the man. “I didn’t fight at all to stay.” Quin’s shoulders fell, his body hunched forward as he wrapped his arms around his leg. He refused to look at Cesare. “Guess you already knew that about me, though, so I suppose it doesn’t count for your little game.”

Cesare couldn't be entirely sure if his mouth was hanging wide open still or if he'd managed to get ahold of himself. And seeing as Quintus hadn't made a rude ass comment about him drooling all over the floor, he figured he was safe. Though he did bring up his arm to rub his mouth against the back of his wrist before he went back to work on their meal. And that was purely to buy him time to think about what had been asked. Because for a short period of time he'd forgotten that they'd been separated. That this wasn't a normal day for them. He's going to leave again. It was also then he'd really just started to realized just how much really had been through without each other.

Cesare cleared his throat, looking down at the two pizzas laying on the counter before him. A part of him wanted to blush at the accusation Quintus had thrown at him. Not really an accusation but still. It wasn't like he thought that he'd be standing face to face with this man ever again. Why should he be embarrassed with how he decided to survive without him? "I really don't think much has changed. A couple of new places have a mud patch or two." He told him in earnest. Because in all honesty, neither he nor Max really found a reason to change much of anything. Updated photos had been added throughout the house of both their families. A few patches here and there for a couple drunk shenanigans. One of them wasn't even really either of their faults. They'd take that truth to their graves. "My mom insisted that we get a cleaning service." He said without any thought to it, "Probably one of the only reasons it's still standing." He joked, laughing softly as he shifted the pizzas onto their own sheet and popped the pair in to heat up.

He turned around to see Quin sitting like on the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world. Cesare's heart swelled at the sight of it and it took everything in him not to sigh out in contentment at all of this. "Well," He trailed off, pushing off from his space and moved to stand just a few paces from Quintus. "Aside from me claiming one of the spare rooms. It's two doors down from yours." Not that he felt like he needed to clarify that location to him. But he had walked in on Cesare asleep on his childhood bed so perhaps it wasn't the worst idea. Cesare pulled his phone from his pocket and set a timer for the pizzas and it was then he'd realized that he didn't have a picture of Quin. Well, he did but none that were just his. He clicked his tongue twice and selected the camera app.

A smile dawned his face as Quin focused in the screen of his phone and Cesare even zoomed in slightly. You could make out the little wisps of hair gently touching his ears and those long lashes would brush his cheeks when he blinked. "Q?" He asked, quickly snapping a picture just as he looked over him. The flashed was quick and he was quite happy with the outcome of that. However, he was quick to grin triumphantly over at Quintus and pocketed his phone before the other could even think of moving from his position on the counter. "Just in case." He told him, moving to stand before him just then. "I might faint if you take off for that long again." There was truth in his words and he knew it hadn't been his fault but still. Cesare needed something of him now that he knew this him was possible.

He folded his arms together over his chest and deeply inhaled, loving the scent of their pizzas coming to a bubble in the oved. "And no." He glanced back at Quintus, smiling wickedly. "There isn't a shrine for you in there." His weight settled back against the counter and Cesare stretched into a more comfortable lean. "Don't need to when there's a tomb down the hall." He wasn't sure that was the best joke to be making given the circumstances. He cleared his throat and shuffled his weight uncomfortablly. "You keep asking what's changed but Max and I didn't leave." He tried not to sound confrontational but he couldn't help but want to know the same things that Quin did. Which was everything about him now. "You tell me something about you now. Something I wouldn't already know." He held his finger up, knowing damn well he'd still try and wriggle out. "Or something I could guess fairly easily." He knew he had to be specific or Quin would wiggle through the cracks like he'd always been so good at doing. "Tell me something about you now. We can make a game of it if you want to." Take the bait.