#enemies to lovers !!

[artisticdemon]

ENEMIES TO LOVERS BUT ONLY WHEN IT'S VILLAIN X VILLAIN

I do love when two very fucked up people are in very fucked up love with each other

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 20

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: smut, oral fem receiving, fingering, drinking, angst, tension

I swallow hard, my pulse thudding in my ears. Every inch of me is hyper aware of him, his sun kissed skin, the faint scent of seasalt and sunscreen clinging to him, the way his fingers flex against the counter like he's holding himself back.

I wet my lips, watching as his gaze follows the movement. "Maybe I just wanted to make sure you were.. comfortable" I murmur.

Matt exhales a sharp breath, shaking his head with a low chuckle. "You're killing me, you know that?"

I smile, feeling bolder. "Good."

For a second, neither of us move. The tension is thick, electric in the space between us. Matt closes the distance before making his way down to my shoulder and then my chest, his fingers tugging at the hem of my bikini.

Matt unties my bikini top and tosses it aside before kissing me again, this time more roughly. Matt slips his hands under my hips and lifts me up, setting me on the counter. He steps in between my legs, his body pressing against mine.

His eyes trace over my body, before his lips work their way over to my neck, his tongue flicking out occasionally against my skin, until he reaches my tits. He takes one in his mouth while he fondles the other, occasionally switching while my breathing becomes more laboured.

Matt pushes me back onto the counter, as his hands slide down from my waist to my thighs, gripping them tightly as he holds my legs open, his thumb rubbing over my clit through my bikini fabric at an agonisingly slow pace.

Slight breathy groans leave my mouth, as Matt toys with the ties of my bikini bottoms, pulling them loose and allowing his finger to slip under it, letting him feel the heat he just created. He kisses my stomach, as I let out a light moan. 

“You’re teasing me Matt”

Matt looks up at me and without hesitation, shoves two fingers into me, allowing me to let out a louder moan. 

“Fuck Matttttt, that feels so good” I pant, as Matt picks up his pace, no time to ease me in, in all honestly with the way he was kissing me, I didn't need to be.

I squeeze my eyes shut, to try to allow myself to completely relax. I feel hair brushing off my stomach as a warm, wet sensation attaches onto my clit. Making my whole body buckle.

I look forward, and Matt's tongue is swirling around my sensitive bud as his fingers pulse inside of me. I grab onto his hair tightly as the knot in my stomach builds faster and faster.

“Don’t stop Matt I-I’m gonna-” I yell out as I knock my head back against the kitchen counter.

“Fuckkkk!” I moan as the knot in my stomach breaks, my body shudders as Matt removes himself from me. 

I sit up as I try to catch my breath back, surprised at how quick that was. I feel just as warm inside the villa as I did outside it. “Fuck I’ve never felt like that before.” I say shaking my head innocently as Matt smirks at me. 

“Glad I could do that for you." Matt says as his kisses my forehead before turning and heading toward the sink to wash his hands. "A sandwich will bring you back down to earth now”

“What happened to me helping you out?” I question, raising an eyebrow.

“Letting me pleasure you is all the help I need.” Matt grins. “And making you lunch will just top it all off.” He gestures vaguely toward the fridge. 

I exhale, steadying myself as I grab my bikini off the floor. "That’s okay I’ll get you back tonight.” I say as I lock eyes with Matt, giving him a smirk.

I take myself to the bathroom to fix myself and when I come back Matt has everything set up.

We move around the kitchen in sync, grabbing the bread, meat, and whatever else we can find that seems remotely sandwich worthy. Nick’s habit of stocking up on groceries during vacation finally pays off, and I make a mental note to thank him later.

Matt smirks as he spreads mayo onto a slice of bread. “Nick’s probably the only person I know who food shops on vacation.”

I laugh, stacking slices of turkey onto a random sandwich. “Honestly, it’s a lifesaver right now. Imagine if we had to go find a store?”

Matt groans. “Would’ve ruined the whole ‘sneaking off’ plan.”

I roll my eyes, but my stomach flips at the way he’s looking at me, like he’s still thinking about what just happened on the counter.

We finish making the sandwiches, eating ones for ourselves before stuffing the rest into a bag. Leaning against the counter, I take a bite, sighing happily. “Okay, maybe Nick really does deserve credit for this.”

Matt takes a big bite of his own sandwich, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, but we can’t tell him. He’ll get a big head about it.”

I giggle, nudging him lightly with my elbow.

Once we’ve finished eating, we grab the bag of sandwiches and head back down toward the beach. The sun is still high, the sand warm under our feet as we approach the group.

Nick spots us first, raising an eyebrow. “Took you guys long enough.”

“We were making food for all of you” I say, holding up the bag like a trophy.

Nate sits up from his lounger, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Wait, you actually made lunch? Thought you just wanted an excuse to sneak off.”

I roll my eyes, tossing him a sandwich. “You’re welcome.”

Matt flops down onto his lounger, throwing an arm over his face. “You guys are so ungrateful.”

Chris, still scrolling on his phone with his airpods in, grabs a sandwich without looking up.

Nick unwraps his sandwich and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before smirking. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll admit, this was a solid move. Maybe I’ll keep stocking the fridge after all.”

I grin, settling back onto my lounger, propping up the sun umbrella to cool down my sun warmed skin. 

Chris stretches lazily on his lounger, finally putting his phone down and glancing around at all of us. “We haven’t hit a nightclub since we got here.”

Nate hums in agreement, sipping his water bottle. “True. We’ve been to a few bars but nothing too crazy.”

Chris sits up straighter, his sunglasses pushing up into his hair. “Let’s go out tonight. Order in, have some drinks at the villa, then hit the club. Go all out.”

Nick immediately nods. “I’m in. We need a proper night out.”

Nate grins. “You just want an excuse to text that guy and get him to meet you there.”

Nick throws his crust at him. “Mind your business.”

I glance at Matt, who’s already looking at me. “What do you think?” he asks, tilting his head.

I shrug, pretending to consider it. “A club does sound fun.”

Chris claps his hands together. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Matt smirks but says nothing, just leaning back on his lounger.

Nick sits up, already pulling out his phone. “Alright, I’ll see what food we can order for later. What are we thinking? Pizza again?”

We all groan at the idea of more pizza.

“No more pizza” I say, shaking my head. “We’ve had enough of that.”

Nick nods. “Something different, then. We’ll figure it out later.”

Chris claps his hands again, excitement clearly setting in. “Alright, settled. Tonight, we party.”

I lean back on my lounger, stretching my legs out. The ocean breeze is warm, and the thought of a night out makes excitement bubble up inside me.

Nick is glued to his phone, his lips twitching in amusement as his fingers fly across the screen. I nudge his arm.

"What's he saying?" I ask, peering over his shoulder.

Nick barely glances up. "He just asked where we're heading tonight."

I grin, nudging him again. "Well, tell him we're going to the nightclub. Give him a chance to show up."

Nick hesitates for a second before rolling his eyes. "You’re really invested in my love life, huh?"

"Absolutely" I tease. "Someone has to be."

Matt chuckles from his lounger, leaning back on his elbows. "She’s got a point. You might as well shoot your shot, man."

Nick sighs dramatically but types out the message anyway. "Fine. But if this goes terribly, I’m blaming you."

I hold up my hands. "Hey, if it goes terribly, at least it’ll be entertaining for the rest of us."

Nate, overhearing, smirks. "Yeah, and if it goes well, we’ll give you so much shit about it."

Nick groans. "I hate all of you."

I just laugh, watching as he hits send. Tonight was already shaping up to be an interesting one.

The sun was beginning its slow descent. We had spent most of the afternoon in and out of the water, sprawled out on the loungers, soaking in the sun, and laughing over the stupidest things. 

Matt was next to me on the sand, his arms resting on his bent knees as he traced patterns into the grains with his fingers. 

"You good?" he asked, catching me staring.

I smiled, shrugging. "Yeah, just taking it all in."

He smirked, nudging me with his knee. "You look happy."

I bit my lip, feeling a warmth rise in me that had nothing to do with the sun. "I am."

He nodded, as if he already knew. Then, without saying anything else, he grabbed my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. It was subtle, nothing dramatic, but enough to send a wave of electricity through me.

We sat there like that for a while, letting the sounds of the ocean and the distant conversations of the others fill the silence. I didn’t know how long we stayed like that before someone called out.

"Alright, let’s head back!" Chris announced, stretching his arms over his head. "Sun’s going down, and we’ve got a big night ahead."

Reluctantly, I stood, brushing off the sand before Matt and I followed the rest of the group toward the villa. The walk back was easy, everyone still in that post beach daze, the kind where your skin feels warm and tight from the sun and the exhaustion starts to creep in.

Chris walked ahead, scrolling through his phone before glancing back at us. "I’m posting pictures from the shoot" he said casually. "Gotta get that early promo going."

As we reached the villa, my phone buzzed in my hand, the familiar Instagram notification lighting up my screen. I glanced at Matt, who had just pulled his own phone out, both of us seeing the same thing, Chris had just posted the photos from the shoot.

Clicking into the post, I scrolled through the slides until I found it, the shot of Matt and I standing side by side, both in our near matching jackets. The way the photo was framed, the way we naturally leaned slightly toward each other, made it look effortless.

I barely had time to process it before I saw Matt hit the repost button, adding the photo to his story without hesitation. He hovered for a second, as if considering adding something, then let it go up as it was.

I smirked, nudging him with my elbow. "So, you’re just gonna post that without acknowledging the fact that I know you picked it all out yourself?"

His brows lifted slightly, but his lips curled into a grin. "Oh yeah? And what exactly do you think you know?"

I crossed my arms, tilting my head at him. "I don’t think, I know. Chris can’t hold his piss."

Matt glanced at me, pretending to be clueless. “What do you mean?”

I scoffed, giving him a look. “Matt. You picked everything out. The jacket. The number. My initial. Are you really gonna act like that was some random coincidence?”

He exhaled a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean.. it worked, didn’t it?”

I narrowed my eyes. “So, you are admitting it.”

He hesitated for a beat, then finally shrugged. “I wanted it to feel right.” His voice was quieter now, more honest. “Like.. if I was gonna do it, I wanted it to actually mean something.”

I stared at him, my heart doing this weird, unsteady thing in my chest. Chris had already spilled it ot me, but hearing him say it out loud made it different. It wasn’t just something he threw together. He thought about it.

I bit my lip, trying to keep my voice light. “So what? you wanted us to match so bad?”

Matt smirked slightly but didn’t break eye contact. “Maybe.” A pause settled between us. “Or maybe It was the only way I could express my feelings for you without admitting it.”

Something about the way he said it made my stomach flip. I rolled my eyes, shoving him lightly before turning to the stairs. “You’re unbelievable.��

He followed beside me, his shoulder bumping into mine. “Yeah, but you like it.”

I didn’t say anything. But I didn’t deny it either.

We all split off to our rooms for showers, to get rid of the suncream and random pieces of sand. We all hoped the showers would wake us up so we don’t need to nap.

After showering, I step back into my room, styling my hair first before I root out the outfit I’d decided on earlier. I can hear doors opening and closing, muffled conversations, the occasional blast of music as someone picks their getting ready playlist. I slip into my outfit, taking my time with my makeup, wanting to feel my best tonight.

As I swipe on my lip gloss, there’s a knock at my door. “What do you want to eat?” Nick’s voice comes through as he pokes his head in.

I glance up, setting my lip gloss down. “What are we getting?”

“Anything. I’m just taking orders, gonna get it all delivered.”

I think for a second before shrugging. “Surprise me”

Nick smirks. “Dangerous game. You might end up with something weird.”

I roll my eyes. “I trust you.”

He disappears down the hall, moving from room to room, taking everyone’s orders. The house slowly settles into that familiar pre night out routine, hairdryers whirling, perfume and cologne lingering in the air, someone’s speaker playing a mix of throwbacks and current songs.

By the time the food arrives, I’m fully ready, my hair styled, outfit on, makeup done. We all gather outside, taking seats around the villa’s patio table as the smell of takeout fills the air.

Nate digs into his food immediately, barely waiting for everyone to get their plates, while Chris argues with Nick over who ordered the better meal. Matt slides into the seat next to me, his knee brushing mine under the table, sending a small jolt of warmth through me.

After finishing our food, we linger outside for a while, chatting and letting the night settle in around us. Nick turns up the speaker, filling the space with music. With full stomachs and the excitement of the night ahead, we move back inside to start drinking and getting into the mood for the club.

Chris takes over DJ duties, queueing up a mix of songs that get everyone hyped. Nate and Nick are already a few drinks deep, laughing at everything, while Matt leans against the counter next to me, his arm brushing mine every so often. I sip on my drink, feeling the buzz start to settle in, warmth spreading through my body.

As the night goes on, everyone starts to loosen up, Nick dramatically lip syncs to songs, Chris hypes him up. We’re all dancing around the villa, singing along to every song, taking random pictures, and just enjoying ourselves.

By the time 11pm rolls around, we’re all buzzing with energy. Chris checks his phone. “Alright, let’s get moving”

Everyone scrambles to grab last minute things, phones, wallets, extra spritzes of perfume or cologne. I check myself in the mirror once more before heading to the door.

“Everyone good?” Matt asks, making sure we’re all set before we leave.

We pile into an Uber and make our way to the club, everyone on the brink of being drunk. The streets are alive, groups of people heading in the same direction as us, laughter and music filling the air. Excitement bubbles up in my chest as I look around at my friends, knowing the night is only just beginning. How lucky I am to share these moments with them.

We step into the club and the place is already packed, bodies moving in sync with the music, laughter and conversation barely audible over the sound.

I nudge Nick. “Is he coming?”

He nods, a smirk playing on his lips. “He said he’d be here, so we’ll see what happens.”

I grin. “Exciting. You nervous?”

“Please” Nick scoffs. “He should be nervous to see me.”

We exchange a laugh, and before we can even think too much about it, “ExtraL” by JENNIE and Doechii starts to play. 

That’s our cue.

We don’t waste time and instantly make our way to the dance floor. The music pulses through my body as we move, completely lost in the moment. 

At some point, the rest of the boys slipped away, and when I look over toward the DJ booth, I realise why. They’ve somehow managed to get us a table right next to it, complete with a bottle of vodka and mixers waiting.

Chris waves us over, motioning to the table. “We’re up tonight” he grins, already pouring drinks.

I slide in next to Matt, his hand finding the small of my back. I glance up at him, and the strobe lights flicker across his face, making his eyes seem even brighter.

“You good?” he asks, leaning in slightly so I can hear him over the music.

I nod. “Very.”

I’m not sure if it’s the club, the drinks, or just the feeling of being in our own little world, but I know one thing. I’m ready for whatever the night has in store.

Nick suddenly stiffens beside me, his eyes flickering toward the entrance before he straightens his shirt and fixes his hair in a way that’s meant to be casual but is anything but. I follow his gaze and immediately see a guy making his way through the crowd toward us.

“Is that him?” I whisper, nudging Nick with my elbow.

Nick exhales quickly, composing himself before smirking. “Yeah it is.”

Nick waves the guy over to our booth and he approaches us, a confident but easygoing smile on his face. He’s tall, well dressed, and looks older than Nick, “Nick” he greets, his voice barely audible over the music.

Nick tilts his head slightly, his smirk deepening. “You made it.”

“I said I would” the guy replies, his eyes flicking over to me briefly before returning to Nick.

Nick introduces everyone to the guy and tells him all of our names. We share pleasantries to try and make him feel comfortable. He slides in next to Nick seamlessly joining our conversation. He’s got that easy charm about him, fitting in as if he’s known us for years. We chat for a while, mostly teasing Nick, who’s pretending not to be flustered but is failing miserably. 

Chris suddenly stands up mid conversation, adjusting his shirt. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Matt and I both turn to look at him. “Where are you going?” I ask, but Chris just gives me a vague smirk before disappearing into the crowd of people on the dance floor. 

After a few minutes, the guy leans in closer to Nick and says something that makes him laugh. Nick shakes his head, but I can tell he’s enjoying the attention. “Alright, let’s go get a shot, lead the way.”

I watch as they disappear toward the bar, turning to Matt with an amused look. “He’s so into Nick”

Matt chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in closer. “Yeah, but do you think Nick’s into him?”

I glance back at the two of them, already deep in conversation, Nick laughing at something the guy said. “Oh, 100%.”

Nate chimes in “I hope this goes well for him.” As he pours drinks, handing us each one. 

“So do I” I say, taking a sip of my drink.

Matt and I are sitting close, closer than we probably realize, his arm draped casually along the back of the booth, his knee knocking lightly against mine. There’s this natural pull between us, one that feels impossible to ignore.

I just want to be all over him right now. Maybe return the favour later.

Chris returns to the booth, but he’s not alone. Two girls trail behind him, both dressed to kill, their eyes scanning our group as they approach. Chris gestures between them like he’s presenting a prize.

“This is Rachel” he says, nodding toward the girl in a tight red dress. Then, he motions to the brunette next to her. “And this is Christina.”

The second the name leaves his lips, my stomach drops. Christina. As in Vegas Christina?

Matt stiffens beside me, his fingers gripping tighter against his glass. I glance at him, my pulse kicking up, but his face is unreadable.

I shift my attention back to the girl, studying her. She’s exactly how I thought she would look. Long brown hair, sharp cheekbones, an effortless confidence in the way she carries herself. She’s looking at Matt now, and something in her expression makes my blood boil.

Chris, oblivious or maybe just entertained by the sudden tension, speaks up. “Figured I’d fly them out. Thought you’d wanna catch up, Matt.”

Matt finally speaks, voice smooth but firm. “Didn’t think I had anything left to catch up on.”

Christina’s lips twitch, like she was expecting that response. “No? Could’ve fooled me.”

I don’t know what she means by that, but I really don’t like the way she says it.

My mind is racing. I know things have happened between Matt and Christina before, he’s never denied that. But Matt told me himself that he hasn’t been with anyone since that night in the house. And Vegas was after that, so.. surely not.

Still, the way she looks at him, the confidence in her tone, it’s messing with my head.

I glance at Matt, but his expression is carefully neutral. Chris, meanwhile, is grinning like he’s watching the most entertaining scene unfold, completely oblivious to the tension he’s just ignited.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Nate shifting uncomfortably, looking just as out of place in this situation as I feel. Our eyes meet, and without a word, he tilts his head toward the bar before mouthing the word. “Shot?”

It’s exactly what I need right now.

I nod, pushing up from the booth. “We’re getting a drink” I say to no one in particular, but Matt’s gaze flicks to me immediately.

“Want me to come?”

I shake my head, forcing a small smile. “I’m good.”

I need a second to breathe, to process whatever the hell this is before I let it get to me. Because right now? It’s definitely getting to me.

Nate follows behind me to the bar before ordering two shots of Sambuca. Nate slides the shot toward me, watching as I pick it up. “You good?”

I exhale, rolling the glass between my fingers before finally throwing it back. The burn of the shot matching the burn in my chest. “Yeah. It’s just.. a weird situation.”

He leans against the bar, arms crossed. “What's making you feel weird?”

I set the shot glass down, sighing. “I know he's been with her before Nate. But Matt told me he hasn’t been with anyone since right before you came to stay, so I know nothing happened in Vegas. But still.. it’s just weird seeing her here.”

Nate nods, considering that. “I don’t think Chris has any clue what’s going on between you two” he says after a beat. “If he did, he wouldn’t have invited Christina out.”

I run a hand through my hair, stealing a glance back toward the booth. Matt’s eyes are already on me, his jaw tight, like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do. Christina is talking to Chris, but she’s angled slightly toward Matt, like she’s waiting for an opening.

I turn back to Nate. “Let’s do another shot.”

He grins, signaling to the bartender. “Now you’re talking.”

As we make our way back to the booth, I immediately notice that Chris and Matt are gone. Nate clocks it too, but neither of us say anything. Instead, we’re left to take the only open seats. Nate slides in next to Rachel, leaving me no choice but to sit beside Christina.

She shifts slightly as I settle beside her, turning just enough to face me. Her perfectly lined lips curl into a smirk, and I already know whatever is about to come out of her mouth isn’t going to be pleasant.

“So” she starts, dragging out the word, her nails tapping against her glass. “You and Matt are, what? Friends?”

I keep my expression neutral. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

She hums, taking a sip of her drink. “Funny. I just didn’t expect him to be the type for.. complicated situations.”

I raise a brow. “Complicated how?”

Her smirk widens, like she’s enjoying this. “Well, we do have history. I just assumed if he was seeing someone, he would’ve told me.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. So this is what we’re doing.

“I don’t think Matt owes you an update on his personal life” I say smoothly, taking a sip of my drink.

Christina lets out a light laugh “Oh, It’s just.. you know how it is when you have that kind of connection with someone. Some things never really go away.”

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but Christina doesn’t stop there.

“Vegas was.. unforgettable” she says, swirling the ice in her drink. 

I refuse to give her the reaction she’s looking for, so I nod casually. “Oh yeah? How was it?”

She tilts her head, almost throwing me a pitiful look. “Oh Y/n I can’t spare you the details! You know what they say. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

That’s it. That’s my final straw.

I feel my stomach twist, my chest tightening in that way that tells me I’m two seconds away from either snapping or letting this whole night ruin me. And I won’t give her the satisfaction of either.

I put my drink down, pushing it away from me. The last thing I need is more alcohol fueling whatever emotions are bubbling to the surface.

Nate notices my change in demeanour. “You good?”

I nod quickly, already standing up. “Yeah, just..just gonna head back to the villa.”

He watches me carefully. “Want me to come with you?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s okay.” 

“Nope, not happening” he says, standing up and walking toward me leaving the two girls behind us. “First off, I’m not letting you leave here alone, and second, I’m not staying with those two either.”

I let out a breath, not wanting to argue. “Fine” I say, and we start weaving through the club toward the exit.

Just as we’re near the door, I catch movement in the corner of my eye, Matt and Chris. They’re standing near the bar, mid conversation, but their heads turn in sync when they see us leaving.

For a split second, I think Matt might step forward, might ask where I’m going or what’s wrong. But he doesn’t. And I don’t stop either.

I don’t even get to say goodbye to Nick, who’s completely wrapped up with the guy from earlier.

I just step out into the warm night air with Nate, leaving it all behind.

Nate and I get to the villa in silence, the quiet settling around us in stark contrast to the volume of the club we just left. I pull my phone out of my purse the second we’re inside, checking my notifications. Nothing from Matt.

Wow. Is that really how it is?

Anger rises in my chest, hot and sharp. It’s not even about Christina anymore, it’s about the fact that I walked out of there, and he didn’t even bother to check in. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t feel like this. 

But I do.

And that’s exactly why it stings.

I let out a frustrated breath, holding the power button on my phone until the screen goes black. If he’s not going to message me, I don’t even want to give myself the chance to sit here and wait for it. I just need to sleep this off.

“The sooner I sleep” I mutter to myself, slipping my shoes off, “the faster this night will be over.”

And with that, I take myself to bed and pass out.

Hours later, I’m jolted awake by the sound of my bedroom door bursting open. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest as Nick stumbles inside, completely unbothered by the fact that he just rudely woke me up. Sunlight is already creeping through the curtains, and I instinctively reach for my phone, turning it on to check the time.

7am.

I groan, rubbing the sleep from my eyes before looking at Nick, who’s swaying slightly where he stands. His clothes are wrinkled, his hair a mess, and his eyes are heavy lidded, but he’s grinning like an idiot.

“Are you okay?” I mumble, still groggy. Then, as I properly take in his state, realisation hits me. “Wait, are you still drunk?”

Nick pauses, squinting as if he’s actually trying to figure it out. “Not completely.. The hangover is starting to kick in already.”

I sigh. “Where the hell were you?”

He grins wider, dropping onto the end of my bed dramatically. “I went back to his place.”

I laugh at Nick, shaking my head. "Did you have fun at least?"

He grins, flopping onto my bed dramatically. "I did. I really like him."

I smile at that. "Good. But you need sleep, Nick. You’re barely sitting up."

Nick groans but nods, and as I help him up, he leans on me slightly. "Walk me to my room?"

I sigh but hook my arm through his anyway, guiding him down the hallway. "Come on, lightweight."

We're almost at his door when, suddenly, he perks up with a mischievous glint in his tired eyes. "Wait! Let’s say hi to Matt!"

I barely get the words "No, Nick, let’s not-" out before he’s already reaching for Matt’s door handle.

Everything happens too fast. The door swings open.

And then I see it.

Long brown hair fanned out on the pillow. A bare shoulder peeking from under the sheets.

A girl. 

In Matt’s bed.

Christina.

a/n : what else did you expect from part 20 fr (dont kill me pls)

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[seongwars]

strangers by nature | viii

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Rating: NC-17 Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 5.5K Warnings: fluff, mentions of infidelity

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“You’ll need extensive physical therapy,” Dr. Jang said, flipping through his chart the day Mingi was to be discharged. 

“Walking will be difficult at first. You’ll experience weakness, dizziness, and possibly some coordination issues.”

Mrs. Song let out a sharp breath, bringing a hand up to her mouth as if to stifle a gasp. Beside her, Mr. Song reached over and placed a firm, reassuring hand on her arm. They had known this was coming, yet hearing it aloud made it all the more real.

“We’ll have to make arrangements,” his mother replied. “Oh, if he’s going to struggle, we can have the physical therapist come to the house.”

“There’s no need,” Mingi rasped, glancing over at you. “Y/N can help me.”

The entire room fell silent.

Dr. Jang stopped mid-page, his eyes flickering up over his glasses. The nurse who had been taking discharge notes blinked so fast it was almost comical. Even Mr. Song, ever composed, arched an eyebrow in surprise.

“W-What? Me?” you stammered, pointing to yourself as if there had been some mistake.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like your help,” Mingi repeated, his voice steadier now, as if the decision had already been made in his mind. There was something almost… gentle in the way he looked at you.

You stared at him in disbelief. Mingi, the man who never wanted anything to do with you, was asking for your help? 

“Mingi, are you sure?”

Mrs. Song was still staring at him like he had grown a second head. “But you always—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. 

“You’ve never liked being…helped. You always insist on doing things yourself.”

Mingi exhaled, leaning back against the pillows, his fingers twitching slightly against the blanket. “I know,” he admitted. His voice was quiet, almost contemplative. 

“But things are different now.”

And for some reason, the way he said it made it feel like he wasn’t just talking about his injury.

You pulled up to the entrance, cutting the engine before stepping out to grab Mingi’s crutches from the backseat. By now, the visits were becoming routine, but each time, it still struck you as surreal.

You turned to him, holding out the crutches. “Do you need anything else? I can grab a wheelchair if you want.”

Mingi shook his head. “No thanks, I’ve got it.”

Then, to your complete and utter bewilderment, he smiled—small, unguarded, but warm in a way you’d never quite seen before. The sight of it sent a strange flutter through your chest, something unfamiliar yet not entirely unwelcome.

Before you could process it, his hand brushed against your arm, a brief touch that sent a gentle warmth trailing in its wake. His fingers lingered just long enough to make you wonder if it was intentional before he gave your arm a light squeeze—as if he were telling you he’d see you soon.

It was fleeting, gone too soon, but the feeling remained, leaving you gripping the car door handle as if it were the only thing keeping you steady.

Mingi had never smiled at you before. 

The whole drive home, you were lost in thought, your hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Confused didn’t even begin to cover it. Lately, everything about Mingi had been confusing.

At first, you thought you were imagining it. But then it became impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just the way he looked at you now—like he was seeing you for the first time, rather than through you. It was how he acted. How he hovered. 

He followed you around the penthouse like a puppy. If you turned around too quickly, he was there, standing just a few feet away. If you rounded a corner, you nearly crashed into him. It was like he was always waiting for something. 

Waiting for you.

You could almost see it—the imaginary puppy ears perking up, the wagging tail swishing behind him, hoping you’d notice that he was there. 

And as if that weren’t strange enough, he’d also become…talkative. Well, in his own way. Mingi had started initiating conversations with you through animal facts, seemingly random tidbits of knowledge he’d been holding in until they just slipped out. 

“Did you know that vampire bats share their food with other vampire bats?”

“What?” You blinked at him, holding your fork mid bite. 

“They, um…they regurgitate blood for bats that didn’t eat.” His voice was quiet and uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if this was something you’d want to hear but hoped you might find it interesting.

You blinked at him, trying to decide if this was some kind of weird joke. But there was no teasing in his expression—just an earnest kind of hopefulness, like he wanted you to acknowledge his effort.

Like he wanted you to know he was trying.

“Oh…” You let out a small laugh, tilting your head at him. “Are you telling me I don’t eat enough?”

Mingi’s ears tinged pink as he gave a small, sheepish nod. 

“Kind of…” he admitted, shifting awkwardly. 

“I noticed that sometimes you skip meals when you’re busy or stressed.” His voice dropped slightly, almost as if he was embarrassed to say it aloud. 

“It’s not good for you.”

Another instance, you were humming to yourself as you sorted through the laundry, tossing a few shirts into the washing machine. The penthouse was quiet, save for the whir of the dryer running in the background. You reached for the basket when—

“Did you know that wombats poop in cubes?”

You yelped, throwing your laundry into the air as you spun around. Mingi stood just a few feet away, wide-eyed, his hands hovering awkwardly in front of him like he wasn’t sure whether to help or apologize.

“Mingi!” you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “You scared me!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, shifting on his feet. “The sugar cubes you put in your tea reminded me of wombat poop for some reason.”

You shook your head as you stepped into the lift back to the penthouse. You weren’t sure how you felt about your husband’s newfound attitude. It wasn’t that you were ungrateful—Mingi had finally woken up, and that should have been enough. 

The moment you kicked off your shoes in the foyer, Mrs. Ha, the chef, scurried over, her eyes darting between you and the hallway like she was still in the habit of speaking cautiously.  

“Oh, Ms. Y/N!” she whispered urgently, clutching her apron. “How was he?”

You let out a sharp exhale, still trying to make sense of it yourself. “Weird,” you hissed, picking up your pace to match hers as you both hurried toward the kitchen.

“He smiled at me. And—” You hesitated for a second before lowering your voice. “He squeezed my arm.”

Mrs. Ha gasped so dramatically you thought she might faint. “No.” She shook her head as if refusing to believe it.

“I know,” you muttered, half-joking, but not really. “He used to pretend I didn't exist. Now he’s…” You trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

Warm? Inviting? Considerate?

It felt strange to say out loud, but stranger still that it might actually be true.

Mrs. Ha grabbed your wrist as if trying to steady herself, or maybe you. “Ms. Y/N,” she said gravely, “do you think he hit his head too hard?”

You swallowed, the thought lingering in your mind longer than it should. Mingi’s accident had been severe. He’d been unconscious for months and it was a miracle he woke up at all. 

And yet, this wasn’t just waking up. This was different. The Mingi you knew had been cold, distant, cruel even. He never touched you unless absolutely necessary, never smiled at you unless it was laced with sarcasm or condescension. But today?

Today, he’d looked at you like he actually saw you.

Could head trauma really alter someone’s personality that drastically? Had the accident shaken something loose inside him?

“Can you believe he asked me about plants?” Yohan scoffed, handing you a cup of tea as you stepped into the kitchen.

“Mingi and plants.” He shook his head in disbelief, leaning against the counter. “I can’t believe he’s actually considering keeping something alive besides himself.”

You snorted, though the humor was short-lived. The shift in Mingi’s behavior was too drastic, too unnatural. You took a sip of your tea, the warmth doing little to ease the uncertainty. This new Mingi was too good to be true, and you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Mingi’s kindness, his warmth—it didn’t make sense. Not when he had spent so long resenting you.

“This morning, he casually mentioned that zebras can’t sleep alone,” you murmured, tapping your fingers against the cup. 

“Well he said he’s looking forward to dinner!” Mrs. Ha interjected. 

“Three months ago, he barely spoke to anyone, including Y/N and now he’s making conversation?” Yohan shook his head, placing a hand on his hip. 

“This is suspicious.”

No one wanted to say it out loud, but you all felt the same way. Mingi’s recovery wasn’t just physical. He was changing, bit by bit. And for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t for the worse.

⋆

“Your grip strength is starting to improve, as well as the mobility on your left side. Soon, you won’t need the crutches anymore,” Dr. Lim noted encouragingly.

Mingi exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he steadied himself. The session had been brutal, as they always were, but hearing that he was making progress gave him a small sense of victory.

“That’s it for today. We’ll see you next week.” The physical therapist gave him a nod of approval before turning away, already moving on to his next patient.

Mingi nodded, gripping his crutches tightly as he made his way toward the exit. Every movement still felt like an uphill battle. He had spent the last two months relearning how to move, how to function without feeling like his own body was working against him. The physical therapy sessions were grueling, pushing him to his limits, but he refused to back down.

The accident had nearly killed him. Three broken ribs, a fractured femur, and nerve damage. Though it wasn’t extensive, it was enough to remind him that no matter how much he pushed, there were still limits. 

And he hated that.

He hated the way his body trembled when he overexerted himself, the way his right arm sometimes felt too weak to grip things properly. He hated that he still struggled to get up without support, that simple tasks took twice the effort they used to. 

But he didn’t hate the way you anticipated his struggles before he could voice them. The way you reached for his arm before he could stumble, or placed things in a way that made it easier for him to access. And he didn’t hate how easily you entertained his ramblings, even when they were about the most mundane things.

For an hour and a half each week, he hated being away from you.

Because no matter how frustrating the setbacks were, no matter how exhausting the battle of recovery became, seeing you at the end of each session reminded him of his purpose and his promise to Hongjoong and Wooyoung. 

The thought of going home had him biting back a grin as he adjusted his crutches and made his way out of the rehabilitation center. He was already looking forward to sliding into the passenger seat beside you, exaggerating the difficulty of his new balance exercises and guessing what Mrs. Ha had whipped up today.

The anticipation carried him forward until it came to a screeching halt.

The moment he stepped into the rotunda, his fingers instinctively tightened around the crutches, his body going rigid. The hospital lobby was a blur of white coats and murmured conversations, but all he could focus on was the figure standing in front of him.

Ahri.

Her arms were crossed, her manicured nails tapping impatiently against her sleeve. She looked annoyed with her lips pressed into a thin line as her sharp gaze raked over him. 

The sight of her made something curdle in his stomach—something sharp, bitter, and unwelcome.

“What are you doing here?” Mingi asked flatly.

Ahri scoffed, stepping closer. “Are you seriously asking me that? You’ve been avoiding me ever since you woke up.”

“Maybe that should tell you something,” he muttered, but he already knew Ahri wouldn’t take the hint.

Ahri rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Mingi. Don’t act like this. We need to talk.”

“No,” he said simply, his grip tightening around the crutches until his knuckles turned white. 

“We really don’t.”

“You’re being dramatic. I was worried about you—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his voice low, firm. 

Ahri’s mouth opened, then closed. For the first time, she looked uncertain, like she hadn’t expected him to be this direct. Her expression faltered for a split second, But then, just as quickly, she recovered, her lips curling into a sneer.

“So that’s how it is?” she scoffed. “You wake up and suddenly forget about us? Is it because you want to play house with her?”

Mingi’s jaw tensed but his silence spoke volumes.

“What’s wrong with that?” he replied quietly. 

That made her pause. Just for a second. But then she shook her head, scoffing again like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. 

“Oh, give me a break,” she snapped. “You spent so long telling me how miserable you were, how you were trapped with her.” She let out a bitter laugh. 

“But now what? You wake up from a coma and suddenly, she’s the one you want? You told me you wished you’d never married her, that you never loved her.” 

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to something softer, something almost pleading as if she could still reach him. 

“Mingi, you told me I was the only thing that made you happy.”

And maybe, once, he had believed that.

Maybe, once, he had convinced himself that Ahri was the answer, the escape he craved, the proof that he was still alive, still capable of feeling something. But standing here now, after dying and coming back, after losing everything and being given a second chance, he saw it for what it truly was.

A mistake. A desperate attempt to outrun his own self-destruction.

But you—you had always been real. And this time, he wasn’t going to run.

This time, he was going to love you the way he should have all along.

“You weren’t,” he said steadily. “You never were.”

Ahri’s face twisted, something wounded flickering across her features before it morphed into anger. 

“Bullshit! If that were true, then why did you keep coming back to me?”

"You were there when it was easy, Ahri. When it was fun. But when I was lying in that hospital bed, barely clinging to life, you were nowhere to be found."

Ahri’s lips parted, but no words came out.

“And you know what? I don’t blame you,” Mingi said, tilting his head. 

“Because we were never real, were we? We were just two selfish people feeding off each other’s worst impulses.” He exhaled sharply, as if the weight of it all was finally lifting off his chest. 

“I don’t owe you anything.”

People turned, pausing in their tracks, stealing glances at the commotion, but Mingi could care less. Instead, he stepped past her without another glance, heading toward the one person who mattered—

You.

"You think you can just walk away from me?" Ahri's voice rose, sharp and unhinged. 

Mingi didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all. 

And that set her off. 

"Do you really think she’ll love you after everything you put her through?!"

Her lips curled, a smirk. "You think a self-respecting woman like Choi Y/N would want you?" She let out a breathless, almost manic laugh, her eyes glinting with something unhinged. 

"Especially when you fucked me on your wedding night!"

A murmur rippled through the gathering crowd. Gasps. A sharp intake of breath. Someone muttering under their breath. But Ahri was past caring. Her hands trembled at her sides, whether from rage or something deeper, something uglier, even she wasn’t sure.

“You threw her away like she was nothing. And now, you think you can just have her?”

Ahri let out a broken laugh, something desperate and wild. 

"She’s stronger than you ever gave her credit for." Ahri’s voice turned quiet, almost pitying.

“She doesn’t need you."

Mingi’s breath hitched, and for the first time since this entire confrontation began, doubt slithered in, coiling tight around his chest.

Because what if Ahri was right?

What if you never forgave him? What if everything he had done, all the cruel words, all the neglect, had built a wall so high between you that he’d never be able to climb over it?

He remembered the way you had looked at him when he was just a clumsy, oversized puppy, tail wagging, tongue lolling, no words to defend himself—only his actions. And still, still, you had cared for him. Fed him. Sheltered him. Loved him, even when you hadn’t known it was him.

Mingi clenched his jaw. He could fix this.

Because if he had been capable of love then, stripped of his pride and his excuses, then he was capable of love now. And he would prove it to you. No matter what it took.

He would not lose you.

"Ms. Jeong," a voice said smoothly, "I suggest you leave before you embarrass yourself any further."

Mingi tensed. He didn’t need to turn to know what he’d see—that infuriatingly calm expression, always so composed, so sure with his stupid face and stupid hair.

Seonghwa.

The hospital director's voice was calm, but the authority behind it was unmistakable. He stepped into Ahri’s path, yet the weight of his presence alone was enough to send a chill through the air.

Ahri whirled on him. "Stay out of this, Park Seonghwa!" she snapped. "This has nothing to do with you!"

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. "You’re causing a disturbance in my hospital. That makes it my problem."

Her chest rose and fell with sharp, angry breaths, but Seonghwa remained unfazed.

"You’re humiliating yourself. If you don’t leave, I’ll have security escort you out."

Ahri’s lips parted, her eyes darting between Seonghwa and Mingi, as if searching for an opening—one last attempt to regain control of the situation. But Mingi had already turned his back, walking toward the exit. Toward you.

And you—you had just barely managed to keep your knees from buckling.

You had been standing just around the corner, heart in your throat, ears ringing with every word that had left Mingi’s mouth.

"Do you really think she’ll love you after everything you put her through?!"

You didn’t have an answer for that. Not yet.

But Mingi, your husband, the same man who once treated your marriage like a prison sentence—was choosing you.

Your phone chimed, interrupting your conversation with Yohan and Mrs. Ha.

Pick up Mingi.

“Has it already been an hour and a half?” Yohan sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Mrs. Ha chuckled as she wiped her hands on her apron, already turning back to the half-prepped vegetables on the counter. 

“Time flies when you’re talking shit, I guess,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone.

Conversations like these had once been a source of relief, a safe space where you, Yohan, and Mrs. Ha could freely air out your frustrations about Mingi and his insufferable attitude. It had been cathartic, a necessary way to bond over shared grievances, particularly in the way he ignored Yohan’s presence, dismissed Mrs. Ha’s kindness, and, worst of all, the way he had treated you.

The usual satisfaction of venting was absent, replaced instead by something heavier. 

Guilt.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered now, softer, searching, as if trying to memorize every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. Like he was looking for something—hoping for something.

Or maybe it was the way he hesitated before speaking, as if he wanted to be understood but didn’t know how. As if he was afraid that one wrong step would send him tumbling right back into the version of himself you had every reason to despise.

And that’s what made your chest ache.

You sighed, grabbing your keys from the counter and with a quick farewell to Yohan and Mrs. Ha, you made your way down to the garage. The drive to the hospital was quiet, the high rises casting fleeting shadows as you navigated the city streets.

Your mind wandered. Mingi was still a mess of contradictions—still the person who had hurt you more than anyone else ever had. And yet, in the past two months, something had shifted. He’d been different.

You weren’t sure what that meant for you, if it meant anything at all.

Pulling into the hospital lot, you glanced at the time. You were early. With minutes to spare, you found yourself hesitating, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. You could just wait here, let Mingi find his way out like always. 

But today, something in you wavered.

Maybe, just this once, you’d meet him halfway.

Sighing, you turned off the engine and walked into the hospital. The automatic doors parted soundlessly as you entered, the sterile scent of antiseptic and faint traces of coffee from the café wrapping around you. 

You weaved through the familiar hallways toward the rehabilitation center, past patients in wheelchairs and staff exchanging clipped instructions.

And then—

"You think you can just walk away from me?"

You stopped.

Ahri.

Her voice carried through the clinic, too loud, too reckless for a public space, but she didn’t seem to care.

A few steps ahead, just past a row of columns, Mingi stood—partially obscured, his broad shoulders stiff with tension. Ahri stood in front of him, heaving with anger, her expression twisted into something between fury and despair.

Your instincts told you to walk away before you were pulled into something you weren’t meant to witness. But your feet wouldn’t move. Instead, you ducked behind the corner, pressing yourself against the wall, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

"Do you really think she’ll love you after everything you put her through?!"

You sucked in a breath. That stopped Mingi and Ahri knew it. You peeked out just enough to catch the smirk curling at the edges of her lips and the cruel glint in her eyes.

"You think a self-respecting woman like Choi Y/N would want you? You fucked me on your wedding night!"

The words slammed into you, knocking the air from your lungs. You had known what you were getting into when your parents arranged your marriage to Mingi. You had no illusions about love or loyalty, not when his heart had already belonged to someone else. You had told yourself his affair with Ahri didn’t matter, that you weren’t some naive child clinging to false hope.

But hearing the words now, so bluntly and irrevocably, felt different. It was like an old wound you thought had scarred over, threatening to tear open all over again.

A murmur of voices rippled through the onlookers—gasps, hushed whispers, stolen glances exchanged in uneasy silence. Mingi remained frozen, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful, his fists curling and uncurling around his crutches.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, nails pressing crescent marks into your skin. The way Mingi stood there, facing Ahri’s wrath without backing down, without crumbling the way you might have expected, made your chest tighten.

For the first time in your marriage, Mingi was choosing you.

The realization sent a flutter through you, foreign and unwelcome and you had to keep your knees from buckling beneath you. 

This wasn’t forgiveness.

But it was something.

Swallowing hard, you spun on your heel and hurried back to your car. By the time you reached the door, your hands fumbled slightly, a little shaky as you slid inside and shut yourself away from the world.  

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the strange, fluttery feeling in your chest to go away. But it lingered, stubborn and insistent, curling around the edges of your thoughts. Ahri’s words still echoed in your mind, but even louder—more impossible to ignore—was the quiet whisper of, What if?

What if Mingi really was choosing you?

Not out of obligation. Not because there was no one else left. But because he wanted to.

A breathy laugh escaped you, more out of disbelief than amusement. 

“What do you think, Maro?”

The name slipped out before you could stop it, but it felt natural, like Maro was still here, curled up beside you, tail wagging, waiting for you to spill your heart out. 

You swallowed, gripping the steering wheel as if it could ground you. 

“It’s stupid, right?” Your voice was tentative as you leaned your head against the headrest. 

“It doesn’t change anything. Just because he—” You stopped, shook your head, trying to chase away the warmth threatening to creep in.

“It doesn’t mean I should believe in something that’s never been real.”

You could imagine Maro pressing his head into your palm like he understood everything you couldn’t say. Like he was telling you that you didn’t have to figure it all out alone.

“God, I don’t even know what's happening anymore.”

A sudden, sharp knock against the window jolted you upright. Your heart lurched into your throat as you turned, only to find Mingi standing just outside, giving you a small wave. Your face burned. Huffing, you fumbled for the lock with clumsy fingers before scrambling out of the car. 

“I got it,” Mingi said with a chuckle, adjusting his grip on his crutches. His voice was light, but his gaze lingered on you, studying you with an expression softer than you were used to.

“You okay?”

You forced a small smile, brushing imaginary dust off your sleeves in an attempt to steady yourself. “Yeah, just tired.”

Mingi didn’t look convinced. He lingered for a second longer, his eyes searching yours as if debating whether to press further. But he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, nodded, and slid into the passenger seat.

The drive home passed in a blur. The streetlights stretched long across the pavement, casting soft, flickering patterns against the windshield, but you were lost in the whirlwind of thoughts brewing in your mind.

Did he really love you?

⋆

"Y/N…can you call my phone? I can’t seem to find it."

Mingi had been more flustered than usual lately—not that he wanted to admit. The accident had left him disoriented, but it was unlike him to be clumsy. But lately, he kept doing things that frustrated him to no end like pushing against a pull door and standing there and now, misplacing his phone for the third time this week. 

He was also never one to ask for help—especially from you.

Before the accident, he had gone out of his way to keep his distance. He had made it clear he wanted nothing from you, and you had gotten the message. Eventually, you stopped offering. And for a while, that’s what he thought he wanted.

Now, he couldn’t stand the thought of it.

If you were in the kitchen, he was suddenly rummaging through the cabinets for a snack he didn’t actually want. If you were on the couch, he was sitting on the opposite end, scrolling through his phone but not really paying attention to it. 

And if you got up to leave the room? Well…so did he.

Because he wasn’t afraid of being clingy. Not with you. Not when the thought of you leaving, of not having you here, was far scarier than anything else.

You nodded, pressing the call button as Mingi shuffled past you, disappearing into his room. Your gaze lingered on the doorway long after he was gone.

For the duration of your marriage, you had never once stepped foot inside this room. The door had always remained shut, a silent boundary he had drawn long before he ever knew you. A reminder that no matter what legal document bound you together, there would always be parts of him you would never reach.

But as you took a step forward, following the faint sound of his phone vibrating somewhere in the great beyond, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d let you glimpse into the parts of himself he had kept locked away.  

You stood hesitantly by the threshold watching your husband rifling through his laundry, digging through pockets, and muttering to himself under his breath. The Mingi you had married would’ve cursed under his breath, thrown something, or blamed someone else for his misplaced phone. 

But this version of him? He simply kept looking, patient and persistent.

His room was dimly lit with the faint scent of paint and cologne filling the space. Canvases leaned against the walls, some vibrant and abstract, others more detailed and unfinished sketches scattered across his desk.  

Your gaze landed on a small canvas resting on the edge of his desk. The soft eyes and the cheeky glint, the little nose, and that signature smile. It wasn’t finished, but there was no mistaking it.

Maro.

“There it is,” Mingi muttered, plucking his phone from the ground next to his bed.

As he swiped the screen to end the call, his gaze flickered toward you, then followed yours to the canvas on his desk. He watched you carefully, half-expecting sadness, maybe even confusion. But instead there was something unexpectedly tender. 

And then you looked at him, and Mingi felt it.

Why did you have to look at him like that? Like he had done something right for once. Like you saw him in a way that made his heart squeeze. His ears burned. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I… picked up painting,” he admitted. “My physical therapist said it’d help with motor skills and strengthening my hands and fingers.” 

He swallowed. “I hope you don’t mind that I painted Maro. I… I wasn’t sure if I got the eyes right,” he admitted, almost shyly. 

You stepped closer, drawn in by the familiar shape on the canvas. “It looks just like him,” you murmured, reaching out to trace the dried brushstrokes with your fingertips. The texture of the paint, the careful detail—Mingi had poured himself into this.

Mingi let out a sigh of relief but then, as if realizing something, tensed again a second later. “I—uh, it was supposed to be a surprise,” he blurted out, his eyes widening slightly, as if he’d just realized his mistake.

You blinked up at him. “A surprise?”

“For you,” he admitted, shifting awkwardly. His fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. 

“I wanted to give it to you when I felt like it was perfect. But, um… I guess I kind of ruined that, huh?” He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head.

“You painted this for me?”

He peeked at you through his lashes, leaving something softer and more vulnerable in its place as he gave you a small nod.

“I just… I know how much you loved—love Maro, and I thought maybe… you’d want something to keep. Something I made for you.”

Something only for you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Oh. Your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice and the way he’d poured so much of himself into a piece just for you was overwhelming. 

“Oh, Mingi…” you breathed.

Emotion swelled in your chest, thick and impossible to name. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could do was stare at him—the quiet hope in his eyes, the way he watched you like he wasn’t sure what you’d do next.

“I love it,” you said, and you meant it. Not just the painting, but the thought behind it. It was just a painting. But it wasn’t. It was a piece of him—his effort, his sincerity, his quiet way of saying what he couldn’t put into words.

“Thank you.”

The words felt small, insufficient for the weight of what he had given you. But then he smiled—a slow, relieved, utterly radiant smile that knocked the breath from your lungs.

And suddenly, the moment stretched—too long, too precarious.

Your eyes flickered around the room, a sharp awareness settling over you. Mingi’s room. When did he get so close? When did you even come in here?

“I should…” You cleared your throat, glancing toward the door. “I should let you get back to painting.”

Before he could say anything, you turned, slipping out of the room, closing the door gently behind you. For a moment, you leaned against it, trying to steady the sudden pounding in your chest. But before you could make sense of anything—

The door creaked open.

“Wait.”

You turned, as Mingi poked his head out. There was a hint of bashfulness in the way his fingers gripped the doorframe, but his eyes held no hesitation.

“…You can leave it open.”

<< vii | ix >>

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@desi2go @beabatiny @sangilov-r @roomsofangel @symmieangela

@dumplingsyum @etaerealboy @fairylover68 @foxinnie8

@yoonrixx @jean-swolo @silent-potato @jiwoongsblondehair @sanriomilk

@sanniesbum @tyudearyous @kang-ulzzang @scary-thingz @painted-hills

@kyomiingi @tournesol155 @bee-gremlin @sutskyu @fleuresjay

@http-gyu @ishz @park-simphwa @moonsanshine @drinkingrumandcocacola

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@vcutparis @kaituyyn @blvckarabixnvoid @amazaynaastha

[inseobts]

TRAITOR pt.2

law x traitor!reader

PART 1 ⤳ PART 3

words count: 2.6k

tags: series, enemies to lover(?), traitor reader

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

It’s easy to forget you’re lying when they make it feel real.

The Heart Pirates aren’t just a crew, they’re a family. They bicker like siblings, tease each other relentlessly, and somehow, without meaning to, you’ve been pulled into it.

You should’ve kept your distance.

But how could you, when—

“Y/N! HELP!”

You barely have time to register the shout before something massive collides with you, nearly knocking you over.

“Bepo—” you gasp, struggling under the weight of the massive mink currently clinging to you “You cannot use me as a shield... what the hell is going on?”

Shachi and Penguin sprint around the corner, looking absolutely murderous. Ikkaku follows close behind, arms crossed, her glare laser-focused on Bepo.

“There you are, you traitor!” Penguin points an accusing finger at the trembling mink still latched onto you.

You blink “Okay, wow. Let’s pause. Why is Bepo a traitor?”

Shachi glares “Because someone ratted us out to the Captain.”

You sigh, already piecing it together “Did you guys try to smuggle alcohol into the infirmary again?”

“… No.”

“You so did.”

Bepo’s ears flatten, guilt all over his face “I had to tell him! He was going to find out anyway!”

“You snitch!” Shachi wails.

“You idiots,” you correct, prying Bepo off you before he suffocates you with his fluff “Why do you always try to hide stuff from Law? You know he’s just gonna find out and punish you worse.”

“It’s about the principle of it,” Penguin grumbles.

You sigh, rubbing your temples “What was the punishment?”

Shachi pouts “No dessert for a week.”

You stare “That’s it?”

“That’s everything, Y/N.”

Bepo nods solemnly “They’re suffering.”

You shake your head, barely suppressing a laugh “You guys are so dramatic.”

Ikkaku crosses her arms “You’re laughing now, but if Law ever finds out about that thing you did, you’re not getting out of it so easily.”

Your breath catches.

Just for a second.

And then you force an easy grin “Which thing? I do a lot of things.”

Ikkaku narrows her eyes playfully “The one with the—”

“Shh!” You slap a hand over her mouth “Don’t tell them, it’s supposed to be a secret!”

The others immediately light up with interest.

“Oh, now you have to tell us,” Shachi says eagerly.

“I am so telling the Captain,” Penguin teases.

Bepo nods sagely “This is karma.”

You groan, regretting everything.

Despite moments like these, you don’t forget why you’re here.

Deep beneath the Polar Tang, hidden in one of the ship’s most secure rooms, is one of the reasons you really joined this crew.

The copies of the Poneglyphs.

You don’t know how Law got his hands on them, but you do know that your real crew, the one you actually belong to, wants them.

And you’re the one who has to steal them.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

Because despite everything, despite the mission, despite knowing you’re a liar.

You don’t hate being here.

You don’t hate them.

You should’ve. It would’ve made this easier.

But you don’t.

Some weeks later you meet the Straw Hats, and you immediately know you’re in trouble.

Not because they’re enemies, or because they’re a threat.

But because of Zoro. You've met him years ago, and even if your real crew was always subtle that no one actually know them, he knows you're a well known pirate between the bounty hunters, even without a specific crew name on it.

You see it in his face the second his eye land on you. That flicker of recognition... subtle, but unmistakable.

You know that look.

It’s the look of someone who remembers you.

He just doesn’t know from where.

And that’s a problem.

“You look familiar,” he says bluntly, eyes narrowing slightly “Do I know you?”

Your mind races. A dozen different excuses flash through your head, but none of them are good enough.

So you go for the simplest, most believable one.

“You probably saw my bounty poster,” you say smoothly, forcing a grin “I’ve got a pretty face, after all.”

Shachi and Penguin snicker behind you.

Zoro eyes you for a second longer, clearly unconvinced, but Luffy claps a hand on his shoulder before he can question you further.

“Zoro, stop being weird,” Luffy says, grinning at you “She’s cool, right, Law?”

Law, who has been watching the exchange carefully, nods once. “She’s one of us.”

The words shouldn’t make your chest tighten the way they do.

But they do.

And that’s dangerous.

The Kid Pirates are even worse.

Because Kid is loud, brash, and aggressive—but he’s also smart.

And he watches you.

Not like Zoro, who’s trying to place your face. Not like Law, who looks at you like you matter.

Kid watches you like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

Like he knows something’s off about you, but he just hasn’t figured out what yet.

“You don’t fit,” he says one night, after too many drinks.

You tilt your head, keeping your expression neutral “Excuse me?”

Kid leans forward, propping his elbows on the table “You’re a little too smooth, a little too good at blending in.” He smirks. “Like you practiced.”

Your fingers tighten around your glass.

“I’ve always been good at adapting,” you say, keeping your voice casual “That’s what a good pirate does, right?”

Kid hums, unconvinced.

And you realize, with a slow sinking feeling—

He’s not going to stop watching you.

The deeper you fall into this act, the more tangled it gets.

Zoro recognizes you but doesn’t know from where.

Kid doesn’t trust you but doesn’t have proof.

Law believes in you, and that’s the worst part of it all.

Because when the truth finally comes out...

This new alliance between the three is a sign for you, a sign that it's time to make a move and get away before someone finds out who you are.

You knew the time was coming. You knew.

But now that it’s here, a sick feeling settles in your chest.

Because you don’t want to do it.

It’s not supposed to be this hard.

You’ve done this before. You’ve infiltrated crews, stolen information, betrayed captains who thought you were theirs. It’s always been simple.

Get in. Get what you need. Get out.

But this time—

This time, it’s different.

Because you’re attached.

Because when Law smirks at you in that rare, teasing way, it makes your chest tighten.

Because when the crew laughs and drags you into their stupid antics, you enjoy it.

Because when Bepo whines about missing Zou, when Shachi and Penguin bicker like children, when Ikkaku rolls her eyes at all of them...

It feels like home.

And now you have to rip it apart.

You tell yourself you’ll make it quick.

One night. One chance.

Slip into Law’s office. Get informations and the Poneglyph copies. Get out.

The submarine has weak points, small openings where the sea meets steel, barely noticeable unless you know where to look. And you do.

A quiet escape. No blood. No confrontation.

That’s the plan. Fast and easy, right?

So why does it feel like a mistake before you even start?

You wait until late, when most of the crew is asleep, their laughter from dinner still lingering in the halls.

Law is in his office, like always.

You hesitate outside the door. Just for a second. Just long enough to remind yourself—

This isn’t real. They were never yours.

You push the door open.

Law doesn’t look up immediately, focused on some report in front of him “You should be asleep.”

You smile, stepping closer “So should you.”

He exhales through his nose, amused but tired “What do you want?”

You want him to make this easy.

You want him to be cruel, to be distant, to remind you why you don’t belong here.

But he doesn’t.

He just leans back in his chair, looking at you like you matter. Like you’re his.

Your chest tightens “Just… wanted to check on you.”

A lie. A stupid, obvious lie. But Law doesn’t question it. Instead, he rubs his temple, sighing “You’re always worrying about me.”

“Someone has to.”

“You shouldn’t.”

You swallow “Why not?”

“Because…” He hesitates, fingers tapping against the desk “Because if you care too much, it’ll be harder to leave.”

Your heart stops.

For a second, you think—does he know?

But then he looks away, staring at some distant point, jaw tight.

And you realize—

He’s not talking about you, he's talking about himself.

Not you...

Himself.

Law is the one who doesn’t want you to leave.

And that’s when it hits you... He trusts you. Completely.

Even now, when you’re standing in his office, pretending to care while planning to betray him—

He still trusts you.

Something in your chest aches.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t...

But when he finally looks back at you, exhaustion clear in his golden eyes, and says “Stay a little longer”

And you do.

You sit with him. You don’t steal anything. You don’t run. You just stay.

And for the first time, you think... Maybe you don’t want to leave at all.

You keep telling yourself this is the last night.

You don’t want it to be, but you’ve known it for days now.

Law trusts you. The crew… they think you belong.

And that’s exactly why you have to leave.

Because once you’ve broken through their walls, once you’ve made them care about you, there’s no going back.

No matter how much they make you laugh. No matter how much you start to care about them.

You’re not one of them. You’re just a pirate with an agenda. A thief. A liar. And if you’re not careful, you’ll lose everything.

The night now feels different.

You slip through the ship’s corridors, the quiet hum of the Polar Tang weirdly comforting as you move.

You can hear Shachi and Penguin arguing somewhere above deck, their voices muffled through the metal walls, and it almost makes you smile. Almost.

Law is in his office again. Alone. The perfect time.

You reach for the door, your hand already knowing the cold steel of the handle. But just as you touch it, your pulse quickens—an unease settling in your gut.

Something feels… off.

You hesitate, fingers still resting against the handle. It’s nothing. You’re just overthinking.

But before you can turn the handle, you hear it—the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Quiet but sure.

Law.

You freeze for a moment and then you start casually walking towards him.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You look up at him, trying to mask the panic in your eyes “Just passing by.”

Law eyes you, a soft, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips “You know, if you keep trying to lie to me, it won’t work. I can tell when you’re lying.”

You swallow, forced to keep your face neutral, even though the tension in your chest is nearly suffocating “You don’t know me that well...”

He steps closer, not threateningly, but with a quiet sort of presence that makes your heartbeat rise “I think I know you better than you think.”

The distance between you two is closing quickly, and you feel a small, dangerous thought flutter in your mind—What if I never leave?

But you shake it off. This has to happen.

You step back, hand sliding into your coat pocket “I think I’ll take a walk. Clear my head.”

Law studies you for a moment, his golden eyes narrowing “You’re not very good at hiding things, you know that?”

You don’t know how to answer that. You don’t know how to lie when it’s getting harder and harder to look at him “I’m going to get some fresh air now”.

You’re standing at the edge of the Polar Tang, staring into the horizon. The sun is setting, painting the sky in oranges and purples.

Tonight, the mission becomes more urgent. The Straw Hats, Kid, and Law’s crew are all moving forward, and you’re running out of time. You know you have to finish what you started.

But how can you betray them?

How can you betray him?

You can’t keep pretending anymore. The lines are blurring. You’re starting to get too close, and you’re terrified of what will happen if you don’t leave soon.

The weight of it is heavy on your shoulders.

But there’s another reason you’re hesitating.

You’ve been hiding your power from them.

Law’s crew doesn’t know what you can do. And you’ve been careful to keep it that way. Because if they knew—if they saw what you could really do—things would change.

And they would fear you... they would all fear you. It happened before. When you’ve used your abilities to their full extent, it’s left a trail of broken minds and empty memories. You can make someone forget an entire conversation, erase their last few hours, manipulate their desires, twist their thoughts—it’s all within your grasp.

And once you start, you can’t stop.

You don’t want to be the monster they think you are. You don’t want them to see you as a tool for their own ends.

So you keep it hidden. You’ve been careful. But now…

Now, you’re feeling the pressure, and it’s getting harder to hide.

You’re walking back to your room, lost in thought, when you hear footsteps behind you.

It’s Law again.

He’s been following you for a while now, and you can feel his eyes on you. You don’t turn around immediately. Instead, you continue walking, your heart pounding.

“You’ve been distant lately.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s trying to read you.

You stop, then turn to face him, trying to keep your expression neutral “I’m just tired. There’s a lot going on.”

Law’s gaze narrows. He doesn’t buy it “You’ve been acting weird ever since we got back to the island. What’s going on, y/n?”

For a moment, the weight of the situation crashes down on you. He’s too perceptive. He’s too close to figuring it out.

You take a step back, trying to distance yourself from him, both physically and emotionally “It’s nothing. I just—”

“I’m not asking you to explain everything,” Law interrupts “But if something’s wrong, you can talk to me. We’re... crewmates. I trust you.” He hesitated at that word, as if he wanted to say something else—something much deeper—that scared not only you but himself as well.

You two always had some sort of relationship that started as casual and continued that way, without really talking about your real feelings, as if it were a given.

Anyway his words hit you like a punch. You can’t breathe for a moment.

He trusts you, he likes you.

And you’ve been lying to him this whole time. You’ve been using him. Using his trust to get what you need.

But what if he’s right? What if you do need to tell him?

No. You can’t.

You can’t risk it.

You force a smile “I’m fine, really. Just… need some time to think. I’ll be okay.”

Law doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, though the worry in his eyes lingers “If you say so”

You watch him leave, feeling the weight of his words on your shoulders.

And then—just when you think you might break—you hear the voice in your mind.

It’s your old crew.

The ones who know you better than anyone else, or at least that's what you think.

It’s time. You don’t have much choice now, you have to do it NOW.

[edenesth]

5 Steps to Losing to You

Pairing: student council president!Yunho x vice president!fem!reader

AU: high school au (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: The student council president of KQ High had five simple steps to surviving his vice president: outshine you, outsmart you, outlast you, annoy you, and — definitely — never fall for you. Too bad every step brought him closer to late-night arguments, unexpected truths, and one unforgettable confession under the fireworks. Somewhere between enemies and uneasy allies, Yunho took five steps too far — and ended up losing (his heart) to you.

Genre: romance (duh), comedy

A/N: Thank you, @itstheghostofmypast, for giving me the urge to write another high school AU. This one's heavily inspired by one of my favourite animes of all time, Kaguya-sama: Love Is War.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Do you ever meet someone for the very first time, and somehow, without a single word exchanged, you just know — from the very core of your being — that you can't stand them? No logical reason. No past history. Just pure, gut-level irritation.

That was exactly how Jung Yunho felt the second you stepped into the student council room, your posture straight, your expression unreadable, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that set his teeth on edge.

You were the new transfer student — the one the teachers haven't been able to stop raving about, the one who somehow landed the coveted vice president title before even learning the school layout. And now, here you were, standing beside him, the council's golden boy, as if you belonged there.

"Dude, that's her? Oh, they weren't lying when they said she'd be eye candy," Wooyoung, the council treasurer, whispered with a smirk, elbowing Yunho's side. Yunho didn't even glance at you. He just scoffed, nudging Wooyoung back hard enough to make him stumble. "Yeah? Well, too bad a pretty face isn't enough to survive my council. I give her two weeks before she runs back to wherever she came from."

He said it loud enough for you to hear — on purpose — just to see if you'd flinch. But you didn't. You only lifted your chin slightly, eyes flicking toward him for a single, scathing second. And in that moment, you hated him just as much as he hated you.

Because from the moment you locked eyes, you knew exactly who he was — the adored, untouchable president who had everyone wrapped around his finger. The boy who carried himself like the school was his kingdom, and every student his subject. And now you were supposed to serve under him?

Absolutely not.

You hadn't transferred here to play second to anyone — least of all some arrogant, overhyped, self-proclaimed king. Back at your old school, you were always at the top: top grades, top leadership positions, top of every ranking that mattered. You weren't just a vice president — you were a future president in the making.

If Yunho thought you were here to play a supporting role in his perfect little reign, he was dead wrong.

You weren't here to make friends.

You were here to take his crown.

────

Yunho leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he watched you skim through the thick binder of council documents that Seulgi, the council secretary, had just handed over. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you like you were some kind of unwelcome intruder trespassing on his territory.

"Hope you're not too overwhelmed," Yunho said, voice dripping with fake concern. "Student council here isn't exactly… beginner-friendly."

You didn't bother looking up, flipping another page instead. "Don't worry, President," you replied, tone sweet but sharp. "I've dealt with more organised councils before. This is nothing I can't fix."

The room went still for half a second — just enough for Seulgi to glance between you both like she was watching a fuse being lit.

Yunho's smile sharpened. "Fix? That's a bold word for someone who hasn't even seen our term plan yet."

You finally met his gaze, leaning forward just slightly over the table. "Oh, I've seen it. Last year's records were so charming, especially the part where half the events went over budget and the spring festival had a typo on the banner. Spring Festivel, was it?"

The muscle in his jaw twitched, but his grin didn't falter. "Funny. You talk big for someone who just transferred here. But I get it — new girl syndrome. All ambition, no clue how things actually work."

You rested your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the table. "And you talk big for someone who's clearly too comfortable sitting on his throne. Guess we'll see who adjusts faster — me to this school, or you to having actual competition."

The president's smile froze in place. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was being challenged — especially not by someone who hadn't even been here a full week.

Seulgi cleared her throat awkwardly. "So! Uh, why don't we go over this semester's goals together? You know… as a team?"

You and Yunho didn't break eye contact. Neither of you smiled.

"Can't wait," you said.

"Neither can I," he replied.

And like that, the war had officially begun.

────

To the outside world — to teachers, students, and anyone not trapped in this cursed room — Yunho and you were the dream team, the picture-perfect president and vice president duo. Smiling side by side during assemblies, coordinating in perfect sync during meetings, and even exchanging polite nods in the hallway.

But inside these four walls, away from the prying eyes of your adoring audience, it was an entirely different story.

It started small. The first time Yunho reached for the meeting agenda, it was mysteriously missing from his file. "Alright, let's get started with today's agenda—" he paused, flipping through his folder, only to find the neatly printed schedule gone. His eyes snapped up, narrowing instantly at you.

You sat across from him, filing your nails with deliberate slowness, not even trying to hide your smug smile when he had to wing the entire meeting from memory. "Looking for something, President?" you asked sweetly.

Wooyoung watched the exchange from the corner, whispering to Seulgi, "That's the second time this week. If this keeps up, he's gonna staple the agenda to his forehead."

The secretary sighed, already immune to the madness. "At least they're creative."

Then there was the presentation. Monthly council update in front of all the teachers, a perfect opportunity for the president to shine — until Yunho confidently clicked to the next slide… and instead of student council statistics, the screen flashed an embarrassingly tragic childhood photo of him mid-sneeze, teeth crooked, hair tragic.

Gasps filled the room. His eye twitched. From beside him, you covered your mouth, the picture of shocked concern, while under the table, your finger rested innocently on the laptop's trackpad.

"Oops," you whispered sweetly.

"You're dead," Yunho mouthed back.

The teachers would later praise your teamwork for handling the "technical difficulty" so gracefully.

The coffee war escalated next. Yunho, ever the gentleman, brought you coffee before morning meetings — extra bitter because he knew you hated it with a passion. You retaliated the next day, handing him a cup that smelled amazing but was actually salted beyond salvation.

Wooyoung took a cautious sip from his own drink, eyeing both of you. "This is why I only drink from the vending machine now."

"Smart," Seulgi muttered.

When it came time to make festival posters, the battle turned artistic. The school festival posters were a joint project — one half handled by you, the other by the president. What should have been a cohesive design turned into visual warfare.

Yunho's side was classic and professional, clean fonts and crisp colours. Your side? Bold, flashy, practically neon — and just slightly crooked, making his side look off-balance.

"It's like watching a couple divorce through graphic design," Wooyoung whispered.

"Except they were never married," Seulgi muttered. "Thank god."

The final straw — at least for that week — came during the morning announcements, when the president confidently read out the list of upcoming events — only to realise someone had swapped his script. Instead of the council's official calendar, he was now announcing a fake bake sale where Yunho himself would supposedly be dressing as a bunny mascot to promote sales.

His death glare found you through the broadcast window. You waved back cheerfully.

The students roared with excitement. "Bunnyho!" they chanted.

Seulgi buried her face in her hands. Wooyoung filmed everything.

And yet, the moment those council doors swung open, you both snapped back into your roles like pros. Smiling in sync at the cameras, cutting ribbons together with practised grace, even finishing each other's sentences when teachers asked about the upcoming festival. It was a performance so convincing that even Wooyoung — who knew the truth — found himself applauding.

"It's terrifying," the treasurer started, watching the two of you gracefully cut the ribbon at a new club opening ceremony. "They look like they actually… get along," he whispered, equal parts horrified and impressed.

"Tell me about it. They're scarily good at this," Seulgi agreed, clapping along with the crowd. "It's like they're starring in a romcom where only they missed the memo."

If only they knew.

If only the rest of the school knew.

If only anyone knew that beneath all the staged smiles and synchronised speeches, it would only take five steps for the mighty president and his infuriating vice president to lose — not to each other, but to something neither of them ever saw coming.

────

Step One: seeing each other.

It started like any other day in the student council room — a battleground polished to perfection.

You arrived first, flipping open your notebook, already plotting your next move. Yunho followed shortly after, shooting you a glare so subtle no one else would notice, but you caught it. You always did. The latest round in your ongoing war had been yours — you'd managed to replace his entire project folder with a stack of fake documents detailing a made-up proposal for a "Student Council Talent Show," featuring him as both host and performer. He'd spent an hour in front of the principal before realising the whole thing was a setup. You were winning.

So when Yunho swept into the room, you were already bracing for his retaliation. And sure enough, it came — a stack of freshly printed minutes from the last meeting placed squarely in front of you. Except every instance of your name had been replaced with "Her Royal Highness, The Vice President of Perfection".

You stared at it. He smiled, all teeth and zero remorse.

"Thanks for the edit," you said coolly.

"Anything for my vice president," he shot back.

But that wasn't the real blow. The real sabotage came during the club funding review later that afternoon. It was your turn to present the approved budgets for each club, a dry, boring task — until Yunho, in a voice far too innocent, asked, "By the way, Your Highness — didn't your old school have a fencing club? You were captain, right?"

You froze for half a second. It was microscopic — no one noticed. Except for Yunho. Of course, he noticed.

"Yeah," you said, flicking through the papers like the question meant nothing. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering why you transferred out so suddenly. From what I hear, you were practically royalty back there, too."

You knew what he was doing. Fishing. Trying to unearth whatever dirt might be hiding under your perfect exterior. You forced a smile. "It was boring," you lied. "Needed a challenge."

He hummed, unconvinced.

Later that evening, you found your chance to return the favour. You'd overheard a conversation between Wooyoung and Seulgi, something about Yunho always leaving in a rush after school, barely staying long enough to clean up. So you set a trap — a simple one. You "accidentally" scheduled a last-minute meeting that ran late, forcing him to stay behind.

You expected him to blow up at you afterwards. You were ready for it. What you didn't expect was to follow the tall and lanky boy out — purely out of curiosity — only to watch him walk straight to the convenience store down the street, throw on a part-time apron, and start restocking shelves.

You stood outside, stunned, watching the golden boy student council president clock into a job like any regular kid. Except he wasn't just any regular kid, was he?

For the first time, you saw him without the shine — no polished uniform, no cocky smirk, no sharp words ready to fire at you. Just a boy with his sleeves pushed up, quietly stacking instant noodles, stopping every so often to check his phone like he was waiting for a message.

And when his phone finally buzzed, you saw him smile — small, tired, real.

You didn't mean to see the text, but you did.

Mum: Yunho-yah, don't forget to bring home eggs if they're on sale.

You stepped back before he could notice you watching, heart thudding with something you couldn't quite name.

That was the first crack.

The next day, Yunho found a neatly folded discount coupon for eggs tucked into his student council folder. No signature. No note. Just a coupon.

He stared at it for a long time.

For once, neither of you said anything.

But it didn't end there.

Later that week, Yunho caught sight of you outside the school gates, long after the council room had emptied. He hadn't meant to linger — in fact, he had every intention of ignoring you like usual — but something about the way you stood there caught his attention.

You weren't scrolling through your phone or chatting with anyone. You just stood there, posture straight, hands clutching your bag like it was the only thing keeping you upright. A sleek black car pulled up, polished until the surface gleamed, and a middle-aged man in a pressed suit stepped out to open the door for you.

He scoffed quietly to himself. Of course.

Princess treatment. Figures.

But as you slid into the back seat, something about the way you moved made him pause. Stiff. Formal. Like you were stepping into a stranger's car, not your own. He caught a glimpse of your face through the tinted window before it rolled up — your gaze fixed straight ahead, unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. You looked... distant. Detached.

Not proud. Not smug.

Not like someone who had it all.

Just... tired.

Yunho frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, muttering under his breath, "Must be nice to have everything handed to you... so why do you look like you've got nothing?"

He didn't have an answer. And that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

That night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the memory of your empty eyes lingering longer than they should.

Neither of you knew it yet — but the game was already changing.

────

Step Two: the unexpected rescue.

The rain came down hard — the kind of storm that soaked you to the bone in seconds, drumming against the pavement with no mercy. You stood just outside the school gates, shoulders hunched slightly under the awning, arms crossed tight as your phone buzzed non-stop in your hand.

Driver (5 missed calls)

Driver: Stuck in traffic. 15 minutes.

Driver: 20 minutes.

Driver: Sorry, Miss. It's a mess out here.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, locking your screen before shoving the phone into your pocket. This was typical — your family's staff was always prompt when it came to your father, but for you? Delays. Excuses. You were used to it. Didn't make it any less irritating.

The rain intensified, and you took a careful step back, just barely avoiding a splash from a passing car. That's when you saw him — Yunho, already halfway down the sidewalk, hood pulled up, backpack slung over one shoulder.

He could have kept walking. You expected him to. Hell, you would've preferred it.

But he stopped.

He stood there for a second, back still facing you, before you saw his shoulders rise and fall in what looked suspiciously like deep, begrudging contemplation. Then, without a word, he turned back, marched toward you, and thrust his umbrella out with one hand.

"Don't make it weird," he muttered, hood shadowing half his face. "I'm not leaving my vice president to drown. People would talk."

You stared at him, dumbfounded, before slowly stepping under the umbrella's cover. Your shoulder brushed his — just barely — but it was enough to make the air between you heavier than the rain itself.

"You're still an arrogant ass," you said, mostly out of habit.

"And you're still annoying," he shot back.

But neither of you moved away.

The walk to the nearby bus stop was silent, save for the rain pattering against the umbrella's canopy and your synchronised footsteps on the wet pavement. The silence should have been awkward — it always was between the two of you — but this time, it felt... almost easy.

At the stop, he held the umbrella steady over both your heads until the bus pulled up, wiping rainwater off his forehead with his sleeve.

"Don't think this means I like you," he said, voice quieter than usual.

You snorted, climbing up the bus steps. "Please. I'd be more worried if you did."

But when you found your seat by the window, you caught a glimpse of him outside — standing there in the rain, umbrella still in hand, watching the bus pull away. Neither of you knew why this moment stuck so firmly in your minds. You just knew something had shifted.

The next morning, you were absent.

Yunho should've been pleased. A day without your sharp tongue, your constant presence, your infuriating need to challenge his every decision — it should've felt like a vacation. But instead, an uncomfortable unease gnawed at him from the moment he entered the council room and saw your usual seat empty.

He shouldn't care. He knew that. But for some reason, his mind kept circling back to the night before — the rain, the bus, the fleeting glimpse of your tired face in the window.

Did you even get home safely?

He scowled at the thought. Not my problem. I already did more than enough. But no matter how much he tried to shake it off, that knot of regret just sat there in his chest, stubborn and unrelenting.

By mid-morning, his irritation boiled over. Slamming his pen down, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Where's Vice President Pain-in-the-Ass today?" he asked, tone far too casual to be casual.

Wooyoung's eyebrows shot up — before a slow smirk stretched across his face. "Why? Miss her already? You two were so cute sharing that umbrella last night."

Yunho's chair scraped violently against the floor as he sat up straighter. "What?! Who said— That's not— I'm only asking because I was expecting her to submit the student committee reports today!"

"Suuure," Wooyoung drawled, dragging out the word until Yunho was ready to fling a stapler at his head.

Seulgi, ever the peacekeeper, stepped in with a sigh. "She called in sick. Probably caught a cold from getting drenched yesterday."

The president's stomach did an uncomfortable flip, though he masked it with a disinterested shrug. "Serves her right for not bringing her own umbrella," he muttered.

But later that night, during his shift at the convenience store, he nearly rang up a customer's items twice — his mind completely elsewhere. Each time the door chimed, he half-expected to see you storm in with some ridiculous complaint about student council policies. He hated the way that thought made his chest tighten.

He hated it even more when, the next morning, he found himself at his kitchen counter — brewing herbal tea.

When you returned to school the next day, you dropped your bag onto your desk, only to pause, brow furrowing. Sitting there, completely unassuming, was a flask of warm herbal tea. No note. No explanation.

You glanced around the empty room — only one other person was there this early, and of course, it was him. Yunho, head down, pretending to be engrossed in a report he had already read twice.

You nudged the flask aside and pulled out your notebook instead, determined not to play into whatever weird game this was.

Across the room, his pen froze mid-sentence. After a few beats of silence, he huffed, loud enough for you to hear.

"For heaven's sake, it's not poisoned," he said, still not looking up. "Drink it if you want to actually recover."

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious — but curiosity (and the faint scratch in your throat) won out. You unscrewed the lid, steam rising in a gentle curl. It smelled... comforting. Soothing. Like something homemade.

Reluctantly, you took a sip.

"...It's good," you admitted quietly.

He didn't respond, but when you looked up, you caught him — just for a second — sneaking a glance at you over the top of his file.

Again, neither of you said another word.

────

Step Three: forced vulnerability.

For a while, it seemed like the umbrella incident and the flask of tea never happened. Whatever fleeting kindness had passed between you both was quickly swallowed by your usual dynamic — sharp words, constant one-upping, and a relentless need to prove the other wrong.

That fragile truce didn't stand a chance.

It all came to a head after yet another brutal fight — the kind that had papers flying across the table, voices raised loud enough to make the underclassmen passing by the council room door wince. Seulgi had to physically step between you, arms stretched out like a human barricade.

"You always have to hog the spotlight, don't you?" you seethed, finger jabbing toward Yunho. "President this, President that — it's like you can't function unless the whole school is watching you."

"And you're any better?" His voice came sharp and fast, eyes blazing. "You waltz in here acting like you're saving us all, like this council should be grateful to breathe the same air as you. Spoiled little princess who can't handle not being number one."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Wooyoung, who usually lived for drama like this, suddenly found his folder of expense reports incredibly fascinating.

You stormed out before anyone could see the flicker of hurt flash across your face. No way were you going to let Jung Yunho of all people make you feel small.

You walked blindly down the hall, fury pulsing in your veins, until you froze at the sound of his voice — quieter, softer, so unlike the boy who had just ripped into you moments ago.

"…No, Mum, I can't cover that shift. I already stayed late for council." A pause. "It's fine, really. I'll figure it out."

The reminder hit you hard. Yunho, the golden boy, the president everyone envied — was working part-time jobs after school. The same boy who seemed to have it all was just another kid juggling too much, carrying more weight than he let on. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you couldn't move either. Something about the edge of exhaustion in his voice made you stay.

Suddenly, the arrogant bastard didn't seem so untouchable after all.

A few days later, the roles reversed.

Yunho had gone to the library to grab an old council binder when he spotted you tucked away at a corner table. You weren't working — just sitting there, blankly staring at an open textbook like the words weren't even registering.

Next to you, a small pile of letters lay scattered — some still sealed, others torn open, the papers inside slightly crumpled like you'd held them too tightly. He didn't need to read them to know what they were. Letters from parents who cared more about achievements than feelings, words dressed up as 'encouragement' but laced with disappointment underneath.

He hadn't meant to stop, but something about the way your shoulders curled inward — that tiny, defeated slump — made him pull out a chair across from you without a word. He opened his own notebook, flipping through pages like he had a reason to be there.

The silence stretched, but for once, it didn't feel awkward.

Eventually, Yunho broke it.

"Not everyone's parents show up for them either, huh?" he said quietly, still pretending to read.

Your head snapped up, startled by the unexpected understanding in his voice. But he didn't look at you. He just kept twirling his pen between his fingers, as if the words had been said casually — like it wasn't the first time either of you had ever acknowledged this shared emptiness.

You didn't answer, but you didn't push the letters away either.

And just like that, things further shifted.

For the first time, you both saw each other — not as rivals or enemies, but just two kids quietly drowning under the weight of expectations neither of you had asked for.

────

Step Four: defending each other.

It happened so fast, you didn't even have time to think.

You were passing by the courtyard on your way back to the council room when you heard them — two students sitting on the low wall, voices pitched just loud enough to be overheard.

"I heard she only got vice president because her family donated a new wing to the school."

"Yeah, everyone knows Yunho's the real deal. She's just there to smile and look pretty. Riding his coattails the whole way."

Your hands curled into fists, steps already veering toward them — but someone else got there first.

The sharp thud of a bag hitting the ground made the gossipers jolt upright. Yunho stood there, shoulders squared, eyes dark with something dangerously close to fury.

"Say that again," he said quietly — and somehow, the softness of his voice was far more terrifying than if he'd shouted.

The students stammered, scrambling for excuses, and he didn't even spare you a glance as he slung his bag back over his shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there — stunned silent.

Because for all the times you had accused him of being full of himself, Jung Yunho had defended you like it was second nature. Like the idea of anyone else insulting you was unthinkable.

You didn't know what to do with that.

The universe, however, was nothing if not fair. Because just a few days later, the rumours shifted — this time, about Yunho.

"Did you hear? Student council president's working at some convenience store. Imagine seeing him behind the counter after school, bagging snacks for pocket change."

"Golden boy's not so golden after all."

The words grated against your ears so sharply, you were standing in front of them before you even realised you'd moved.

Arms crossed, chin lifted, you gave them a smile so sweet it made your words all the sharper. "Funny. I didn't realise students who can't even pass basic math had opinions anyone cared about."

The stunned silence that followed was delicious. You didn't wait for their response — just turned on your heel and walked off like they weren't even worth your time.

That should've been the end of it — except Yunho was waiting for you by the lockers later that afternoon, arms folded, gaze unreadable.

"I didn't ask you to defend me," he said, tone somewhere between exasperation and confusion.

"Yeah, well." You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Couldn't let my rival's reputation get dragged through the mud before I beat you fair and square."

He stared at you for a long moment — long enough that you felt heat creep up your neck. And then, to your utter disbelief, he smiled. Just a little.

"You're insane."

"You're welcome."

Neither of you admitted what was really happening here.

Neither of you wanted to.

Because rivals didn't protect each other like this — right?

…Right?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

That's what you both told yourselves. Yunho stepping in when people ran their mouths about you? Just defending the council's reputation. You shutting down rumours about his part-time job? Basic professional courtesy. Nothing more.

Except it kept happening.

You noticed when he looked more tired than usual, dark circles smudged under his eyes like he hadn't slept a wink — and then you caught yourself caring. Which was ridiculous. You didn't care. You were just making sure the president didn't screw up his responsibilities because he couldn't handle his personal life. Right?

And Yunho? He wasn't watching out for you. No way. He just… happened to notice when you didn't eat lunch (because of course a spoiled princess would be picky), and maybe that's why he tossed a protein bar onto your desk without looking at you. Totally normal. Not thoughtful. Just practical.

The mental gymnastics you both performed to justify each and every concern were Olympic-level.

When you caught the president absently saving you the better seat during meetings, you told yourself he was just being tactical — easier for you to see the projector, of course. And when Yunho overheard you grumbling about forgetting your calculator before a math quiz, and then somehow one appeared on your desk five minutes later, you were definitely not touched. It was probably a spare he didn't need. Nothing more.

Wooyoung and Seulgi, meanwhile, were losing their minds — because the two of you were so deep in denial it was physically painful to watch.

"She just snapped at him for using the wrong pen colour for the event banners, then turned around and gave him the last slice of cake at the meeting," Seulgi whispered, wide-eyed.

"And he's been pretending to hate her handwriting, but I caught him saving one of her post-it notes in his folder," Wooyoung whispered back.

"Should we help?"

"Nah. Let them suffer."

Because to everyone else, it was painfully obvious: the two of you cared, far too much, and it was eating you both alive.

Neither of you could sleep without replaying your arguments, wondering if you'd crossed a line. Neither of you could look at the other without searching for signs — were they okay? Were they pushing too hard? Were they... thinking about you too?

Of course not.

You hated each other.

That's what you told yourselves.

That's what you needed to believe.

────

Step Five: the breaking point.

The final planning meeting for the year-end festival — the crown jewel of student council events — was supposed to be smooth sailing.

Supposed to be.

Instead, it turned into a sudden crisis and full-blown disaster. Miscommunications piled up like wreckage, schedules clashed, vendors were double-booked, and somehow, two essential permits vanished into thin air — all thanks to the endless assumptions of he'll handle it or she'll settle it.

In truth, the entire student council had been stretched too thin. With final year exams looming and everyone juggling revision sessions alongside festival planning, it was inevitable that details would slip through the cracks. Messages were missed, notes went unshared, and somewhere along the way, every member — even you and Yunho — had trusted that someone else would catch the mistakes.

No one did.

And now, with barely a week left until the biggest event of the year, it was all on the verge of collapse.

The council room was a war zone by the end of the day, with papers scattered across every surface, and half-eaten snacks abandoned next to rapidly-drained cups of instant coffee. The rest of the council had long since been sent home after nearly combusting from secondhand stress.

That left just the two of you — sworn enemies, or at least that's what you both kept telling yourselves — sitting across from each other in the wreckage, sleeves rolled up, hair undone, exhaustion written into every breath.

Somewhere between fixing the vendor placements and rewriting the schedule for the third time, you both cracked.

Laughter. Actual, delirious laughter. It started small — you snorted at something he mumbled under his breath, and he stared at you like you'd grown a second head before dissolving into laughter himself. The kind that made your stomach ache and your shoulders shake, the kind fueled by stress and sleep deprivation until it was impossible to stop.

"This is actual hell," you groaned, collapsing onto the table, cheek smushed against a poorly drawn map of the festival grounds.

"Yeah," he leaned back, arms hanging off the back of his chair, head tilted to stare at the ceiling. "But at least it's not boring."

You turned your head to look at him — hair sticking up in every direction, tie loosened, shirt wrinkled, sleeves unevenly rolled, and yet somehow still the same Yunho who drove you insane. Except, right now, he wasn't the 'golden boy president.' He was just… a boy. One who was just as tired, just as human.

"Yunho," you said softly, surprising even yourself. "Why do you hate me?"

His laughter faded. He didn't look at you right away — just exhaled long and slow, fingers tapping against the table.

"Because you make me feel like I'm not enough," he admitted, voice low, like a confession dragged straight from his chest. "And I hate feeling that way."

The honesty knocked the air from your lungs. Because it was exactly how you felt too — and you'd never meant for him to see you like that, just like you never thought you'd see him like this.

"I never wanted to hate you," you whispered, voice small. "I just wanted to beat you."

He finally turned his head, gaze meeting yours — and for the first time, there was no sharpness, no competition, no battle lines drawn between you. Just understanding.

And maybe, just maybe, something softer underneath. Something neither of you were ready to name.

"It's late. We should go," he murmured.

The air was cool, the sky stretched inky black above you, and the silence between you wasn't exactly uncomfortable — just unfamiliar. After months of snapping and snarling at each other, the absence of sharp words felt almost too quiet. Too fragile.

The two of you walked side by side down the empty street, your steps slower than usual, like neither of you wanted to be the first to break the strange peace that had settled over you.

But eventually, you couldn't hold back.

"…Are you okay not making your shift tonight?" you asked softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

He took a moment before answering, the faint scrape of his shoes against the pavement filling the gap. "I'll just work a double another time," he said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

It made something pinch in your chest — this casual acceptance of overworking himself like it was second nature. You hesitated, then asked the question you realised you'd never actually known the answer to.

"Why do you work so hard?"

He didn't answer right away. His hands slid into his pockets, shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of the question. But eventually, his voice emerged, quieter than you expected.

"For as long as I can remember, it's just been me and my mum," he said. "She works really hard, but money's always been tight. When I was old enough, I took as many jobs as I could — bagging groceries, tutoring, working at that convenience store. And I kept my grades up because… I just wanted to make her proud. Wanted to give her a life where she didn't have to worry anymore."

You slowed your steps, turning your head to look at him properly. And once again, you saw him — not as your rival, not as the frustrating golden boy — but as a son. Someone's son, trying his best.

"You're a good son, Yunho," you said softly, with a smile that felt more genuine than any you'd given him before.

He smiled back — just a little — until you added, just as softly, "Can't say the same for myself though."

Yunho's footsteps halted. You stopped too, eyes falling to the sidewalk beneath you.

"You wanted to know why I transferred here, right?" you asked, voice quieter now.

Without waiting for an answer, you bent down and pulled up the edge of your right sock, revealing a thin line of surgical scars tracing across your ankle. The streetlight caught on the pale skin, glinting faintly.

"One bad match," you said, almost to yourself. "One opponent who played dirty during championships. That's all it took."

His brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

"Like you said, I used to be fencing captain. Top-ranked in my old school." You let out a soft, bitter laugh. "And after the injury, I couldn't compete. I fell from first place — took months off to recover, missed exams, missed everything. To my parents, that was all it took for me to become… a disappointment."

You let your sock fall back into place, hands brushing down your skirt, voice tight with forced cheer. "So, they sent me here to start over. To rebuild whatever glory I lost. To make me their perfect trophy again."

The president didn't say anything right away. And for once, you didn't try to fill the silence either. You just stood there together, in the middle of a quiet street, under a flickering streetlamp — two students who had spent so long trying to outshine each other, only to realise they were both just chasing shadows.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it.

"They were wrong."

You glanced up at him, blinking.

"They were wrong to make you think you're only worth something if you're perfect."

Your throat tightened, and you had to look away — because if you didn't, you might actually cry, and you weren't ready for that. Not in front of him.

"Come on," he said gently, nudging your arm. "We still have to survive this festival. One tragedy at a time."

You laughed — watery, but real. And without thinking, you bumped your shoulder into his.

For once, he didn't bump back harder.

────

Five steps later, you were finally here.

The festival had somehow, miraculously, come together — the chaos you and Yunho had wrestled into order was now a blur of glowing lanterns, flashing booth lights, and bursts of laughter floating up into the night air. From the rooftop, you could see it all — your shared battlefield turned into something beautiful.

You should have felt victorious. But instead, your chest ached with something you couldn't name.

Footsteps behind you.

You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Shouldn't you be down there soaking up the praise, President?" you asked, arms folded across your chest, voice deliberately casual.

He stepped up beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze flicking down over the festival before settling on you. "Shouldn't you be down there taking credit, Vice President?"

You side-eyed him, lips twitching up despite yourself. "I thought you hated sharing your spotlight."

"I do," he said — quieter this time, almost too honest. "But… maybe I don't mind sharing with you."

You froze.

This wasn't the usual banter. There was no smirk, no teasing edge to his voice. Just Yunho, standing there under the open sky, the glow of the festival washing a soft colour over his face.

"I spent this whole year trying to beat you," you admitted softly, your fingers curling around the cool metal railing. "Trying to prove I was better."

"Same," he said — too quickly, like he'd been holding it in. Then he shook his head, a breathless laugh slipping out. "But every time I thought I was close to finally taking you down, I just… ended up liking you more."

Your heart stuttered. "Liking me?"

"Yeah." He exhaled hard, like saying it out loud physically knocked the air from his lungs. "I hated you so much I couldn't think straight, and then somewhere along the way, I just wanted to know you. All of you."

The first fireworks burst overhead, painting the sky in red and gold. The light caught in his hair, in his eyes — and you realised you'd been staring at him this whole time.

"You're such an idiot," you whispered, even though your throat was suddenly tight.

"Why?" He turned toward you fully now, his shoulder brushing yours. "Because I confessed first?"

"No." You took a step closer — close enough that the heat of him bled into your skin. "Because I've liked you too. For longer than I wanted to admit."

Another firework cracked, sending sparks raining down like stars.

Neither of you looked at it.

Yunho's hand found yours on the railing — the touch hesitant at first, until your fingers curled back around his. His thumb traced along your knuckles like he couldn't believe this was real.

"I still want to beat you," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Good." He leaned down, forehead almost brushing yours. "I wouldn't like you if you didn't."

And then — under a sky exploding with light — he kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or shy. It was a clash of everything you'd ever felt for each other — every argument that left you breathless, every late-night meeting where silence spoke louder than words, every sharp-tongued insult meant to cut but only carved deeper into longing.

His lips were warm and urgent, tasting faintly of festival cotton candy and the mint gum he always chewed when stressed. His hand slid up, fingers threading into your hair before settling at your jaw, his thumb tracing a line along your cheekbone so softly it left your skin tingling.

He pulled you in like you were something fragile and precious and dangerous all at once — something he couldn't risk breaking, but couldn't stand losing.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands fisting in the fabric of his blazer, tugging him closer until there was nothing between you but heat and heartbeats. You could feel the tremble in his breath, the subtle shudder that ran through him when your fingers brushed the back of his neck. His heart hammered so loudly against your chest that you could swear it was echoing your own.

The fireworks painted streaks of gold and crimson across your closed eyelids, but none of it compared to the colour blooming beneath your skin — the dizzying warmth curling low in your stomach, the ache of every unsaid word bleeding into every touch.

When you finally broke apart, panting slightly, foreheads pressed together, you both laughed — breathless and dazed — like you couldn't believe it took you this long to get here.

The fireworks were beautiful.

But they were nothing compared to this.

────

The following Monday after the festival, the entire school knew.

Some claimed they'd caught glimpses of you and Yunho sneaking off together just before the fireworks, while others swore they saw his arm casually draped around your shoulders during the late-night cleanup. And, of course, the boldest rumours came from those who witnessed you both at the council table, sipping from the same straw like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But none of that was the real giveaway.

The real giveaway was how you two fought — exactly the same as before, except now he called you baby in the middle of arguments, and you shot back with a saccharine sweetheart, both said with enough venom to curdle milk. The council meetings were still battlegrounds, but now they were laced with something sharper — affection disguised as irritation, fondness hidden under barbed words.

"We should focus on next month's fundraiser," Yunho declared, tapping his pen against the table.

"We should focus on midterm review sessions first," you countered, not even looking up from your notes.

"You just want to show off how perfect your study guides are," he accused, eyes narrowing.

"And you just want to procrastinate so you can rewrite your precious 'president's welcome speech,'" you fired back.

"It's called leadership."

"It's called an ego trip."

The room went silent — council members exchanging wide-eyed glances, already bracing for the explosion.

But instead of storming off like you used to, Yunho just leaned back in his chair, tilting his head with that infuriating smirk. "I'm still your boss, Vice President."

Your smile was too sweet, too dangerous. "And I'm still the one who covers your ass when you forget deadlines, President."

Somewhere in the back of the room, Wooyoung silently started a betting pool: kiss or kill — which would happen first?

Together, the two of you became the undeniable, unstoppable force of the student council — a perfect storm of brains, charisma, and sheer chaos. When Yunho's charm and golden-boy smile couldn't win over the principal, your cold logic and flawless presentations sealed the deal. When your sharp tongue and brutal honesty made freshmen tremble, his easy grin softened the blow. Together, you raised more funds, pulled off bigger events, and terrified more slackers than any council duo in school history.

And yes — you still argued like your lives depended on it.

But now, the fights ended with lazy kisses behind closed doors, fingers brushing under the table during meetings, and softly muttered threats of "I'm still going to beat you at this" whispered like a love language.

Some days, he walked you to your chauffeured car, fingers laced with yours despite the stunned looks from every passing student. Other days, you waited at the convenience store until his shift ended, pretending to browse the snack aisle while secretly watching him work — admiring the boy who once drove you insane, and now, somehow, made your heart ache in the best way possible.

And every night you walked home together, sharing an umbrella or splitting a can of soda, your shoulders bumping softly in the dark.

"We're still enemies, right?" you asked once, voice quiet under the stars.

He grinned, tugging you closer by the waist. "Always."

Then he kissed you again — and just like that, the fight for power had never tasted so sweet. Because somewhere between rivalry and romance, between every clash and compromise, you both realised: there was no winning without each other.

If you've watched Kaguya-sama: Love Is War and are also a fan of it, just know that I love you. The way Wooyoung was initially going to take Miyuki's role, but on second thought, Yunho seemed more well-suited for it. Wouldn't you agree?

Also, I hope y'all liked the rooftop kiss🙈

And if you haven't watched the anime, I love you too! For taking the time to read this, I genuinely hope it was enjoyable hehe I know I had a lot of fun writing this.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[s4svnn]

Embrace - Out of bounds drabbles

Summary: You had always hated going to bed—it felt like wasted time, lying in the dark with nothing but your thoughts. But being in his arms made it different. His warmth, his touch, the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world—it made every night something to look forward to. Because no matter how long the day had been, falling asleep wrapped in his embrace made it all worth it.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader

Genre: Fluff, lovers

Content tags: spooning, kisses, cuddling, boyfriend and girlfriend, night time routine, massages, soft jungkook, sleepy reader, affection, long day, skin to skin, touches

Word count: 1k

The weight of exhaustion pressed down on me as I lay curled on my side, my body sinking into the warmth of the blankets. My eyelids fluttered shut, sleep tugging me under, when the quiet creak of the bedroom door made my senses stir.

Jungkook was home.

I knew it was him before my mind could fully process it, the familiar rhythm of his movements filling the room. The soft rustling of fabric, the muffled thud of his bag being set down. But I was too tired to move, too wrapped up in the haze of sleep to even let him know I was awake. So I stayed still, breathing slow and steady, pretending I had already drifted off.

For a moment, all I could hear was him moving around, the occasional sigh leaving his lips. Then, the mattress dipped beneath his weight. The blankets shifted, and warmth enveloped me as he slid under the covers, his body pressing in close until his chest was flush against my back.

His heat was immediate and comforting, his breath tickling the back of my neck. I felt his arm drape over my waist, his fingers ghosting up and down my side, almost as if he were searching for something. The slow movements confused me—what was he looking for? My breathing remained even, my body unmoving as I waited to see what he would do.

Then, his fingers found the hem of my shirt.

A shiver ran through me as he gently lifted it, his warm palm slipping underneath to press against my bare skin. His touch was soft yet possessive as his hand splayed across my waist, his thumb grazing my skin in slow circles.

A quiet sigh left him as he nestled in closer, his face pressing into the space right behind my neck. I could feel his lips ghost against my skin, his breath warm and steady as he pulled me even closer, his arm tightening around me.

A lazy smile almost tugged at my lips, but I held it back, keeping my breathing slow and steady. Maybe if I stayed still long enough, he’d fall asleep first, and I could keep pretending just a little longer.

But then, in a voice thick with exhaustion and amusement, he murmured against my skin, “I know you’re awake.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks.

I kept my eyes shut, still refusing to move, but I felt his lips curve into a small smile against my neck. His grip around my waist tightened, his fingers pressing just a little firmer into my skin as if daring me to keep up the act.

“You gonna keep pretending?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with quiet laughter.

I bit the inside of my cheek, stubbornly staying silent.

Jungkook huffed out a soft chuckle, and before I could react, he dipped his head and nuzzled further into my neck, his nose brushing against my skin. His lips pressed there next, barely a kiss, just enough to make my breath hitch.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice softer now, more tired.

My resolve cracked.

With a sleepy sigh, I finally turned in his arms, my face just inches from his. His dark eyes met mine, heavy with exhaustion but filled with something warm, something that made my heart clench.

“I missed you too,” I whispered, voice thick with sleep.

Jungkook’s lips twitched, his fingers slipping under my shirt again, tracing slow, absentminded circles against my bare skin. He stared at me for a moment longer, like he was memorizing every detail, then pulled me in so close there was no space left between us.

For a few minutes, we just lay there in comfortable silence, wrapped up in each other. Jungkook’s fingers kept moving up and down my waist, his touch so light. Every time I thought he was about to stop, he’d trace another soft pattern, like he wasn’t even thinking about it—just instinctively keeping me close.

I hummed softly, barely aware of the way my body melted into his. “You’re supposed to be tired,” I mumbled, eyes still closed.

Jungkook chuckled, his breath warm against my cheek. “I am,” he admitted. “But I haven’t seen my girl all day.”

His voice was soft, almost sleepy, but there was something about the way he said it—like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second he left. My chest tightened, warmth blooming in my heart.

I shifted slightly, pressing my forehead against his. “You see me now,” I whispered.

“Mm,” he hummed, his nose brushing against mine. “Not enough.”

Before I could tease him for being clingy, he dipped his head and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my cheek. His lips barely left my skin before he moved lower, leaving another kiss just under my jaw, then one at the curve of my neck.

I squirmed, biting my lip to stop the smile that threatened to take over my face. “Jungkook,” I murmured, my voice caught between a laugh and a sigh.

“Mm?” he hummed against my skin, pretending to be innocent.

I sighed dramatically. “You’re distracting me from sleeping.”

Jungkook grinned, pulling back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark and laced with exhaustion, but that mischievous spark was still there. “You weren’t really sleeping anyway,” he pointed out.

I pouted, but before I could protest, he tightened his arms around me, pressing his forehead against mine again. “Just a few more minutes,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then we’ll sleep, I promise.”

I sighed, but it was useless—I was already giving in. “Fine,” I mumbled, snuggling impossibly closer.

Jungkook let out a content hum, his hands moving up my back, slow and soothing.

As warmth settled between us, I let my fingers slip into his hair, threading through the soft, slightly tousled strands. Jungkook let out a quiet sigh at the feeling, his body melting into mine like he had been waiting for this all day.

His eyes fluttered shut, his forehead still resting against mine, and I smiled at how quickly he relaxed under my touch. I dragged my nails gently against his scalp, feeling the way his grip on my waist loosened slightly as he exhaled a deep, contented breath.

“That feels nice,” he murmured, his voice low and drowsy.

I hummed in response, continuing my slow movements, loving the way his body softened with each pass of my fingers. His hair was still slightly damp from a shower, and I twisted a few strands absentmindedly, my fingertips grazing the nape of his neck.

Jungkook shivered slightly, tucking himself closer into me, his nose brushing against my cheek. “You’re gonna put me to sleep,” he mumbled, sounding half-gone already.

“That’s the point,” I teased, echoing his words from earlier.

He chuckled softly, but it faded quickly, his breathing growing steadier as I kept running my fingers through his hair. His arms tightened around me for a brief moment, as if making sure I was still there, then relaxed again.

“Love you,” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

My heart melted.

I pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, letting my lips linger there. “Love you more.”

Jungkook didn’t argue this time. He just sighed, his hold on me gentle but firm, and let himself drift off completely. And soon, with my fingers still tangled in his hair and his warmth wrapped around me, I followed.

[enhaflixer]

For our marriage law couple:

Q1. Did the readers' parents ever meet jay or their kid/s????

Q2. How did they find out about the pregnancy? Muggle ways or any magical ones????

Q3. How is jay during the pregnancy??

Thank you soooo much for the wonderful fics love you <3

Exclusive Interview with Park Jongseong & His Wife on Love, Parenthood, and a Certain Marriage Law

—A sit-down with the unexpected love story that defied the Ministry’s rules, featuring Jay Park, his wife, and a surprise mention of their daughter.

-

Q1: Did your parents ever meet Jay or Jane?

(You sigh, running a hand through your hair while Jay, sitting next to you, casually rests an arm along the back of your chair. His thumb absentmindedly brushes against your shoulder.)

You: “Not for a long time.”

Jay: nods slowly “Yeah, that was… complicated.”

You: “I didn’t expect them to reply when I texted them about the marriage. And they didn’t.”

Jay: quietly “For years.”

You: nods “It wasn’t until Jane was, what? Two?”

Jay: “Yeah, around then. I remember because we had just started thinking about putting her in a playgroup, and that’s when your parents reached out.”

You: “It was... tense.”

Jay: shrugs “I mean, I get it. They didn’t know me. And the whole ‘pureblood wizard married their daughter through some law they probably didn’t even understand’ thing? Not exactly the easiest thing to process.”

You: snorts “I think they barely tolerated the idea of magic in general, let alone their grandchild having it.”

Jay: grinning slightly “To be fair, Jane won them over before I did.”

You: softly “Yeah. They were distant at first, but then Jane did… I don’t know, something ridiculously adorable, and suddenly my mother was acting like she was the world’s most doting grandmother.”

Jay: smirks “She levitated a toy broomstick, and your dad nearly fainted.”

You: “He still thinks she’s telekinetic.”

Jay: shrugs “Let him believe that. If it helps him sleep at night.”

-

Q2: How did you find out you were pregnant? Muggle ways or magical ones?

Jay: groans dramatically, dragging a hand down his face “This is my villain origin story.”

You: laughing “Jay knew before I did.”

Jay: deadpan “Because your magic was acting up. And you kept getting dizzy.”

You: mocking “And your first thought was ‘pregnancy’?”

Jay: “And I was right.”

You: grinning “But I still needed proof, so after the healer confirmed it, I made Jay go buy a Muggle pregnancy test—”

Jay: glaring at you “There are way too many kinds of those things.”

You: mocking “Which one is the most accurate? I should just buy all of them—”

Jay: grumbling “Look, if I was going to do it, I was going to do it right.”

You: laughing “Anyway, I took the test, stared at the two pink lines, still trying to process, and then he just—” pauses, smiling at Jay “You just knelt in front of me, held my hand, and said, ‘It’s real, baby.’”

Jay: clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah.”

Q3: How was Jay during the pregnancy?

(You roll your eyes. Jay scoffs, shaking his head, because he already knows what you’re about to say.)

You: “A complete mess.”

Jay: offended “I was not a mess.”

You: flatly “Jay. You read twelve books on pregnancy, six on magical child development, and made a whole binder of research.”

Jay: muttering “...organization is key.”

You: “He wouldn’t let me carry anything heavier than a quill. And if I so much as sighed, he was at my side like, ‘Are you okay? Do you need water? Are you hungry? Should I get the healer?’”

Jay: grumbling “I was taking care of you.”

You: grinning “You were being dramatic.”

Jay: “And you loved it.”

You: softens “Yeah. I did.”

Jay: smirks “Told you.”

You: “You were also so soft. You would just randomly kiss my belly, whisper to Jane when you thought I was asleep. And you lived for when she kicked. The first time it happened, you completely froze.”

Jay: “Listen, feeling an actual human foot kick your hand from inside your wife is a lot to process.”

You: laughs “You were so in love already.”

Jay: quietly, brushing his fingers over your hand “Still am.”

-

Q4: Why Jane? Why that name?

Jay: scoffs “You act like this was some deep, symbolic decision. We were just tired of arguing.”

You: grinning “We fought for months over names.”

Jay: “Because you kept coming up with the worst ones.”

You: mocking “‘Jayden’ wasn’t that bad.”

Jay: horrified “I refuse to name my daughter after myself like some egotistical maniac.”

You: “Says the guy who wanted ‘Seraphina Aurelius Park.’”

Jay: shrugging “Sounds powerful.”

You: “Sounds like she should be ruling an empire.”

Jay: smirks “Maybe she will.”

You: laughing “Anyway, we were lying in bed one night, and I just said, ‘What about Jane?’ and he didn’t even argue. Just said, ‘Yeah. That’s it.’”

Jay: grinning “Because it fit. It was simple, classic. No unnecessary nonsense.”

You: mocking “So not Seraphina Aurelius Park?”

Jay: deadpan “I stand by my decision.”

-

And there you have it—proof that even a government-mandated marriage couldn’t stop love from finding its way in.

TL: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @ddolleri @somuchdard @beariegyu @ijustwannareadstuff20 @zzhengyu @annybah

[sangwookisser]

⭒TENSIONS ARE RISING - RAFE CAMERON II⭒

cw. football! rafe, college rafe, enemies to lovers, breakups, female reader in mind, objectification of reader by rafe, no use of y/n, porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, missionary, implications of cucking, choking, french kissing, creampies

synopsis: second and final part of my mini-series. Rafe Cameron gets his hands on the ex-girlfriend of his rival.

part one

You gasp into his mouth as his lips slot over yours, your heart rate spiking to speed so unnatural that you feel like you're going to die. He moves one hand onto your throat to keep you in place and prevent you from running.

"R-Rafe, mmh," You try to protest, but the way you say his name doesn't do anything but make him a lot more eager. He moans into your mouth in response.

You try to push at his arms and chest and scratch at any inch of his bare skin that you can get your hands on, but it seems futile. He smiles against your lips, his hands roaming your body like he can't seem to pick just one spot in favor over all the other plush, soft curves of your body.

Rafe feels like he's dreaming. He's finally got you in his arms, with his body and mouth on you, and he can hardly think straight. His fingers graze up your thigh, his palm smoothing over your hips, your waist, then back down again. Squeezing. Mapping out the curves he’s only ever stared at before.

"Kept telling your stupid little boyfriend that I'd make you mine, princess." He grunts against your mouth, sounding breathless. "Told him I'd get him out of the ngh- fucking way."

Your lips are soft and warm on his, and when you let out tiny, breathless little gasps against his mouth, he grabs you tighter, slotting his thigh between your legs as he holds you against the door, pushing it right against your core.

You want to tell him that you're not his, that you're still wearing the necklace with your boyfriend's initials around your neck, but you can't get a word out.

He groans into the kiss, deep and satisfied, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can possibly sate him.

His grip tightens as his hand slides up your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse, squeezing just enough for your brain to feel foggy. He's too much, and you whimper faintly, the sound leaving you involuntarily.

You can't tell if you want this or not, but your brain isn't functioning rationally right now and your fight or flight instinct is nowhere to be found.

His palm is hot against your skin, his fingers curling just enough to remind you he’s got you, that he’s keeping you here.

The other hand is already moving lower. You feel it glide down your spine, over the plush globes of your ass, slipping into the waistband of your shorts with ease. "This what you wanted? For me to snap and put my hands all over you?"

He squeezes your butt, his tongue moving sloppily over yours. "Mmf... R-rafe, I d-didn't..." He cuts off your babbling by tugging your panties back and snapping them onto your skin to make you jump and squeak, while he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue even deeper in your mouth.

You hate how your knees go weak when he kisses you. His lips are soft and wet and God, he's a good kisser, but you have to remind yourself who he is. How he's treated you, and your ex.

Your stomach tightens, and you snap out of the fuzzy haze clouding your brain and realizing that you're kissing the same guy who's tormented you and your ex-boyfriend so much that he ended things with you.

He’s smirking against your lips, and that just makes you angrier. You bite down on his lower lip, hard enough to make him hiss, to taste a hint of copper, and he finally pulls back, a thin string of saliva connecting your mouths. "Get the hell off me, Cameron," You snap, even though every part of you yearns for more. You're reeling.

"Ah fuck, you're feisty," he murmurs, licking his lips. "Didn’t know you liked it rough," Rafe purrs, fingers tightening around your hips, pulling you closer again, pressing you right up against him. "Knew there was a little freak in you."

He brings a thumb up to his mouth, smearing away the small drop of blood you left behind, and instead of getting mad, he grins. Like he likes it.

Like he wants you to do it again.

"Shut your mouth." You pant out, your lips swollen, your pulse hammering. You throw his hand off your face, clenching your own into fists. "I came here to set boundaries, not have you kiss me."

You need to put distance between you, but his hands keep finding your body, gripping your waist, your ass, still crowding your space like he owns it.

Your nails dig into his arms, but he only chuckles, dragging his mouth down, sloppy and wet against the corner of your lips, down your jaw, teasing your pulse point before sucking lightly—just enough to make your stomach flip.

You try to shut your legs, but he pushes further against your clothed pussy, the thin fabric of your shorts doing little to obscure the feeling of the hard plane of his knee bumping against your pussy. Your head leans back, and you whine breathlessly, angry at how easily he can toy with you like this and you just let him.

Even now, even through the haze of your frustration and anger and hatred, his sharp jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his darkened blue eyes drink you in like he wants to devour you. He’s so pretty.

And he knows you think so.

"That little head of yours is spinning, huh?" he murmurs, tilting his head, watching you. "S’cute how you try to fight it. Try to fight me."

His thumb strokes slow over your butt, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, his breath hot against your cheek. "Tell me to stop," he whispers, his voice dropping even lower, rougher, something dangerous curling in it now. "Tell me you don’t want me, that you want nothing to do with me, and I’ll back off. Just say the words."

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Your throat feels tight, like something thick and unbearable is lodged there, suffocating you from the inside out. Your body isn’t listening to you. Every muscle, every nerve feels like it’s wrapped in honey, warm, sticky, trapping you in place.

"No?" He beams, little dimples gracing his cheeks. He grins smugly. "Don't say I didn't warn you, princess."

Is the last thing he says, before he hoists you into his arms and away from the front door.

Your necklace is finally off you.

Thrown into the trashcan beside Rafe's bed, he's got you folded in half with your knees almost completely pushed against your ears, while he holds you open by your plump thighs, his cock splitting you open.

He takes his time, each inch of his thick, veiny cock stretching your gooey walls with deliberate slowness. The wet, obscene squelches of his cock filling you and bottoming out slowly fills the room as he thrusts so deep inside you that your mind is starting to feel foggy.

"Oh, look at you." Rafe grins, his voice smooth and soft like he's speaking to a lover. "Hate me, you said? Could of fooled me, the way your greedy little pussy's sucking me in like she's trying to swallow my dick whole."

You nudge his hands off your face and push your arms are over your face to hide the way that it's contorted in pleasure. Showing him how good you feel won't do anything but prove how he's won against you yet again. He grunts in annoyance when you hide your face, and he draws back.

Withdrawing until just the tip of his cock remains nestled inside you, he slowly, torturously pushes back in until your pussy and guts stretch obscenely around his girth, wet, squelching sounds filling the room.

"You can hide all you want, princess." He murmurs, still thrusting into you slowly. "Your pussy knows the truth. Knows who it belongs to."

"I d-don't belong to you, idiot."

Rafe pauses at your words, almost amused at your backtalk. He likes when you give him attitude. Gives him a reason to be mean to you.

He pushes your legs open impossibly wider, nearly bending you in half with your legs up against your chest.

"You keep saying shit like that like it's going to get me mad." He laughs softly, before groaning with pleasure. "Maybe I get off to brats, princess, ever thought of that?"

You bite your lower lip so hard that it hurts to hide any noise you're making. If you lifted your head, you'd see the faint outline of his cock in your tummy and the way your pussy struggles to accommodate for his size, and the look of rapt fascination on his flushed cheeks.

He pays no mind to your attempts at modesty, too focused on the wet, sloppy sounds of his cock churning up your insides. He sets a slow, punishing rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained inside you before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt with a filthy squelch.

"Fuck, your cunt is soaking my dick," Rafe taunts. His cock churns up your soaked, velvety walls with each roll of his hips, your pussy clenching around him like a vice as you desperately attempt to adjust to his size.

You’re shaking, fingers curling into fists in the sheets underneath you. You’re not sure how much more you can take. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks in a low, taunting murmur.

"Bet you're worried about me creaming in this hot little pussy, huh?"

Your head finally leaves the crook of your arms to stare up at him in disbelief. Your whole body locks up, heat flashing through your tummy. "Yo-you wouldn't, I w-wouldn't let you," Rafe uses the opportunity of you moving your arms to grab both your wrists in one hand and pin them over your head, his free hand still holding your thigh.

"Yeah you would." He shoots back, almost aggravated at your tone. "You'd let me. You know why? Because you like me real bad. You're just too pussy to admit it."

He notches the tip at your entrance, slowing his thrusts, before slamming forward and forcing his girthy shaft deep inside you. “God,” He groans. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good. Squeezing me like you don’t want me to go anywhere.” 

You moan out, but this time, he forces you to keep eye contact, and his gaze flicks between the way your small, fluttering hole stretches wide to accommodate his length, and the way your face is scrunched with tears tracking your cheeks and your lips raw from biting as he shoves his cock in you. 

The lewd, sloppy sounds of your cunt being split open fill the room as he impales you repeatedly, not stopping his thrust until his swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass.

Rafe continues his relentless, sloppy assault, each thrust accompanied by the most vulgar noises. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes through the room as he fucks you with deep, purposeful strokes. Your body jolts with every impact, tits bouncing lewdly as you try to stifle your cries.

He changes his angle slightly, and your tummy coils up tight into a knot as you feel your orgasm come crashing down, your back arching sharply off the bed. He knows he found that sweet spot deep inside you as your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

Rafe focuses his thrusts there, grinding against it with every push forward, determined to make you fall apart completely on his cock, and you let out a final strangled cry as you cum around him.

He rocks you through your orgasm, still hitting that gummy spot that makes you sing so pretty that his heart throbs. 

"I wish that pathetic ex of yours was here," he muses, voice dripping with cruel amusement. "I wish he could see me ruining his girl, see me taking what's rightfully mine. I bet he'd love a front-row seat to watch me breed his bitch."

Your pussy, now overstimulated and sloppy from your recent orgasm, throbs with sensitivity. “R-rafe, please, please, it’s too much,” You cry out, and he coos at your pretty sounds, ignoring you. 

"Too bad for him, ain't it?” He continues. “This cunt belongs to me now. You belong to me. Say it. Say who’s pussy this is.”

Your sloppy cunt swallows his thick cock over and over, your lips, swollen, clinging to his cock tightly. Squelches and sloppy lewdness fill the air as he plows into you, each thrust pushing out a fresh gush of your cum. The creamy ring of your hole stretches and bulges around his girthy shaft, struggling to contain the thick cock splitting you open. “Ah! Yours, Rafe! Y-your pussy, I’m yours!” 

He could feel your cervix fluttering against the tip of his cock, the spongy flesh yielding to his pounding. “That’s my girl, baby. All mine,” He grunts one last time as your womb clenches and ripples, ready for the hot cum he was going to pump inside you.

He lets out a strangled moan as he empties inside you, balls twitching as he fills you to the brim with his cum. It’s thick and creamy and never ending, and his head lolls, hips still pumping as he fills you up good.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing, the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. Your body is still trembling, skin fever hot and slick against his, and yet he hasn’t moved an inch. He’s still there, stretched out on top of you, pinning you down.

Rafe exhales, deep and satisfied, before letting out a slow, almost disbelieving chuckle.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, dragging a hand through his damp hair. His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming, like you did that to him. “Knew you’d be good, but damn, baby.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your throat is too tight, your mind too hazy, floating somewhere between reality and whatever that was.

Rafe turns his head, smirking at the dazed, wrecked look on your face. He reaches out, running a slow finger down your jaw, tilting your chin up so you have to meet his gaze. His pupils are still blown, his mouth swollen from you.

“Gonna let me keep you now, princess? Or do you need another round for me to convince you?”

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 21

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: Angst, tension, arguments, hurt.

Nick and I stand there, frozen.

My stomach drops to my ass.

Christina is in Matt’s bed.

Fast asleep, wrapped up in his sheets like she belongs there. It reminds me of when I stayed in his bed in the house.

How could he allow her to do the same.

I feel Nick tense beside me, he's silent but I can almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, like he’s piecing together the same horrifying realization I am.

Then the ensuite door swings open.

And out walks Matt.

Messy hair. Shirtless. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Looks like she helped him out last night instead.

The second he looks up, our eyes meet.

And everything inside me stops.

Nick moves first, he could never be silent for that long. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Matt’s mouth parts slightly, but Nick doesn’t give him the chance.

“Seriously?” he seethes, stepping forward. His voice is a dangerous mix of betrayal and anger. “You fucking lied to me. To her.” His arm motions toward me, but I can’t move. I can’t even breathe.

Matt tries to speak.

But Nick gives him no mercy.

“I don’t wanna hear it!” he snaps, his voice rising. “I don’t wanna hear a single fucking word come out of your mouth right now.”

Matt’s face hardens, but he stays silent.

Nick scoffs. “You had one thing to prove, Matt. That you meant it this time.” He shakes his head. “And you couldn’t even do that.”

I can’t stand here anymore.

I need to be in my room. So I turn and leave the room.

Not fast. Not slow. I honestly feel like I'm floating.

I can hear Nick’s voice from down the hall, and he's not letting up easy.

“You either care about her or you don’t, Matt.” His words cut through the thick, suffocating silence.

“So which is it?”

I don’t hear Matt’s answer.

Because I don’t think I could handle it.

Nick’s POV

Y/n turns and walks away, and I don’t blame her.

I watch her go, watch the way her arms wrap around herself like she’s holding herself together, like she has to hold herself together because Matt sure as fuck won’t.

But I’m not done.

Not even close.

I turn back to Matt, still standing there like a fucking idiot, like he’s the one blindsided.

“You’ve gotta be fucking joking.” I breathe, the disbelief thick in my voice.

Matt doesn’t even try to defend himself.

Maybe he knows there’s no excuse.

Maybe he just doesn’t have one.

Matt motions me out of the bedroom before closing the door behind him, the two of us stood in the hallway.

“What, I might wake your precious Christina?” I sneer, pointing at the door. “Wouldn’t wanna interrupt her beauty sleep, huh?”

Matt exhales sharply. “It’s not like that.”

I laugh. “Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that.”

He shakes his head, but I don’t soften.

“I’m so disgusted with you.” I shutter. “I thought you would be real this time. That if you were serious about Y/n, you’d to fucking act like it.”

Matt clenches his jaw. “Nick-”

“And what do you do?” I cut him off. “You self sabotage. Again. Like you always fucking do. Because you never know how to handle something real.”

Matt’s eyes darken.

I don’t care.

I take another step forward. “And Y/n?” I point a finger toward the door she just walked toward. “She’s the realest thing you’re ever gonna get. And you know that.”

He drops his gaze for a second, but it’s long enough for me to see it.

Guilt.

Good.

“You know it” I repeat, voice quieter but my tone stays the same. “And you just threw it away.”

Matt opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, a door behind me swings open.

“Jesus Christ” Chris groans, stepping into the hall. He looks half asleep, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Can you two shut the fuck up? Rachel’s asleep in my room.”

I whip around. “Oh, of course she is!” I snap. “So what, you’ve got a girl in your bed too?”

Chris blinks at me, like he wasn’t expecting that reaction. “What?”

I throw my hands up.  “Seriously, who the fuck thought it’d be a good idea to bring girls out here?” 

I don’t care who hears me.

I don’t care if I wake up the entire goddamn villa.

Chris shrugs, unfazed. “I did?” looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“The fuck are you freaking out about?” he scoffs. “I like Rachel, so I flew her out. I can do that, you know.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh yeah? And you think that was a good fucking idea?”

Chris crosses his arms. “Why the fuck wouldn’t it be?”

“Because look at what you just caused!” I snap, throwing a hand back toward Matt’s door. “You might not have been the fire, but you sure as fuck were the fuel.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being real.” I hiss, stepping closer. “I want them out. Within the next two hours. I don’t give a fuck what needs to be done. I want them gone.”

Chris’ expression hardens. “That’s unfair.”

I shake my head. “Unfair?” I scoff. “You wanna talk about unfair? Y/n spent this whole trip thinking her and Matt were finally on the same fucking page, and now she walks in to find Christina, of all fucking people, in his bed? And you wanna stand there and act like I’m being unfair?

Chris opens his mouth, as Matt stands awkwardly next to me.

Chris locks eyes with him.

“Wait, what?” Chris’s brow furrows. “She’s in your bed?”

Matt still doesn’t say a word.

Chris shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Jesus Christ, man.”

I shake my head in complete disgust, looking between the two of them.

“The two of you are fucking idiots” I say, my voice filled with nothing but disappointment. “Absolute fucking idiots.”

Chris exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face, while Matt just stands there, still not saying a goddamn word.

I don’t have the patience for this. Not right now.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm down the hallway, heading straight for Y/n’s room on the other side of the villa. My blood is boiling, not just at Matt but at Chris too. They both fucked up, and they both know it.

As I walk away, I hear Chris let out a frustrated sigh before opening his door and stepping into his room.

Matt?

I don’t hear him move at all.

I get to Y/n’s room and try the handle, but the door doesn’t budge. It’s locked.

I sigh, knocking gently. “Y/n, it’s just me.”

A few seconds pass, and then I hear the soft click of the lock. The door opens, and there she is, completely wrecked, her eyes red and swollen, tears streaming down her face. My chest tightens at the sight of her.

“Ah no Y/n.” I mutter, stepping in without hesitation.

Before she can say a word, I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her tightly. The second she buries her face into my chest, she breaks, her sobs shaking her whole body. I squeeze her tighter, resting my chin on the top of her head.

“He’s an idiot” I tell her. “A fucking idiot.”

She doesn’t respond, just keeps crying, and I hold her through it.

After a minute, I guide her over to the bed, and we settle in. She wipes at her face, sniffling, and I wait, letting her take her time.

Finally, I ask, “What happened last night?”

Y/n takes a deep breath, wiping at her damp cheeks before finally looking up at me. Her voice is quiet, shaky.

“It was fine at first” she starts. “Obviously I was so happy for you, then you’s got up and left after Chris did.” She trails off, taking another breath.

“Then Chris came back with them.”

I already know exactly who she means.

“Christina and Rachel” I say, and she nods, pressing her lips together like even saying the name makes her sick.

“Chris kinda insinuated to Matt about them two catching up.. Nate and I felt awkward, so we went and did two shots and when we came back Matt and Chris were gone, it was just Rachel and Christina in the booth.” She says, staring blankly across the room.

“I mean, I knew things had happened between them before, but Matt told me.. he told me he hadn’t been with anyone since..” She pauses, blinking rapidly, like she’s trying to stop fresh tears from falling. “Since that night in the house. And Vegas was after that, so I didn’t think, I hoped, nothing happened. But the second she started talking, I just knew.”

She clenches her fists in her lap, shaking her head.

“She was smug. She kept making these little comments, insinuating that they were a thing. And when I asked her outright how Vegas was, she just smirked and said “WhAt HaPpEnS iN vEgAs StAyS iN vEgas.”

My jaw tightens.

“That was it for me” she says. “I didn’t want to be there anymore. I knew if I stayed, I’d just get more upset, and I didn’t want to make a scene. I just needed to leave.”

She looks at me with tired, blood shot eyes.

“Nate asked if I was okay, and I told him it was just a weird situation, but.. the truth is, it wasn’t just weird. It hurt.” She pauses. “I don’t think anything happened in Vegas.. Well, I didn’t. But the fact that she’s still here, still acting like she has some claim over him, and the fact that he-” Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard before continuing. “That he let it happen? That he didn’t even try to stop it? It just made me feel like a fool.”

I shake my head, anger building in my chest.

“You’re not a fool.” I tell her firmly. “He is.”

She gives me a weak smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Me and Nate ended up leaving then, he didn’t want to stay either” she says. “I didn’t even say goodbye to Matt, but at that point, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be away from it all.”

I nod. “Was anything said at all?”

She sighs. “Nope, when we got back to the villa. I checked my phone, hoping stupidly that maybe Matt had messaged me. I know he’d seen I left. I just hoped that he’d care.”

Her voice wavers on those last two words, and I clench my fists.

“But there was nothing” she whispers. “Not a single message. Not a bit of concern. And I just, got so angry because I knew why I was angry. Because I care. Because I have feelings for him.”

She blinks, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“So I turned my phone off and went to bed, hoping that if I slept, the night would be over faster.”

I take a deep breath, letting everything she just told me sink in. I already was mad, but now? Now I’m fucking fuming.

I run a hand through my hair, shaking my head. “I'm going to say it again, but Matt’s a fucking idiot” I mutter.

She lets out a small, sad laugh. “Yeah. He is.”

I pull her in again, letting her rest against me.

I let out a deep sigh, rubbing my face. “I feel awful for not being there for you last night” I admit, my voice heavy with guilt.

Y/n immediately shakes her head. “No, don’t feel bad. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were living your life which you deserve, you were oblivious to everything.” She sniffles.

I lean my head back against the headboard, exhaling sharply. “Well, this whole situation has officially shocked me into being completely sober.”

That earns a small giggle from her, and I smile, relieved to see even the tiniest bit of light return to her eyes.

I tilt my head, looking at her. “Do you want me to stay in here for a bit?”

She hesitates for a second before shaking her head. “No, I think I’d like to be on my own for a little while.”

I nod, respecting her space. “Okay. But if you need anything, I mean it, Y/n, just come get me. I don’t care what time it is.”

She gives me a grateful smile. “Thanks, Nick.”

I squeeze her hand one last time before getting up, heading for the door. Before I step out, I glance back at her, still curled up in bed, her eyes staring off at nothing.

I want to fix this for her. I want to fix Matt. But for now, the only thing I can do is be here for her.

So I leave her room, closing the door gently behind me, and head to my own.

Y/n’s POV

I drag myself off of my bed to�� push open the balcony door, letting the early morning air into my room. I feel like I’m suffocating in here, like the walls are closing in on me.

I crawl back into bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing and everything all at once. Numbness settles over me, and I let it. I don’t know how long I lie there, my mind running in endless circles, but it must be at least an hour.

Then, faintly, I hear voices outside on the patio. My ears perk up at the low tones, one voice sharper than the other.

Nate and Chris.

I don’t move, barely breathing as I listen.

Nate’s voice is quiet, laced with disbelief. “I just don’t get it, man.”

Chris sighs. “What?”

“This whole thing. I came home with Y/n last night, and I thought-” He pauses, like he’s still processing it. “I thought Matt was different with her. That he actually gave a shit.”

Chris exhales, and I hear the scrape of a chair moving. “I don’t know what the fuck is going if I’m honest.”

Then followed by a pause.

“The girls are leaving soon” Chris says after a moment, his voice more certain. “I told them they have to go.”

Girls? So that means Rachel is in the villa, too.

I close my eyes, pressing my fingers into my temples. The thoughts of the four of them being in that booth all night. It’s not the four it should’ve been.

“Good” Nate finally says, though his voice is distant, still caught up in his thoughts. “That’s good.”

Neither of them says anything after that, just the occasional sound of movement. I don’t know what to do with any of this. Do I go back to sleep and pretend I didn’t hear? Do I stay curled up in bed and wait for them to leave?

I don’t know.

All I do know is that I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I hear the girls voices outside, light and carefree, like they have no idea the storm they’ve left behind.

They laugh, saying their goodbyes, talking about how much fun they had. Christina’s voice is the loudest, going on about how this trip is "so needed." Rachel thanks Chris for having them over last night, her tone full of gratitude, like this was just some casual getaway and not the disaster it turned into.

“We’ll let you know when we’re back at our hotel” Rachel says smoothly.

Chris responds almost too casually, “Yeah, do that. Hopefully, we can meet later. One on one.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the sting in my chest. Of course. Of course, he’s already setting up another meetup, like none of this meant anything. Like bringing them here, ruining everything, was just some minor inconvenience.

How long are they even here for?

I hear the shuffle of movement. I hear Christina giggle, making some passing comment about how wild the night was, and then the sound of the front door closing.

They’re gone.

But the mess they left behind? That’s still here.

I should feel relieved, but all I feel is exhausted.

I don’t move from my bed for the rest of the day. Not for food, not for water. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything settle over me. My mind replays every moment, every touch, every look, every promise Matt ever gave me.

Was it all fake?

Did he ever mean any of it?

Or was his plan to play with me all along?

I feel stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. I let myself believe in something real. I let myself believe in him. And now, I’m left here, in this bed, in this villa, drowning in the realization that I was just another girl to him. Another meaningless moment in his never ending cycle of self sabotage.

Tears well up in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I’ve cried enough.

Instead, I just lay here. Empty.

Four more days in this place. Four more days of agony, of being in the same space as Matt, of pretending I don’t care when it’s eating me alive. Within the last 10 days, everything felt different, full of excitement, possibility. Now, it feels like I’m trapped in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

It’s confusing. All of it. The way he looked at me before, the way he made me feel like I mattered. And now? Now he’s just another person who’s shown me that words mean nothing. That promises are empty.

But one thing is clear.

I don’t want to speak to Matt again.

a/n : GET HIM NICK GET HIM (dw any questions you may have will be answered)

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[lavenderconfessions]

Why is everyone obsessed with calling sapphic relationships in media toxic? People act like they haven’t seen a slow burn enemies-to-lovers done properly before. Meanwhile, straight couples get to break up twice an episode and scream that they hate each other before a heart-wrenching love confession and everyone eats it up. Booktok has got everybody and their mom drooling over heinous serial criminals disguised as anti-heroes who kidnap their victim and traumatize her into submission. Be ffr.

[studiogrimm810]

Agitated

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x gn!reader

summary: you know you're outmatched for a hunt so you call up bobby for some help but instead he sends dean. now you're forced to deal with his cocky attitude and still somehow get this hunt done. this man will be the death of you

warnings: bickering and annoyance, some blood and a fight scene, fadeaway to sex but nothing too graphic

word count: 5,121

A/N: this is a request!!! oh my god i could not stop writing this. i really hope i captured the pure annoyance they have for each other and also framed it into some steamy sexual tension,, idk, lmk how feel about this one!! :):)

———————

This is the worst. The absolute worst. You knew better than to try and go at this hunt alone but you seriously think you’d reconsider if you knew this was the outcome. You got here early, getting a motel room for yourself and eating lunch while waiting for him. Ugh. Him.

There was a nest of at least half a dozen vamps camped out nearby that you’ve been tracking for a while but you’re out of your league here so you called Bobby.

Ah, Bobby. How you loved him. He was quite the mentor for you when you lost your mother. He showed you the ropes, gifted you a car he pieced together on his lot, and offered a listening ear when you needed it. So of course, when you need help, you call him.

Except this time he’s busy so he sends, what he calls his ‘second-best’, Dean fucking Winchester.

God. You had asked if there really wasn’t anyone else he could send but he insisted that Dean was the best he could do. Bobby and Sam apparently were deep into some research for whatever apocalypse they’ve got on their plate now and they could spare Dean for the sake of your safety. Dean needed to hunt anyways, he itched to get back into action.

So now, halfway through rage eating your lunch, you hear the familiar rumble of Dean’s trademark gas-guzzler and plant your face in your hands. If you wanted to successfully complete this hunt then you needed to just take a deep breath and shove aside your irritations.

You finish your lunch and wait for the text or call saying that he’s got a room and is ready to regroup. That call came a lot sooner than expected.

“Hey, Dean,” you greet indifferently.

“Heya, sweetheart,” you can hear his sarcastic smirk and it makes you roll your eyes, “listen, I’ve kinda got a problem here.”

“What?” You try, but fail, to keep the bite out of your voice.

“Motel’s all booked up and the only other one is across town, looks like I’ll have to bunk with you.” God- of course.

“You’re kidding,” you internally groan, biting your tongue.

“Wish I was, sweetheart,” you can hear his own stifled sigh.

“Don’t call me that,” you scold, standing to go to the door and properly greet him. You open the door and he’s leaning against the hood of his car, pocketing his phone and plastering a fake smirk. You’ve noticed he knows how to make you tick. It usually starts as a feigned sweetness but soon sours as you aren’t receptive. He claims he’s trying to keep the peace between you two but you claim he’s full of shit.

“Whatever, princess,” he uses more sarcastically, as if it’s such a high request to ask to be addressed by your own name. “Hope you’ve got the room ‘cause I’m not sleeping on any floors,” Dean states, rounding his car to get his bags out of the trunk.

Fuck. You could shoot yourself if you had the fucking gun.

“Yeah, about that,” you fold your arms over your chest, squinting from the blinding sunlight you’re forced to face to keep looking at him as he moves. Fucking dick.

“No,” Dean demands, his shoulders slacking from lack of effort to keep his bags held. Yep, he’s pissed.

“I never have to share a motel, Dean!” You shrug with an annoyed bitchface. “I’m not all ‘buddy-buddy’ like you and Sam are. I like my privacy.” You squint at him like that’s a dig and not really a chip at your own lonely ego.

“Well I call the bed sweetheart, you can take the couch,” Dean grumbles, scrunching his nose in a mocking manner as he walks past you and into the motel.

Regardless, this was the last room the motel had so it’s not your fault there’s just one bed.

———

“So, you think they’re camped out here?” Dean asks, looking at the map with his arms crossed over his chest. You nod, nibbling on the end of a pen.

“I’ve been tracking them for a while- it’s their kinda hideout,” you add, thinking of different ways to approach this. Dean turns back as if to say something but rolls his eyes at you.

“That’s disgusting,” he points loosely like the oral act isn’t even worth the energy to spotlight.

“Good thing it’s not your pen,” you retort, looking back down at your laptop and refreshing the local news. Dean just scoffs, walking over to the small fridge provided by the motel.

“No beer?” He baffles.

“I’m not an enabler,” you sass, finding it your current life’s mission to kick him at any turn. God, the nerve to come into your room, make his snippy comments at your fidgets, and bash you for not keeping beer on tap like a fucking bartender. You couldn’t wait for this to be over.

“And I’m not an alcoholic.”

Ha, yeah okay.

You scroll around the 3D map on your laptop, looking for different access points of the rundown building but the shitty satellite rendering is too blurry and bubbly to really make anything out.

“Seriously? That’s what you’ve been wasting your time with?” Dean raises a brow.

“I’m checking my bases, Dean, back off,” you groan, leaning back in your chair and rubbing a hand down your face.

“Just sayin’, you’ll get more info first hand, princess, may as well just get on with it,” Dean insists, “not like we have any way to pass the time,” he’s not letting this beer thing go.

“Fine! Let’s just go, guns blazing,” you sit up, scooting back your chair with the force of which you popped up. You go to ruffle through your bag, grabbing a long sleeve shirt to slip over your tank top.

“You’re gonna be cold,” Dean says plainly.

“Shut up,” you shoulder-check him on the way out.

———

The sun is starting to set, casting a beautiful golden haze across the horizon. You two are headed north so thankfully the sun isn’t blinding your peripheral but instead Dean’s.

The drive is quiet other than the hum of some 80s band, or whatever it is Dean is obsessed with, on the radio. It’s weird, you don’t know why your hatred for Dean blossomed so naturally but it just did. Since the second you were disappointed to find that that is who was the sweet Sam Winchesters brother you’ve been irked by just the reminder of his presence.

He probably started it anyway.

The Impala starts to slow as you two come up to the hidden gravel drive for the abandoned building on Dean’s GPS. The rumble of gravel crunching under the tires is a satisfying dig in your ears.

Dean parks the Impala so you two can go the rest of the way on foot. You both gear up and sneak along the tree line until the building is in sight. It’s an old rangers station- blanketed with moss and vines, shards of glass poking out of crunched window frames, entrance doors missing- it looked completely vacant.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say your hunch was wrong,” Dean straightens out of his pre-fight stance. You don’t offer him a response, you just step past him to the entrance to see if there’s even a hint of this being the right place.

There’s nothing.

God, how could you be so stupid? You felt a pit of embarrassment swirl its way around your insides. You couldn’t confront Dean right now. You couldn’t deal with his sarcastic quips.

You have to though, you have to face him to get back to the Impala and back to your shared room. This was torture.

What if more people get hurt because you didn’t find the right spot? The longer you sit and stew the more likely that is to be true. You have to just keep your head on straight and find the next lead.

So with that, you spin on your heel and head back to the Impala. “I don’t wanna hear it,” you mumble as you pass him, this time shifting your shoulder out of the way so you don’t bump into him.

You miss the way Dean’s features soften with understanding and guilt and he decides to keep his mouth shut.

The drive back for you was thick with tension. Your mind ran with how to go about the situation next. What lead to follow and what instincts to trust because apparently this one was wrong.

The drive back for Dean, however, was different. He kept the music to a volume he knew wouldn’t bother you as much and he drummed along to the beat on his steering wheel with his fingers casually, hoping the common habit of his will show that he’s not angry and how you shouldn’t blame yourself so much. That even if it feels as detrimental as it does that in reality it’s not a big deal but just a failed lead.

He doesn’t use his words though. He’s offering common decency and not pleasantries.

You’re quick to duck into the motel as soon as the car is in park and recenter yourself at the drawing board.

Dean hesitates, finding it annoying how much you’re beating yourself up over this. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Maybe it’s because he understands the guilt of not being good enough. Maybe it’s because he just doesn’t want to be around some mopey child. Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

“There have been a few disappearances- the last location they were all seen is this bar. Maybe we could start there,” you’re starting to doubt yourself.

“I agree,” Dean nods from behind you. You turn to look at him, a little taken back by his compliance. No shoving and no pushback.

“Really?” You cock a brow, still finding it odd that he hasn’t bashed you more for your screw up earlier.

“Yeah, I think that’s the next step,” Dean repeats, the annoyance of having to do so showing in his tone. You squint slightly as if waiting for him to say something else but he doesn’t.

“Fine, let’s go,” you walk right back out of the room and to the Impala, not bothering with your jacket or keys.

Dean snatches your keys from the kitchen table and locks up the room. You could thank him but why thank him for locking a door? It’s not like he did anything special.

The bar was in the middle of town so the drive consisted of a lot of turns but was still rather swift. You reach for the door knob but Dean stops you.

“What?” You ask defensively.

“That look normal to you?” Dean points, not matching your tone. What is up with him?

You follow his point, finding a couple making out against the side of the brick building. They look drunk and disoriented but nothing too out of the ordinary for a Friday night outside of a bar.

“He’s faking,” Dean adds, keeping his eyes on the couple but taking your silence as confusion. “He’s not drunk.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Watch,” he leans in a little closer to see them from your angle. “When she kisses his neck he loses his ‘daze’. You can see him scan-, there!” He cuts himself off as the man across the parking lot does exactly what Dean is describing. You look a little closer now, seeing a slimy smirk lift the man’s lips as he grabs the woman with a bit more force.

“Dammit,” you mumble, straightening up in your seat a bit. Before either of you can get out of the car in time, the woman is shoved into a nearby truck and the man climbs in after. Dean fires up the engine and follows the truck from a safe distance.

You beat yourself down a bit, wondering how you managed to miss something so clear. You would’ve overlooked them without a second thought and they turned out to be your next lead. Were you really this bad of a hunter? Maybe Dean was right to have such little trust in you.

“How damn cold do you keep this car?” You hound, wrapping your arms over your chest to try and churn some warmth over yourself.

“I told you you’d be cold,” you could hear the eye-roll without even looking at him. You stare out the window, Dean still staying on the truck's tail.

A few moments pass and you continue to ignore him. “God, if you’re gonna pout about it,” he adjusts, grabbing a spare flannel of his from the back seat, “here.”

“I’m not pouting,” you scoff.

“Sure you’re not. Just take it,” he shoves it in your lap and you hesitate to touch it. “I’m not diseased, princess, you can borrow my clothes. Won’t kill ya’.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, grabbing the flannel and slipping it over your arms. The cloth settles over your skin like a warm blanket and you have to force yourself to ignore how much it smells like him. You feel a need to thank him again but seriously, was it really that special or was he just doing the bare minimum? Or perhaps you were too embarrassed to thank him because doing so would admit that you didn’t entirely dread his presence.

Dean glances over to make sure you actually put it on and hasn't discarded one of his favorite flannels- which he would take as an act of war quite frankly- but is a little stunned to see how homey it makes you look. You're practically drowning in the tarp of cloth, but the way it melts with your skin catches his eyes for a bit too long. To see your hair settle over the pattern like a claim makes him want to never look away.

But he has to because he’s driving and just nicked the rumble strips.

“Driving at night is hard, huh?” You tease, “heard it gets that way with old age.”

“Hey! I’m not that much older than you,” he defends, forcing his eyes in the road ahead and the truck to follow. He can’t let himself wonder why you caught his attention so intensely or why he’s itching to look back for another peek.

Finally, after what felt like years to Dean, the truck turns off into a driveway of an older farm house. Dean drives past and parks off the side of the road around a turn where they won’t be spotted.

Now it’s time to really gear up, but this time it’s a little different. Dean finds himself wanting to make extra sure that you’re set and that you have any possible weapon you might need.

“Stay close, don’t split up under any circumstance,” Dean instructs. He hadn’t done that last time and you want to combat him because who is he to tell you what to do? But the wind brushing over you too carries his scent past your nose again and it’s almost like it shuts you up completely. You just nod in response.

The night sky rained over you two, soft pelts of misty rain dampening your clothes and you’re now really starting to feel thankful for the offered flannel, maybe you should’ve said something. But as you near the home, you reckon it’s not the right time to mention a lousy ‘thanks’ for such a simple offer.

Dean picks the lock of the back door and you follow him in, machete in hand. You can hear voices and laughter flowing from what you guess to be the main room. Dean halts right along the door frame, ducking in to count what they’re up against, he holds up 3 fingers to you and you nod.

On his signal, you both pounce.

The fight is brutal on your muscles since you often forget just how strong vamp’s are. The one you’re up against is at least a foot taller than you and is bulkier than is really fair, but you use the advantage of being smaller to slip out of his grasp and decapitate him from behind.

Dean is next to take care of his opponent and now it’s two against one. The vamp comes after you first, probably thinking you’re a quicker target, but Dean intercepts and slams the vamp

against a wall. You take this opportunity to go to the woman from earlier who is huddled in a corner, watching in horror as this happens.

Thankfully, she is physically unharmed and the adrenaline of the situation has burned through the alcohol she had ingested.

“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you,” you shake your head with arms braced to show you aren’t a threat. “Can you walk?” You ask. She nods. “Good, okay,” you reach over to the pocket of one of the vamps, seeing a set of keys hooked to his belt loop, and hand the keys to her. “The truck outside. Take it and go- now.”

She snatched the keys and bolts. You breathe a breath of relief at how easy it was to get her out of here. You turn to see that Dean is still fighting the creature and you jump to your feet, approaching them. You bring up your weapon but the vamp sees you in time and shoves you hard. You stumble into a dusty china cabinet and hear Dean call your name. The impact rattles through your body but you have to help. You have to.

Getting to your feet takes a moment, but a pained gasp sets you with a fresh rush of adrenaline. The vamp has latched its teeth into Dean’s neck. He’s paralyzed with pain, raspy breaths barely escaping his gaped lips. That’s all the fucking power you need. You ram into the vamp, getting him to unhook his jaw and throwing him to the ground. In the blood drunken haze, you’re able to rid of its head with a quick swipe of your machete.

Dean groans, sliding against the wall and you drop your weapon, running to him.

“Hey-, you’re okay,” you speak before you have enough evidence to believe it. “You with me?”

“Y-Yeah,” he pants, his head going slack on the side he wasn’t bitten. It’s deep.

“Okay, hold on,” you say, reaching down to rip off a good portion of your shirt to cover the bleeding. He reaches out to stop you. “Don’t worry, it’s not your precious flannel I’m tearing up,” you actually joke. Not as a mock or tease but as an actual joke that you smile for to show your lightheartedness.

“With you? I’d never know what to believe,” he comes back. He doesn’t seem to have enough energy to smile but you can tell the initial joke was receptive.

He hisses as you press the cloth against his wound, your other hand cupping his cheek to keep him in place. His intense screw of pain seems to melt a bit under your touch.

“We gotta get you outta here, big guy,” you pat his cheek lightly, trying to keep him present. “How dizzy you are, can you walk?” You ask, unsure of how much blood he’s lost.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart,” he slurs. Dumbass.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” you huff, removing your free hand to grab his own hand. You swear he whined when you did so, but it was so quiet and could’ve been excused as a draw of pain. “Hold tight, okay?” You instruct. You knew if he had enough energy he would be batting you away and demanding he knew how to handle a wound like this and it almost worries you that he’s not. “C’mon,” you snake your arm around his back, lifting him the best you can and thankfully he works with you. You’re really gonna have to start saying your thanks out loud.

You lead him out the front door and curse as the rain has picked up. You can’t walk him through this- between the blood loss and getting wet, he’ll freeze. You set him in a semi-stable looking chair and use your hands to steady his face. The reaction he gives you when your skin lands on his stirs a curiosity in you.

“Wait here, keep applying pressure, I’m gonna get the car,” you enunciate so he can really hear you.

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m letting you drive my baby,” he slurs but you're already fishing through his leather jacket pockets.

“Try and stop me, pretty boy,” you say it as a tease- reprimand for the nicknames he’s bugged you with- but it rolls off your tongue with more meaning than you intended.

He doesn’t fight you as you head off to the hidden location of the Impala. The rain drenched you quickly but you don’t let that slow you down. Dean needs you.

Dean would fight more- he really would. If this were a situation where you needed him or Sammy needed him, he could fight past the haze of blood loss. He could drive his own damn car to safety. If he really needed to, he’s sure his body could supply enough adrenaline to power him through his own petty pain. But that’s just it. He doesn’t need to, and in all reality he can’t but it’s just that if he convinces himself that he’s choosing to let you take care of him then that’s less embarrassing then failing you.

He forces on his consciousness, waiting for the familiar growl of his precious Baby. His chariot to take him far from here and to shelter him in times of need.

And there it is.

He peels his eyes open enough to see you emerge for his car and goddamn. Your clothes are wet and stuck against your skin- his flannel hugging your torso like he should be. To see you in his clothes and in the driver's seat of his car is enough to feel his heart stutter.

“Let’s get you situated,” you announce, slipping your arm to its previous hold around his body. He stands with more strength now and you feel your worry dampen. Dean doesn’t argue and doesn’t make a comment about you driving his car again but he does mumble something about you letting him get in the car by himself so you can get out of the rain. You don’t listen and it ignites the familiar burn of anger in his chest that he’s actually used to with you.

After making sure he’s settled, you close his door and round back to the driver's side, pulling out of the driveway and carefully navigating through the foggy rain and back to the motel.

Light conversation buzzes between you in a primary attempt to keep him awake but also a secondary want to continue to just chat. You’ve never really just talked with him like this before. When you first met, he was quick to flirt and when you weren’t receptive you assumed he took it to heart and turned cold on you. You don’t recognize that Dean right now in the slightest.

He’s able to walk by himself by the time you make it back to the motel. He stumbles out of the car in a stubborn attempt to prove such but you remind him that just because he technically can doesn’t mean he should be expected to. He doesn’t mention how much your statement actually resonates with him.

“Sit,” you instruct, placing him on the king bed that reminds you of your sleeping arrangements. It’s a subtle irk but not enough for you to dwell on again, you have bigger problems to deal with at present. You grab your first aid kit and shuffle through the items and get to work.

The heat is blasting and you managed to get a towel to wrap around his damp frame to keep him from shivering but he’s also got enough energy to combat you, so now you’ve ended up with the towel around your shoulders.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask as you pour the disinfectant over the wound. He hisses but answers the distraction in the form of a question.

“Fine, sweetheart, don’t worry about me,” he says in his usual gruff. No longer slurring. Progress.

“Too late,” you murmur, cleaning the stained blood.

“Awe, someone starting to care? Who gave you a heart?” Dean smirks. You don’t entertain the usual banter.

“You could’ve died,” the words pass your lips with a slight waver. You dry the wound, starting to dress it.

“But I didn’t,” Dean reminds, his eyes watching yours for any hint as to why you got so freaked.

“Yeah,” you say out of obligation and not belief.

“Hey,” he reaches up to stop your working hands and when you don’t meet his gaze and calls your name. “I’m okay,” he repeats once your eyes meet his- you couldn’t help yourself with the way your name sounded on his tongue. “I’ve survived a lot worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s meant to.”

You sigh, looking down at his hands around your own now idle ones.

“Okay,” you finally agree, hoping the false belief will settle your nerves enough.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me,” he jokes with a smirk, “you know how persistent I can be,” he winks and you roll your eyes even if his wink bubbles something in you that’s never been effected by him like that before.

“Shut up and let me finish this,” you push aside his hold and secure the bandage to his skin. After packing back up the kit you start to stand but Dean stops you. His hand grips your wrist gently but the gravity of something not physical pulls you against your will. His lips part like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. He almost looks ashamed as he drops his hold on you like it’s burned him.

“What?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

“Nothin’, sorry,” he shakes his head, averting his gaze.

“You can tell me,” it’s not something you’d ever expect to offer but you can quite help yourself when he looks so pathetic.

“We should get into some dry clothes.”

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, knowing that’s not what he was talking about but accepting it as it is. You grab your bag and get out some comfortable clothes for sleep. You excuse yourself to the bathroom but curse at the broken latch.

“No peeking,” you warn after alerting Dean to the issue and he just scoffs a smirk.

“No promises.” And fuck, he’s glad he didn’t make it because through the crack he catches a glimpse of your shimmering skin as you dry off and replace your outfit with a pair of sleep shorts and a way too big shirt. He admires the cozy feel your clothes give you. As you exit the bathroom he clears his throat and busies himself with getting his bed ready on the couch.

“What’re you doing?” You ask as he lays a blanket over the couch.

“Getting ready for bed,” he says as if it’s a stupid question.

“We can share a bed, Dean, it won’t kill ya,” you use his own remark from earlier against him. You don’t know why he’s suddenly so docile. You worry maybe the injury burned him of his usual spark. “Seriously, don’t make me watch you sleep crunched up on that couch,” you insist.

“Fine,” he subsides, making his way back over to you and the bed. You start to crawl under the covers, sticking to your side but the radiating heat of how close he is makes you want to scooch closer.

“Night, Dean,” you say as he flicks the lamp off but he’s quiet and unmoving, like he has some sort of unfinished business. You push yourself up on your elbow and look back at him sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay seriously, what’s up with you?”

No response.

“Dean?”

He sighs, turning to look back at you as well. His profile is illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from a split in the curtains.

“Thank you,” his voice is small like you’ve never expected he was capable of. You sit up fully, turning to him with your legs folded.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you shake your head, a small smile pulling up your lips. He doesn’t return the expression.

“You’re a good hunter, yaknow,” he compliments like he won’t get another chance to tell you so. You smile a bit bigger.

“Dean Winchester, did you just flatter me?” You tease.

“You’re strong and resilient,” he continues and your smile falters a bit due to your confusion. “Stubborn and a pain in my ass,” his expression remains a softened yearn. “I never knew why you got to me so damn  bad. You’re smart and funny and captivating,” he snaps his jaw like he crossed a line and his cheeks flush. “I- I think I know now,” he finishes after a beat.

“Know what?” You ask, your heart puttering in your chest.

“Why I can’t get you off my mind,” his eyes dip down to your lips, “why, no matter what I do, I can’t forget you,” he looks so pained. So conflicted.

It hits. It all hits. His helpful offerings, your banter, the way he responded to your touch, and the way you felt yourself reciprocating his apparent feelings.

You lean in, you can’t help it, he’s so beautiful in this light- the way his eyes sparkle under it- but he tenses as you get too close so you halt.

“What are you afraid of?” You ask with a simple head tilt.

“I uh-, haven’t got that one worked out just yet,” he scoffs simply and his smile forces a small one of your own.

“Then just shut up for a minute,” you shake your head, leaning in and placing a soft kiss against his lips. It’s almost a ghost of a kiss but you can feel the emotion he funnels into it. He’s soft and gentle at first but his desperation takes over, leading the kiss through a dizzying spiral as he guides you into the mattress, hovering over you and encapsulating you with his radiating heat.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you’re unsure where your clothes have ended up. He doesn’t stop kissing you until you forget your own name. He doesn’t stop kissing you until your breathless pants slow from your high.

And when all is said and done, he doesn’t stop holding you through the night until the warmth of the sun blesses your exposed skin.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

[inseobts]

TRAITOR pt.3

law x traitor!reader

PART 1 - PART 2 ⤳ PART 4 (coming soon)

words count: 3.2k

tags: series, enemies to lover(?), traitor reader

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

That night, you make the call.

You slip away from the crew, knowing that tonight’s the night you have to act. The alliance is too close to the finish line. You can’t afford to wait any longer.

And if you have to use your powers… Well, you’ll use them.

You know exactly where the Poneglyphs are kept. You’ve been studying them for months now. And just as you’re about to make your move, you hear a voice behind you.

It’s Law again.

“Y/N…” His voice is soft, but the tension in it is unmistakable “Don’t do this.”

You freeze, your hand already on the door to the storage room. You turn slowly, your heart pounding. You knew he's way too smart to get played like this and this easily.

“You don’t have to go through with it” he continues, taking a step closer “I can help you. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

You feel the pull of his words.

You want to believe him, but you can’t. You can’t stay. You can’t let them get too close.

“I’m sorry, Law” you whisper, and then you do what you’ve been avoiding for so long.

With a single flick of your wrist, you reach into his mind, just enough to disorient him, to make him forget what he’s about to see.

In the blink of an eye, you twist his perception of reality, shifting the air around him, clouding his thoughts. His eyes glaze over as he loses track of time, lost in your manipulation.

You step through the door, your power still simmering beneath the surface, but just for a moment, you give in.

Just this once.

You’ve never used your power on Law before. Not once. But tonight, you had no choice.

You watch as his sharp golden eyes glaze over, his body momentarily swaying. It’s unnatural—seeing him like this. Trafalgar Law, the man who always sees through everything, the one person who should be immune to deception.

Yet here he stands, caught in the delicate strings of your ability.

“I’m sorry, Captain” you murmur, stepping through the door and leaving him behind.

You don’t look back. You can’t afford to.

You move fast.

Your real crew is waiting for you. Not physically, not here, but they’re watching from the shadows, tracking your every move. They know you’re close. They know you’re almost done.

You just need the final piece. Steal the Poneglyph copies.

That’s why you joined the Heart Pirates. That’s why you stayed, why you fought beside them, why you let yourself get close to Law. It was never about them. It was never about him.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

Your hands move on autopilot, reaching for the hidden compartment in Law’s office. You’ve seen him open it before. You know exactly where the safe is, where he keeps the things he doesn’t want others to find.

Click.

The lock releases.

Your fingers close around the scrolls, and just like that—it’s over. You have what you came for. So why does your chest feel tight?

You shove the feeling down and turn on your heel, heading for the exit. But the moment you step into the hallway—

A shift.

A presence.

And your stomach drops.

He’s already after you.

Standing at the end of the corridor, his back straight, golden eyes locked onto yours. His sword is at his side, his expression unreadable.

You freeze.

No.

He shouldn’t be awake. Your ability should have kept him under long enough for you to be gone.

Law tilts his head slightly, his gaze sharp as ever “So… that’s your real ability.”

He remembers. Your heart pounds. This is bad. Worse than bad.

You take a step back, fingers twitching at your sides, ready to manipulate the space between you, to push into his mind again if necessary.

But something about the way he’s looking at you makes you hesitate.

Not anger.

Not even betrayal.

Just… disappointment.

That’s worse.

“You were planning this the whole time” he states. It’s not a question. It’s a fact.

You swallow hard, trying to find an escape “Law, I...”

He takes a step forward.

And suddenly, you feel it... A sharp, pulsing tug in the air.

Your body jerks. The space around you shifts. And before you can react, you’re somewhere else—teleported, thrown against the wall by his ability.

Your breath catches. He used Shambles on you.

“You used your power on me” His voice is eerily calm, but you can feel the storm brewing beneath it “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

You don’t answer. You can’t, because there’s nothing left to say.

You’re caught.

And for the first time since you started this mission—

You don’t know how to get out of it.

You’re trapped.

Law has you pinned against the wall, golden eyes burning with unreadable emotion. His Shambles forced you here in an instant, disorienting you just long enough to throw off your next move.

Your instincts scream at you to act—twist his mind again, erase this moment, make him forget like you did before.

But something stops you... His expression.

You were expecting rage. You were prepared for it—anger, betrayal, anything. But this? This is different.

Law isn’t furious. He isn’t even yelling. He just looks… tired. Tired in a way that makes your chest ache.

“You used me” His voice is too calm, too controlled.

You don’t reply. What can you even say? He already knows the answer.

Law takes a slow step toward you, closing the distance between you both “How long?”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. He’s too close. If he gets any nearer, you’ll have to make a choice—fight, run, or lie.

You wet your lips “Does it matter?”

His jaw tightens “It does to me.”

Something in your gut twists at his words, but you force yourself to stay focused. You can’t afford emotions right now.

Your escape window is closing. You need to get out of here.

Your mind races, calculating your next move. You could use your ability again—push into his thoughts, force him to let you go. But Law isn’t stupid. He’s already seen what you can do, and now he’s watching you closely.

If you make one wrong move, you won’t get another chance.

So instead, you try the only other option left.

Words.

You tilt your head, forcing a smirk despite the tension “What? Did you think this was real?”

Law doesn’t move.

You step forward, leaning in slightly, your voice dropping to something softer “Come on, Captain. You’re too smart to have actually believed me.”

His breath hitches—so faint you almost miss it.

Good. You press further, tilting your head as if amused “You thought I cared about you?” A scoff leaves your lips “I was only using you.”

There... You say it. The words cut through the air like a blade, slicing into the space between you.

You expect anger. You expect him to lash out, to yell, to hate you. But he doesn’t.

Law just stares at you, silent. His golden eyes don’t waver, don’t even flicker with emotion.

And that’s somehow worse.

You swallow, suddenly feeling… uneasy.

Why isn’t he reacting?

Why does it feel like you just lost this fight?

“…Is that what you keep telling yourself?” Law finally speaks, his voice quiet, but edged with something unreadable.

Your breath catches.

“What?”

Law takes another step closer... too close now, dangerously close, until you can see every shift in his expression, every flicker of something deeper in his gaze.

“You’re lying.”

Your pulse jumps.

He can’t know that. He can’t.

Law tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s about to solve “I’ve seen you fight for this crew. I’ve seen the way you look at us... at me.” His voice drops, softer now, but firm “If this was just a mission, why didn’t you leave sooner?”

You clench your fists “Because I needed the Poneglyph copies.”

He shakes his head “That’s not the only reason.”

Damn him.

Damn him for being too smart.

You grit your teeth, trying to keep your mask up “Believe whatever you want... Captain” you say, voice cold “It doesn’t change the truth.”

Law studies you for a long moment. You hate how much he’s looking at you, how much he’s seeing.

Then he exhales, taking a small step back. And just like that, you get your opening. You move... fast.

Before Law can react, your mind reaches out, power snapping into place. The corridor distorts, reality bending around him as you twist his perception for just a second—long enough to slip past him.

Law curses, reaching for his sword, but you’re already gone.

You sprint through the halls of the Polar Tang, heart hammering, your stolen prize tucked beneath your coat. Your only thought is escape.

You need to get off this ship, and fast.

The moment you hit the deck, chaos erupts with the alarm sound.

The crew is now awake.

Lights flash, voices shout, and you realize—Law must have set off an alert the second he saw you.

Shit.

“Y/N?! What the hell?!” Penguin’s voice echoes from the other side of the ship.

You don’t stop. You don’t even look at them.

You leap onto the railing, preparing to jump, to disappear into the ocean where your real crew is waiting—

“ROOM.”

Your body locks in place mid-air, frozen as the space around you twists.

And then— You’re back on the deck, slammed onto your knees, trapped in a sphere of Law’s ability.

Your breath shudders as you glance up.

Law stands before you, katana drawn, eyes shadowed beneath his hat.

He’s done playing.

“Don’t move” he orders, voice dangerously low.

The crew is gathering behind him, watching in confusion and shock. Shachi, Penguin, Bepo—they’re all looking at you like they don’t even know who you are anymore.

Because they don’t.

Because the person they trusted never really existed.

You clench your fists, forcing yourself to keep your expression blank.

This is bad... worse than bad.

You were supposed to escape by now. You were never supposed to get caught.

And yet—here you are. Trapped... cornered, with no way out.

Law’s voice cuts through the night, sharp and cold.

“Start talking.”

You meet his gaze.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

You have no idea what to say.

The deck is silent.

No one moves.

Not Bepo. Not Penguin. Not Shachi. And certainly not Law.

You kneel on the cold metal surface, frozen inside the boundaries of his Room, every breath feeling heavier than the last. The stolen Poneglyph copies are still tucked beneath your coat.

Law keeps his katana pointed at you, the tip gleaming under the dim lights of the submarine. His golden eyes, usually sharp with calculation, are unreadable.

“I said start talking” he orders, voice controlled, but edged with something darker.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. Think. There’s still a way out of this. There has to be.

But the way the crew is looking at you... Shachi, arms crossed, face hard with disbelief. Penguin, shifting uncomfortably, like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. Bepo, ears drooped, expression heart-wrenchingly confused.

They trusted you, and now, they don’t even know who you are.

Law tilts his head slightly, waiting “I won’t ask again.”

You look at him, really look at him.

You were never supposed to let it get this far. You were never supposed to care. But now, kneeling here, trapped under his gaze, you realize something— You don’t want to lie to him. Not anymore. But you have to.

“…What do you want me to say?” you murmur, keeping your tone neutral “That I played you? That I fooled all of you?” You exhale a short laugh, empty and sharp “Fine. You already figured it out, didn’t you?”

Law’s expression doesn’t change “Why?”

Simple. Direct.

The question lingers in the air, heavier than it should be.

You shift slightly, testing the invisible hold of his Room. The second you make a real move, he’ll react. You know that. But maybe—just maybe—you can still turn this around.

You meet his gaze, tilting your head “You already know why, Captain.”

He watches you carefully “Tell me anyway.”

You exhale through your nose. Fine.

“I was after the Poneglyphs,” you admit, tapping your coat where the stolen scrolls are hidden “That’s all this ever was. You were a means to an end. The Heart Pirates, this alliance—” You force a smirk “None of it was real.”

The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Law says nothing for a moment.

Then—

“That’s bullshit.”

Your smirk falters.

“What?”

Law steps closer, his sword still steady, but his voice quieter now “If it wasn’t real, you would’ve left sooner. You had plenty of chances.” His gaze sharpens “And you wouldn’t have hesitated just now.”

You freeze.

Shit. He caught that?

You recover quickly, rolling your eyes “Believe whatever you want, Captain. It doesn’t change anything.”

Law’s jaw tightens “Then say it again.”

You blink “What?”

“Look me in the eyes,” he says, stepping even closer, until he’s towering over you, “and say it again.”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. The words stick in your throat, because deep down, you know... if you say it again, if you really try to convince him, it won’t just be a lie to him.

It’ll be a lie to yourself.

And that scares you more than getting caught ever did.

The crew watches in tense silence, waiting for your next move.

Law’s grip on his sword tightens “You can’t, can you?”

Damn him for knowing you too well.

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms. If you don’t act now, you won’t get another chance. So you make your choice.

In one swift motion, you shove your power outward—

A sudden wave of energy ripples through the Room, distorting reality just enough to catch Law off guard.

“Shit—!”

The moment his control slips, you move.

Your body vanishes, slipping between perception and space, a trick you’ve mastered over years of training. For a split second, you’re everywhere and nowhere, dodging the grasp of reality itself.

And when you reappear... behind him. Law spins too late. You don’t hesitate.

With a flick of your fingers, you snap his mind just enough to throw him into a moment of disorientation. His breath catches. His sword falters. His focus breaks. And you run.

Voices shout behind you.

“Get her!”

“She’s heading for the water!”

“Stop her before—”

Too late.

You reach the edge of the Polar Tang, heart pounding, pulse screaming in your ears. The cold night air whips against your face as you take one last look back.

Law has already recovered. He’s glaring at you from across the deck, eyes sharp, fury crackling just beneath the surface.

Your chest tightens.

You don’t let yourself hesitate and with a final breath, you jump.

The ocean swallows you whole until someone from your crew brings you to the ship, hidden in the darkness.

You pull yourself onto the deck, dripping and breathless, heart still hammering from the escape.

Your captain—your real captain—leans against the railing, arms crossed “Took you long enough.”

You toss the stolen scrolls onto the deck “I got what we came for.”

He picks them up, examining them briefly before smirking “Not bad.” Then his gaze flickers to you “And the Heart Pirates?”

You force a smirk, shaking off the lingering weight in your chest. “What about them?”

Your captain watches you for a moment before chuckling “You always were a good liar.”

You don’t respond, because for the first time in your life— You’re not sure if that’s true anymore.

You should feel victorious. You got what you came for. You won.

So why does it feel like you lost?

The stolen Poneglyph copies sit untouched on the table in front of you. You can hear the muffled sounds of your real crew moving about the ship, celebrating the success of your mission. You should be out there with them.

But instead, you’re here.

Sitting alone in the captain’s quarters, staring at the very thing you sacrificed everything for.

Your fingers drum against the wood, restless. You don’t even flinch when the door swings open, and your captain strides in.

“Still brooding?” His voice is amused, but there’s an edge to it. He steps closer, arms crossed “Don’t tell me you actually feel bad.”

You scoff, forcing a smirk “Why would I?”

He tilts his head, studying you “That’s what I’d like to know.”

You roll your eyes “I did what I had to do.”

“Did you?”

His tone is too casual, too knowing.

You tense “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, glancing at the scrolls “You had multiple chances to finish the job earlier. Yet you hesitated. A lot.” His gaze flickers back to you, sharp and calculating “Tell me… was it really just a mission to you?”

A dangerous question.

One you don’t want to answer.

So you don’t.

Instead, you stand, brushing past him toward the door “What does it matter? We got what we wanted.”

He lets you go—but not before chuckling under his breath “If you say so.”

You don’t look back, because if you do, you might start doubting yourself all over again.

Meanwhile, On the Polar Tang

“I still don’t believe it.”

Shachi slams his hands onto the table in the mess hall, shaking his head furiously “There’s just no way y/n betrayed us! Maybe she was brainwashed! Maybe she was forced into it!”

“She used her powers against us...” Penguin mutters, arms crossed, his usual easygoing demeanor completely gone “That wasn’t an accident.”

Bepo looks between them, ears drooping “But… she was our friend.”

No one knows what to say to that. Silence lingers between them—until the door swings open and Law steps inside. Every head turns to him.

He looks… exhausted. Dark circles shadow his golden eyes, and his expression is unreadable as he walks past them to the table.

Shachi is the first to break the silence “Captain—”

“She was a spy,” Law says simply, cutting straight to the point “She infiltrated us for informations and the Poneglyph copies.”

His voice is calm. Too calm.

Bepo shifts uncomfortably “Then… that means everything was a lie?”

Shachi grits his teeth “I still don’t buy it. Come on, Captain, you know her. She fought for us. She laughed with us. She—”

“She lied.”

Law’s voice is firm, but there’s something heavy beneath it. Something almost… reluctant.

Penguin frowns “Did you talk to her before she escaped?”

A pause.

Then—

“Yes.”

“And?”

Law exhales slowly, fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table. His usual sharpness is dulled, like his mind is elsewhere.

“…She said it was all an act.”

The room is silent again.

Then Shachi scoffs “And you actually believe that?”

Law finally looks up, his golden eyes locking onto Shachi’s.

“I don’t know.”

That admission—that uncertainty—hits harder than anything else.

Because Law always knows.

Always.

Back on Your Ship

Days pass.

You don’t reach for the stolen scrolls again. You don’t even look at them.

But you do think about golden eyes. About a crew that trusted you. About the way Law looked at you before you left.

You should be moving forward. This is what you chose.

So why does it feel like something is pulling you back?

And why do you have the terrible, sinking feeling that this isn’t over yet?

Tag List: @dana-nite - @osakis-gf - @crmnic

[spentimental]

Guys- You guys- Werewolves- God's warriors. Vampires- the devil's minions

A werewolf x vampire enemies-to-lovers story that is simultaneously an angel x demon story

I’ve been reading about werewolves on Wikipedia and I just have to say. “Werewolves are warriors that descend into hell to fight demons” kicks unbelievable amounts of ass as a concept

[lyworth]

She's proud of her handiwork (and he loves it)✨💅

Drew this lil thing as a cover for my "Valentine's*" fic, which I just finished off today!💕It's up on AO3 and Wattpad! Snippet under the cut.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “For the handkerchief.”

A lump rises in Ominis’ throat. He manages to nod.

“If you could—” Allegra clears her throat. “—Gaunt, please don’t—”

“Tell?” he finishes. He sighs, flashing her a brief smile. “A talent of mine, if you’d believe it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Fair.”

Another smile. She’d stolen many from him tonight.

“I should get back to Gryffindor. You should get back to Prefect duty,” she says. She rises to her feet, marked by a whirl of skirts and a brief rush of air. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He stands and listens to her walk away, each footstep growing softer as she slowly makes her way down the stairs.

Then:

“Gaunt?”

Ominis tilts his head. “Chant?”

“You shouldn’t use such cheap silk for your handkerchiefs,” she says loftily. “It’ll give you pimples.” She hmphs, although there is a teasing note in it. “You’d think a Gaunt would be able to tell the difference.”

Ominis smirks. “Five points from Gryffindor.”

She laughs, and Ominis hears the swoosh of her hair as she tosses it, marching away in a chorus of clicking heels.

[voxconcordia]

Two different beds, two different times. These are the Chapter 13 Doodles for Of Our Own Making, and we're still going strong on the hurt/comfort folks. Of Our Own Making, Chapter 13 Of Our Own Making, Entire Work