#my best friend watched it and he really liked it :3

[seokminfilm]

tease, choi seungcheol

♫ pairing, choi seungcheol x reader ♫ warnings, non-idol au, fluff, brother's best friend trope, mutual attraction, lots of romantic tension, one kiss, cursing (seungcheol says 'fucking' once), reader is mingyu's younger sister, slight age gap (seungcheol is 3 years older than reader), reader is a girlboss, seungcheol pretends to act shy but eventually takes control, very self-indulgent ♫ synopsis, seungcheol was a patient person, really. he had tried his hardest to hold back. when it came to you, though, he lost all of that virtue.

♫ author's note, requested by @hhaechansmoless!! felt like i was about to get into writer's block earlier today and calli came to the rescue with this idea 😭ALSO pls bear with me!! changed my theme today which means changing my layout ☝NOW WITHOUT FURTHER ADO enjoy this "brother's best friend" seungcheol fic! (p.s. thanks to @yudaies and @slytherinshua for being a real one and helping me out)

♫ now playing, telepatia (kali uchis)

♫ word count, 1.5k (yeah im sorry) | for @kstrucknet

if it wasn't annoyingly obvious by now, your eyes had one destination this whole trip, and that was on choi seungcheol, your older brother's best friend.

you and mingyu's family had gone on a weekend trip to an expensive beach house to celebrate your college graduation, and you had been all over seungcheol ever since he showed up to the front door step of your house. as much as seungcheol pretended to deny it, he couldn't help but admit that he thought the way that you wanted to be all over him was adorable.

you had liked seungcheol ever since he and mingyu were seniors in high school: as mingyu's best friend, he came home after school often, and you stared at him like he had hung the sun in the sky.

it was an unspoken rule that seungcheol had made years ago when he noticed how pretty you were─you were mingyu's younger sister, and dating you would be weird, especially since you were almost three years younger than him.

no matter how hard seungcheol worked to uphold the promise he had made, you made it extremely hard, especially when you were so confident and direct in what you wanted. seungcheol found that aspect of you so attractive, and as much as he pretended to be shy and reserved about you, his patience was wearing thin.

as you stared at seungcheol's shirtless figure, trying your hardest not to gape at his muscled back and arms, you thought to yourself how you would let seungcheol know what you wanted. it was obvious to everyone how much you wanted seungcheol (even mingyu knew your schoolgirl crush)─everyone except seungcheol.

the sun was starting to set, shimmering in the pool's water as mingyu came up from under the surface, hair like a mop on his head as he laughed. your mother and father were somewhere inside, probably up to no good, leaving you, mingyu, and seungcheol to do whatever you want. mingyu had just exclaimed that he was getting hungry, waddling out of the pool like a confused penguin as he hastily wrapped a towel around his dripping waist and sloppily sprinting inside the house.

seungcheol leaves the pool seconds later, chest glistening with water as he dries his light pink hair. the chain around his neck winked at you, and you couldn't help but sigh to yourself, watching as seungcheol shook his head at mingyu, saying something to him that you didn't even bother registering.

"hey, seungcheol." you call out, watching proudly as seungcheol’s deep brown eyes lock on your figure. you chose your favorite bathing suit (knowing good and well it was seungcheol's favorite too), lounging on a chair as you smile to yourself, getting a great idea. deciding to be a menace, you hang out a dry towel to him, dangling it in front of him like it’s a million dollars.

seungcheol does nothing, watching you with eyes filled with conflicting emotions as you tilt your head to the side. “what? you want the towel?”

“yeah, i want it.” seungcheol answers, a smirk on his face as he approaches you. his wet footsteps resound throughout the patio, and you don’t back down when seungcheol stops inches in front of you, dark brown eyes locked on your figure.

it was moments like this that seungcheol wanted nothing more but to cup your face in his hands and give you a long, hard kiss. you teased him with everything you did, every glance playful and every question teasing; it made him go insane, having to be the bigger person and ignore your advancements on him. all he wanted to do was make you his, but he had a promise to keep. you weren’t going to make him break it.

(only if you stopped doing things like this, though. he didn’t know how much longer he could take, having to hold back like this.)

“come and get it, cheol. i know you can.” your voice has dropped in volume, now a teasing whisper as you let the towel sway back and forth in your hands. seungcheol stares at you, feeling the tension in the air as he tries to snatch the towel away from you. you’re quicker than him, and swiftly hide it behind you, causing seungcheol to lose his chance at victory over you and your teasing. 

“you drive me insane.” seungcheol’s sentence comes out as a breathy chuckle, but he means it with all the seriousness in the world. you did drive him insane, teasing him and toying with him like you had all the power in the world. at this moment in time, you did have all the power in the world, and seungcheol wanted so badly to take it from you in one fell swoop.

“just like you do to me.” you slyly tap the tip of seungcheol’s strong nose, reveling in the way he squints at you as you throw him the towel. finally standing up with your items, you stare at seungcheol for a second longer, studying every feature of his face you can in a few seconds. Without another word, you give seungcheol a wink, disappearing back inside to silently bask in your victory over seungcheol.

little did you know, seungcheol had finally reached his end. he wanted you, and he was going to get you, one way or another.

after a delicious dinner and competitive game night, you had returned to your room, finally settling down to go to sleep. you had been distracted all night, and even your mother noticed it, not able to hold back a chuckle when she saw you and seungcheol exchanging wanton glances at each other the whole game. you would be lying if you weren’t staring at every movement seungcheol made, studying the way his veins flexed when shuffling through uno cards, or his sweet chuckle when laughing at a stupid move mingyu made.

you and seungcheol had been toying with each other all night, both eager to get the other one to break. seungcheol was losing at the moment, enamored with everything you did─he noticed how your fingers would linger on his forearm for a few seconds longer than usual, and your tone became soft and pliable when speaking of him. it was cute, seeing seungcheol melt with the simple tactics you used. 

if he wasn’t going to make the move, someone had to spur him on, right?

a knock brings you back from dreamland, and you stand up from your bed, heading to the door and opening it to reveal the topic of your night standing in a tank top way too tight and shorts that barely touched his knees. his light pink hair was dry from the shower he had taken earlier, and he didn’t say anything for a few seconds, brown eyes boring into you as you smiled at him seconds later.

“what a pleasant surprise,” your body language says it all─you’re excited to see seungcheol. you can’t stand still, fidgeting with your hands as seungcheol bites back a smirk. you weren’t all flirty remarks and coy glances.

“this shouldn’t be a surprise. i came for my shirt.” seungcheol says, and you laugh, secretly surprised that he remembered. during the road trip, mingyu spilled red juice all over your white top, causing you to have a wardrobe malfunction in a gas station ten minutes later. seungcheol (being the angel he is) lent you one of his shirts, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself once you got back in the car, knowing you had gotten one of seungcheol’s shirts without even having to ask.

“can’t i keep it? it’s just one shirt─you’re so rich i bet you have ten of these.” you laugh breathily, and seungcheol laughs with you, actually letting go as he shakes his head.

“why do you have to be so difficult?” seungcheol’s stepped a bit closer now, body blocking the view of the other side of the door. his voice was low, eyes searing hot on your skin as he slowly tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. slightly fazed by the gesture, you step back, luring seungcheol into your room even more as he catches the memo, closing it behind him.

“you know, i’ve been waiting for this moment for a while now.” seungcheol says, voice setting your whole body on fire as you let his hands ghost over your hips. 

“have you really?” you ask, and seungcheol nods, a sly smirk on his face as he chuckles.

“i have. you're such a fucking tease.” seungcheol curses, and you giggle, cheeks heating up at his sentence.

“you are terrible at hiding your emotions.” seungcheol laughs aloud, and you can’t help but laugh with him, tempted to reach your fingers out and run them through seungcheol’s soft pink hair.

“and i bet you’re terrible at kissing.” you tease playfully, looking seungcheol dead in the eyes as he tilts his head to the side, raising his eyebrows at you as he lowers his voice to a whisper.

“really? want to test that theory out?” seungcheol poses, now too far to go back. he was finally getting what he had waited so long for, and you were waiting for him to get it, patient as you lead him on.

“only if you take the lead,” you whisper, and seungcheol nods, glancing down at your lips once more before finally kissing them, taking all the confidence out of you in a single sigh as he chuckled after pulling away.

all of this to say, seungcheol was a very good kisser.

[alexlwrites]

𝐀 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥'𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Jungkook x Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:  The one where you hate your boyfriend's best friend. Lucky for you, your boyfriend's other best friend's girlfriend hates her too.

OR

Hoseok's girlfriend will not let you be disrespected.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: Angst, Short.

✿ 𝐀/𝐍: this is Aera, btw. We all need one in our lives.

Anyway, very short and silly one shot. Maybe one day I'll write YN or JK's POV.

°•. ✿ .•°

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi <3)

°•. ✿ .•°

Aera had, as a personal rule, the habit of not meddling in other people’s businesses. Her own were already too much of a burden and she was not put on this earth to overwork herself with someone else’s problems. They could it either solve it on their own or fuck off, as far as Aera was concerned.

But everything had a limit and you, with your kind ways and pretty smiles that had sneaked your way into Aera’s very tight circle of friends, were just too nice for her to just watch you suffer. After all, she was a girl’s girl through and through.

Except when it came to Eunjae. That bitch could choke and no amount of girlhood talk would change Aera’s mind.

It all exploded on a cold Friday when the whole gang got together to meet at a bar, squeezing into a booth. There was Aera, her boyfriend Hoseok, his friends Jin and Yoongi on one side, sharing a plate of fries. On the other side, Namjoon, you, your boyfriend Jungkook and Aera’s number one public enemy, Eunjae.

Eunjae had been a childhood friend to the boys, knowing them for many years as they held on to her like a security blanket. And that would of course not bother Aera at all, if Eunjae had any sort of common sense or boundaries. She seemed to think there would never be another girl in the group and she would forever remain their collective girlfriend, leaving no room for anyone else.

But Aera, fearsome and outspoken, had cut that evil from the root at the very beginning, making clear to Hoseok that she would not allow herself to be antagonized. Either he spoke up or she would walk out. Not buts. 

Unfortunately, you were not as assertive as her. And even worse, Jungkook seemed to be Aera’s favorite target.

You and Jungkook had been dating for quite a few months and it was clear to anyone with eyes that you did really like each other: you looked at him as if he hung the stars in the skies and he brought you up in any possible conversation. 

And so, of course, Eunjae hated you. But men were way too simplistic to pick up on her veiled and nuanced aggression, so even though Aera could see clear as day how much Eunjae bothered you, Jungkook never seemed to notice a thing.

It was all in the way Eunjae seemed to drape over him anytime he showed up, throwing herself in a way that made him drop your hand in order not to lose balance. It was how she never allowed you to call him Kookie, as that was “my nickname for you, is it not, Kookie? That’s our thing!”. And, as if that wasn’t enough to trigger even the chilliest of girlfriends, it was the way that every time you had a date schedule, Eunjae suddenly had an emergency that only Jungkook could solve.

And he would go, leaving behind a teary eyed you and an awkward shuffling Aera that did not know how to console you without telling you that you should dump Jungkook’s ass and punch Eunjae on the tits.

So Aera said nothing. And she would stay like that, if that night Eunjae hadn’t pushed her luck a bit too far.

“Oh my God, Kookie!” she exclaimed in the over strident voice she always seemed to have, making your eyes roll in annoyance at the nickname “You’re never gonna guess what I just got!”

Aera exchanged a sympathetic look with you over the table.

“What?”

“Tickets to tomorrow’s baseball game! For all of us! Isn’t that cool?”

The boys whooped in celebration, crowding around Eunjae to check the tickets she had on her hand. But Aera was the one that saw you freeze and look at your boyfriend with the saddest eyes in the world.

He, of course, was too busy staring at the stupid piece of paper. But Aera could see the satisfaction in Eunjae’s eyes, and so she asked “How many tickets did you get?”

“Only six, sorry!”

Aera huffed “Yeah, what a bummer.”

But you were still focused on your boyfriend. “Baby” you called pitifully “but we had plans tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you guys can reschedule, right, Kookie?” Eunjae said and Aera never before in her life wanted to twist someone’s neck so hard.

Ok, there was that time that dude cut the line at Five Guys and she was really hungry. But this was a close second.

“Yeah, baby.” Your dumb boyfriend agreed and if heartbreak was audible the room would’ve exploded in sound at that moment if your expression was anything to go by “You can hang with Aera tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay” you agreed, eyes teary as you hid under a curtain of hair. “Actually, it’s getting late. I think I’m gonna go. I’ll see you all later” and before anyone could say anything, you picked up your purse and left.

And now Aera was furious, as no one seemed to notice nor know why you were so upset and you were way too nice of a girl to be disrespected like that and still manage to not make a scene. “What a saint” she mumbled.

Eunjae scoffed. And that was Aera’s breaking point.

“Yup, okay, I’m done” she raised her hands and stood up from the booth. 

“Baby?” Hoseok called, surprised by her sudden anger. 

(He shouldn’t be. Aera was always at least 5% pissed off, like the Hulk.)

“I really tried not to say anything out of respect for your truly dysfunctional friendship, but I had enough. You” she pointed at her boyfriend “if you pull half of this shit on me, just know I’m dumping your sorry ass and putting a curse on you. Like, your penis will actually fall off. You” she turned to Eunjae, who seemed only mildly bothered at her explosion and that pissed Aera even more “are the evilest bitch on earth to pull this stunt on a girl as cool as Y/N and I hope you know you’re lucky she’s so nice, cause if that was me you would’ve been bald in a ditch right now. And finally you” she at least turned to Jungkook, who seemed stupidly shocked at her outburst “that girl will dump you anytime now and although I truly love you like a brother, she deserves better than what you give her. Oof, that feels great to get out of my chest.”

The table was silent for a while before Eunjae screeched “Are you just going to let her talk to me like that?!”.

Hm, yes they were. No one wanted to lose their penis and Aera was fucking scary.

“W-what do you mean Y/N is going to break up with me?” Jungkookie asked, looking truly upset at the news.

“C'mon dude. You’re lucky you’re handsome cause clearly your head is just a hat rack if you can’t figure that out.” Aera looked around the circle of flabbergasted men “Really? No one? Ok, let me explain in a way y’all dumb dumbs can understand: Jungkook, how many times in the last few weeks did you and Y/N hang out just the two of you? Like a date?”

“Two times, maybe?”

“And how many times did you hang out with the wicked witch of the west right here?”

Jungkook winced and did not answer.

“It’s not his fault that I’m more fun to hang with!” Eunjae exclaimed.

“Ay, don’t say that” Jungkook tried to defend you but by then it was too late.

“And how many times were you hanging out with Y/N and this soon to be bald bitch called you and asked to see you?”

No answer.

“And did you go?”

Silence. Guilty silence.

“Yup. That’s what I thought. And finally, do you know what day tomorrow is?”

Jungkook frowned “Tomorrow? We had a date planned, I guess.”

“You guess, huh?” Aera let out a strangled laugh that made Namjoon slide under the table a bit “Tomorrow was your girlfriend’s birthday, dumbass. And you know how I know that? Cause I heard Eunjae ask her in the girl’s bathroom about her plans before she suddenly appeared with these magical tickets. So!” Aera clapped as Jungkook’s mouth opened in horror and other boys cast disappointed looks at Eunjae “I hope you all enjoy the game and I do hope the ball hits you bitch straight on the head and you get amnesia and forget what a terrible person you are. And finally I do hope Y/N finds herself some back bone and breaks up with you tomorrow because what a birthday gift would it be to be free of this clusterfuck. Anyway, good luck to you all.”

And with that, Aera left, going after you cause she would be damned if she left you alone. After all, she was a girl’s girl.

[ikeuluvr]

Can I Have This Dance? || Park Jongseong

synopsis - long distance sucks. especially when your boyfriend can't be with you to be your date to your very last high school dance. good thing bf!jay has a few tricks up his sleeve.

non-idol!jay x fem!reader / established long distance relationship - angst + fluff / warnings - none! / word count ~1.7k

part of ikeuluvr's song series ᵔᴗᵔ — works inspired by songs! requests are open for other songs + anything else you would like to see from me <3

masterlist join my taglist

Jay stares longingly into his phone screen, a soft smile pursed on his lips as he watches you show off your final look for the school dance over FaceTime, “You look absolutely beautiful honey,” he hums, his eyes raking over the entire screen to take in all of you, “I’m so sorry I can’t be there to be your super sexy date.”

You let out that adorable laugh that Jay loves so much, making his heart flutter as you walk to your bed and sit on the edge. Your endeared smile falters a little bit, turning into a sadder one as your eyes glance away from your phone screen, “Don’t apologize, Jay, it’s not like it’s your fault. Besides, you’ll be here next week, so there’s no reason to be sad.”

Jay has always hated the way you act like being long-distance isn’t killing you even though he knows it is. Your positive outlook on life is the greatest thing he admires about you, but he also wishes you’d let your walls down and tell him what you’re really feeling. You both know it hasn’t been easy since he moved across the country 8 months ago for his mom’s job, going from seeing each other every day to every few months. It was even worse knowing it was right before the beginning of your Senior year, forcing you to miss out on all the major “lasts” of high school together.

“Hey…” Jay starts to say softly, “Look at me, sweetie.” Your head tilts to face your phone screen again, meeting Jay’s apologetic eyes through the electronic barrier. “You know you don’t have to pretend like you’re not upset, right? You can tell me if you’re sad, Y/N.”

A soft sigh falls from your lips knowing he’s right; hell, he’s always right. You can see the look in his eyes that you know so well—the gentle, pleading look that makes you both guilty and adored at the same time, “I know, I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to feel bad, and honestly, pretending that it is okay is helping me not create a puddle of tears right now,” you huff as you fiddle with the frill of your dress.

An immediate frown forms on Jay’s lips, his heart clenching at the mere thought of you crying, “Oh honey, don’t cry! Your makeup is way too perfect to ruin right now,” he chuckles, a soft smile overtaking his face to try and get you to smile too. With success, your frown turns upward slightly, the tears threatening to fall sucking back in, “There’s my girl…” Jay cheeses, “Don’t let that frown turn upside down again tonight, you hear me? You’re going to have the best time with your friends, take the most jaw-dropping photos that I’ll drool over later, and party the night away. Just make sure to save a dance for me, yeah?”

You nod with the same sad smile painted on your face as you stare at your boyfriend through the screen. Right on time, the doorbell rings downstairs meaning that your friends have arrived to pick you up, “Shoot, I have to go, love.”

“No worries, baby. Have so much fun tonight, okay? Send me lots of pictures,” Jay tells you, a gentle smile on his lips to hide that he’s also devastated that he can’t be with you right now, “Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you too. Talk to you later,” you blow a kiss at the screen to which Jay catches on his end with a soft laugh. You both hang up, the new silence of the bedroom deafening. With a heavy heart, you grab your heels and purse before heading downstairs to meet your friends.

୨♡୧

The music blasting in the gymnasium is almost overwhelming as you sit at the table you and your friends claimed in the corner. The bass booms in your chest and your ears ring as each song plays; the stench of teenage sweat and pre-gamed alcohol fills your nose with every passing second. The night had been hard enough with you being the only member of your group without a date, having to take pictures alone, and now watching everyone slow dance while their eyes glimmer with love. You tried hard to at least pretend like you were having fun by keeping a smile on your face just as Jay asked you to during your call that evening, but as the night progressed, it was becoming impossible.

The final straw of the night snuck up on you as you watched your friend get dragged onto the dance floor by her boyfriend, leaving you entirely alone at the table. A choked sigh caught in your throat as you felt your eyes turn glossy thinking about how Jay should be sitting next to you right now—how Jay should have his arms around your waist as you cling to him on the dance floor—how Jay should be laughing as you embarrass him with your obscene dance skills—how Jay should be taking cringy photos with you in front of the ugly backdrop—how Jay should be here.

A single tear escapes your eye and rolls down your cheek as you sniffle softly, this supposed “magical night” turning into what will become a miserable memory. As you wipe away the lonely tear with your hand, a gentle tap on the edge of your shoulder makes your body flinch in place.

“No thanks, I’m really not in the mood to dance right now,” you say through a sniffle to whoever is behind you.

“Wow, babe. Even with me?”

Your head raises, the tears and sniffles coming to an immediate halt as you hear the voice of the person hovering over you. As you slowly turn around in your chair, your entire body falls numb and your brain scrambles to figure out if you’re hallucinating this moment. It’s like time stops once you see him towering over you with a bright smile plastered onto his face, a plastic box with a corsage matching the color of your dress in his hands.

“Jay?” you question almost in a whisper, entirely in disbelief that your boyfriend is standing before you in the flesh.

“Who else would it be, love?” he laughs, his shoulders rising and falling as he does. Without another beat, your body catapults out of the seat to attach to his, your head falling into the crook of his neck, exactly where it’s supposed to be. His arms instinctively find their home around your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer to him and lays a feather-like kiss on your neck.

Jay feels the wetness of your tears on his skin, making him shiver slightly before he pulls away just enough to see your face. His hands move from your hips to cup your cheeks as he wipes your tears with the pads of his thumbs with a soft laugh, “Hey… hey, hey, hey don’t cry, pretty girl. Your mascara’s already running, baby.”

“Why- are you- how are you- here?” you ask in between gasps for air, making Jay laugh a little bit harder as he holds your face in his hands like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

He shrugs with a sly smile, “Let’s just say I booked my flight for a week too early.”

You let out a half-exasperated laugh as you take a step back to wipe your tears with the sides of your hands, “God, you’re so freaking insane.”

“Only insane for you, my love.” Jay coos and leans in to leave a kiss on your forehead, letting his lips linger on your skin for a brief moment.

Your eyes roll at his retort, a smile finally making its way onto your lips as the waves of shock start to leave your body. Jay chuckles as he watches you come back down to Earth, his hand raising to brush a few strands of hair out of your face.

“Is that for me?” you ask him, glancing down at the corsage in his hand.

“Oh yeah!” he exclaims, seemingly to have forgotten about it already. Jay pops the box open carefully and pulls out the corsage while you raise your right hand to let him put it on you. He pulls the elastic and gently slides it over your wrist, “There we go. Do you like it?”

You nod frantically, your eyes still glazed over from the earlier tears with a stupid happy smile on your face. Jay caresses your cheek gently as you admire the corsage on your wrist, moving his thumb to wipe away the last remnants of mascara from under your eye before speaking again, “Now… I asked you to save a dance for me, didn’t I?” he asks as he holds his hand out for you to take, “Can I have this dance?”

Without another thought, your hand is in his as he guides you to the dance floor, his hands grasping onto your waist and your arms wrapping around his neck as the song starts to play. The two of you sway to the rhythm like one entity, a comfortable silence falling in between you while you savor the feeling of being able to touch one another again. Jay pulls you closer tenderly until your bodies are pressed together with not a sliver left between you. He plants a delicate kiss on the tip of your nose making you giggle.

“I wish you never have to leave again,” you suddenly say somberly, causing Jay’s heart to drop.

He sighs with a sad smile, nodding in agreement, “I know, me too, love,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he can see your face, “But even a thousand miles can’t keep us apart, cause my heart is wherever you are, my sweet girl.”

Your eyes gloss over again as you take in his words, your heart overflowing with love and adoration, “I love you,” you tell him faintly as the two of you continue to move to the song blaring around you.

Jay pulls you even closer, letting your head rest against his shoulder, allowing him to kiss the top of your head and mumble into your hair, “I love you more, Y/N.”

@jellyluv4eva @wonnieluv

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter IX

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.129 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Y'all I am so sorry for taking this long to update, my whole entire family is in my house at the moment and they are all insufferable, pls send help. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You try to swallow your embarrassment along with your pride, hands still resting firmly against your brother's shoulder, but it's to no avail.

He doesn't budge, and neither does the shame.

Kareem is between you still, but you can't even look at him. – Leave. – He repeats. – You are a guest, not the owner. If you want to take up something with an employee you can do it in your own time.

He stutters, scoffing out a laugh as if he was being victimized. – She is my fucking sister, dude you don—

Kareem cuts in: – It still wouldn't matter to me if she was your wife. – His voice is ice, and he stands just as still as a glacier. – This isn't the time or place for you to come here shouting. So please. Leave before I make you.

– Excuse me?!

– You heard him, John. – He does another double take at your tone. – Please. This is my job now. You know just as well as I do how much we need this. Don’t make a scene right now.

– You have a lot of nerve.

– And you have a girlfriend and her whole family out there not to blow it all for. So leave! Make a good impression. I’ll make sure to give you the time to humiliate me when the paycheck comes.

You don’t give him the time to respond.

Like the whiny teenager he probably thinks you are, you shove him out the door and barely refrain from slamming it. Standing, face buried in your hands, back pressed against the door, in front of your new boss.

So much for good impressions.

– You’re the people-reader. – Kareem hums. – But I was right. He is a piece of—

– Please. – He makes no effort to hide his distaste as you raise a hand. – Look, I’m really really sorry about this, you can’t even imagine. – You take a deep breath, knowing you’ll be hearing about this forever. – You know how family is. John’s just— The words hang in your throat. – been very in his head since dad.

You don’t have to finish the sentence. Kareem gets the memo as he watches you flitter towards the oven to check on the pie, and he watches you move before walking behind you silently, leaning against the counter with his brows raised. – I get it. – He hums, crossing his arms over his chest. – But Routledge, you said it yourself, you need this job. Don’t let your family, your boyfriend, your best friend, your fucking parakeet, whatever, blow this for you. Believe me, the Camerons won’t appreciate your family drama. They’re complicated enough as they are. Don’t give them a reason to fire you.

You swallow, nodding. – I won’t. I promise.

– This isn’t on you, Routledge. This— He gestures exaggeratedly towards the kitchen. – Keeping this? it’s on the people around you, it's on them not to be around. Best thing for you, it’s to keep them away.

Funny. Even when things aren't your responsibility, somehow, you still have to be the one doing the work.

– Yes, chef. – Your shoulders feel heavier now, but you look straight at Kareem, the way a mature adult is supposed to do. – I won’t fuck this up. For either of us. Scout's honor.

– I know you won’t.

– Cause you’ll beat my ass otherwise?

– Damn right.

– Let me get this pie out of here before we come to blows, then.

He only laughs, clapping a hand over your back softly as you take the gloves from its handles and open the oven door.

The pie is apparently perfect, the sickly sweet scent of peach and syrup wafting through the perfectly savory golden crust. Your mouth waters as you set it down on the counter.

The smell takes you back. You didn’t make the connection when Rafe mentioned the pie, but John was right. This was your father’s favorite thing. The only thing you and him could do together. A pie for thanksgiving, one for his birthday, one for John’s birthday.

It had been your only marker of a decent day a long time ago.

And today it almost cost you your job. – I’ll take that there for you, if you want.

You’re almost startled, so deep in thought you barely realized Kareem was there, his gloved hands extended and ready even as a cautious look gleams in his eye.

– It’s fine, Kareem. – You laugh. – I know you don’t want to.

– Damn right I don’t want to. But that’s what partners are for. – He helps you remove the desert from the pan and set it on the dish. – We average each other’s misery.

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. – You think I’m miserable?

– With a brother like that, it would be a wonder if you weren’t. – You raise your brows at him, and he raises his glove-clad hands in response. – Hey, I’m just saying. Keep him away.

– You’re forgetting the part where he’s Sarah’s boyfriend.

– Holy shit, that's right. That piece of sh— He stops himself short at the face you make. – I'm sorry. I just can’t believe your bad luck.

– Wow, Kareem. That’s really sweet of you.

He frowns:

– Yeah, I'm sorry. That wasn't nice. – You set the pie down with a flourish, watching as the golden crust gleams under the kitchen lights. Kareem eyes it like it’s a ticking time bomb. – C’mon, let me take that there for you, – He offers, already reaching for it.

You snatch it back, scandalized. – Absolutely not. I don't want you to think I have no dignity.

He laughs.

– Dignity? That’s cute. You do realize he’s still there, right?

– I’m well aware.

– And you're also aware that he clearly is an idiot?

His shit-talking is starting to irritate you. – You talk an awful lot of crap for someone who has known him for twenty seconds.

– Look, Routledge, I've been nineteen before. 20 year old guys are types. And your brother is the entitled-freeloader-type, the man-child type. That little temper tantrum? They don’t grow out of that. Most of the time, they actually grow into it.

Well, there goes half your social circle.

– And you say you don't read people.

– People. – He stresses. – Assholes are another thing entirely.

– Okay. You’re gonna have to watch it. – You don’t know where the defensiveness came from. John and you weren't the “don't talk about my family” types. In fact, you were sure that, lately, John's favorite hobby was talking shit about you. So you breathe in deep and take the pie, ready to end this thought before it takes root. – I'm taking the pie and when I'm back we can both talk shit about someone else, together.

Kareem pinches the bridge of his nose. – Fine. But when he inevitably makes some smart-ass comment to embarass you, I want you to remember that you did this to yourself.

– Noted.

He gestures to the door with a grand sweep of his hand, and pulls it open. – Go on then, noble knight. Face thy dragons.

You scoff, chuckling as you balance the plate like a prized trophy. – You're a peach.

– So I keep hearing.

You step out and the door quietly clicks into place behind you. The hall is quiet, you barely hear murmurs from the dining room. But you catch your brother’s eye from the crack in the door, and he averts his gaze immediately, almost groaning as you step into the room.

– There you are. – Ward’s voice is a hum: monotone and content. – If you’d taken any longer, Rafe would have started a riot.

– Well, the peace corps have arrived.

Ward laughs, but Rose is not impressed. – Too bad she doesn’t get paid extra to be a comedian.

You can hear her husband begin to speak as you put the pie down, but it’s Rafe who cuts in, his hand on your arm, yet his eyes set on his stepmother: – Don't listen to her, newbie. Rose's just bitter cause she can't cook for shit.

Her scoff is like the swish of a blade, you almost feel the need to recoil.

– I don't need to cook, Rafe. I work. – You don't miss the venom that splatters on you, but where your mouth remains shut, Rafe's is twisted into a smile:

– Oh, you work, huh?

– Yes. I don't understand your tone.

– John B knows something about that kind of work too, don’t you John B? Freeloading off someone who actually makes their money by working.

It's Ward who cuts in then: – Rafe! Don’t get into this now. Is it so much to ask that we have one dinner in peace?

– He started it.

– Don't be childish, Rose. It doesn't become you. – He looks at you, nodding, almost relieved, as you take his plate. – Thank you, miss Routledge. That looks great.

– Yeah. Do me next, newbie.

– Can you fucking stop it?! – Your brother's voice cuts through the room. Even Sarah looks taken aback. – These innuendoes, this stupid shit you’re doing, it’s not funny Rafe!

– We don’t curse at this table, John.

– It was Rafe! He's the one—

– My son just asked for a piece of dessert. I understand you are protective of your sister, but he didn't mean anything by it.

Rafe laughs, the only person at the table that does so. And he squeezes your arm in his hand as he hands over the plate. – Does your brother always get so worked up when he sees someone working, or does he just extend that courtesy to you?

– Rafe! – Ward shouts, but his son ignores it.

You turn to take the plate from Rafe’s hand, ignoring the way his fingers linger against yours. His grin is lazy, almost triumphant, like he’s already won some invisible battle.

John is seething. You can feel it radiating off of him, the white-knuckle grip around his fork. Sarah tries to talk to him, the soft murmurs of her voice reaching your ears even as the words evade you, but your brother doesn’t seem to listen.

You clear your throat, ignoring the tension as you look back at Rafe. – How do you want the slice?

His eyes flick to yours, slow and deliberate. – I don't know. – He chuckles. – But I bet you like it with a lot of filling, don't you?

He licks a crumb off his hand, eyes locked onto yours.

John slams his hands on the table. – Are you fucking kidding me?!

– Language, – Ward warns.

Rafe tilts his head, expression all mock confusion. – What’s the issue, Johnny Boy? Can’t a guy appreciate a good pie?

– You’re disgusting, Rafe! – John spits, pushing back his chair. – You don’t even pretend to hide it anymore, do you?

Rafe just laughs, dragging his fork through the pie like he’s got all the time in the world. – I have no idea what you’re talking about. – He pops a bite into his mouth, chewing exaggeratedly. – Damn, newbie. You did put a lot of filling in this. Real sweet, too.

That's it.

John lunges.

The chair screeches, his fist flying toward Rafe’s face—but Rafe’s faster. He ducks back, chair tipping precariously before he catches himself on you.

You pull him towards the wall before John can near you, his back against your chest, your back against the concrete, heart hammering in your chest.

– Jesus, John B! – Sarah hisses, her hands gripping his shirt, his arms, his hands. But it's fruitless, like trying to put a leash of a bull.

Ward stands in a startle, pinching the bridge of his nose. – Sit down, John.

Your brother doesn’t move, chest heaving. He’s vibrating with rage, fists still clenched at his sides.

Rafe just grins. Smug. Pleased. You can feel the chuckle he lets out vibrating through his skin as your hand remains on his shoulders.

– You’ve got a nasty temper, huh? – He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, as if the whole scene was just a mild inconvenience, and then looks at you. – Jesus. Look at what you did, John B.

His eyes are wide, his voice is soft. You’re still holding him when he reaches for you, and yet you still flinch when his hand nears your face.

– I'm— Your breath is caught. – I should go back. Clean up.

Rafe catches your arm. – Hey. Hey, it's okay. He's leaving. Right, John B? Why don't you get your unemployed ass down to the Cut, huh? I bet someone could use you to mow their lawn. Or maybe that’s too complicated for you.

John lunges again, and this time it takes both you and Sarah to shove him back.

– Get off me!

– That’s enough, – Ward finally snaps, voice just sharp enough to cut through the chaos. His gaze levels on John. – You don’t raise a hand in my house. Do you understand me?

Your brother glares at Rafe, still breathing hard. – He started it.

Ward sighs, exasperated. – He was eating dessert.

– Oh, come on, – Sarah mutters. – Dad, you don’t even believe that.

Ward’s eyes remain on his daughter for a moment, but just as he opens his mouth, Rafe keeps firing:

– Yeah, John B. Chill out. We’re just having some family bonding time. I know you don't get a lot of that. What with the way you treat your sister, I doubt she wants to spend any time with you at all.

John’s fist connects with a sickening crack.

Rafe’s head snaps to the side, his weight falling back on you before you latch onto the edge of the table. For a second, there’s only silence. The scrape of the chair legs. The sharp inhale from someone—maybe Sarah.

And then you move.

Your body reacts before your mind catches up. You reach for Rafe, clinging to his arm, hands skimming his face, his shoulder, searching for the damage.

You don’t know when your heart started racing, but you feel your ribcage ache with the speed.

– Rafe! – You breathe. Your pulse is buzzing in your ears, shaking within you. You feel like you might break apart.

He doesn’t answer right away as you hold him, steadying him. He just blinks, dazed, the emotions flitting through his face like a carousel: Confusion at first, then anger, and then something softer, something pleased. A slow smirk curls on his lips. But there’s blood—on his mouth, at the corner of his lip, smeared across his chin.

– Shit, – you whisper. – Jesus Christ. – He exhales through his nose, wincing as you press your fingers to the swelling. – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

– What are you sorry about? – You don't register the laugh. The way his body relaxes as you touch him, how he leans into the pain instead of away from it.

You just see the blood on his lip.

The noise rushes around you like a vortex, you can’t even pay attention. All you see is Rafe, his eyes blown out just as they were that day at Barry's, and your hands shake as if the life was leaving him all over again.

– Just—just let me see, – You murmur, tilting his face toward you. – I'm sorry, Rafe. God, I'm so sorry.

– It's not your fault, baby. – He whispers, barely a hum.

John’s still there. Still heaving, fists clenched at his sides. But you barely notice him now. Your world has narrowed to the warmth of Rafe’s skin beneath your hands, the way he lets you touch him without protest. It isn’t the moment for you to ponder on how easy it is to die, but you feel your back pressing against the back of the chair Rafe would’ve fallen onto if you hadn’t caught him, and suddenly he feels like a newborn puppy. All soft, thin skin and whiny whimpers, something so delicate the world around him feels like a deathtrap.

You tighten your hold on him.

– Are you kidding me? – John’s voice is raw. Furious. It feels like he’s screaming at you from above. Like you and Rafe are sitting at the bottom of a river, the sound so muffled you barely realize its there. Your hands feel heavy as they move over his skin. – Him? You’re worried about him?

You don’t look up.

Your eyes are set on the blood at the corner of Rafe’s lips. It’s on your hands now, but it isn’t warm anymore. You don’t know why that thought scares you.

You can’t look away.

But Rafe does.

Even with blood on his lip, he’s still grinning, slow and smug.

– Aww, come on, Johnny Boy, – He drawls. His voice is rough, but not from pain. From something else. Something satisfied. – There’s no need to be jealous. She might like me better than you, but then again, that’s not very hard, is it?

John moves again, but Ward steps in this time. His voice is low, final. – Get out.

– Mr. Cameron I—

– You nothing, boy. You’re not gonna come into my house and be violent and disrespectful. I don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour here. Get out.

John doesn’t move. Not right away. His eyes flicker to you again, searching. Maybe he’s waiting for you to tell him something—anything—that will make this okay.

But you’re still touching Rafe.

His pulse thunders under your hands. You try to focus on that, pull yourself away from your thoughts. But you can’t. You’re still hovering over him, checking the cut on his lip, fingers light against his jaw.

His bones feel like glass beneath your touch.

John lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head before turning away. Sarah is the one to pull him back, her voice soft as she mutters something under her breath. The front door slams behind them a moment later.

But the sound takes none of the tension from the room.

You sit in the silence, Rafe’s pulse under your hands.

One, two. One, two. One, two.

Ward sighs.

– Rafe? Son, are you okay?

Rafe doesn’t acknowledge him.

Because he’s looking at you.

His eyes are hooded, his smirk lazy. You try to pull back, but his hand wraps around your wrist, keeping you close.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t whine, doesn’t groan.

Just sits there.

And smiles.

– I'll— I’m gonna go get some ice for you. – You’re shaking. You barely catch a stumble on your step as you sit Rafe down and rush to the kitchen. – Kareem. – You call him once, twice, a third time, but he doesn’t answer. The back door is ajar. His things are still on the table.

You shouldn’t be worrying about him.

So you turn. Your feet move before you mind does, and you’re rushing to the walk-in refrigerator.

Your fingers fumble as you wrap the ice cubes in a washcloth, pressing them together too tightly, the cold seeping through the thin fabric and stinging your skin. Your pulse is still thrumming too fast, rattling in your ribs, your breath unsteady as you step out of the kitchen.

And then you see him.

You almost jump back.

Rafe is waiting just outside the doorway, leaning lazily against the wall, his head tilted slightly, that ever-present smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. There’s a dazed look in his eyes, something distant, like he’s not all the way there. His lip is split, swollen, a smear of red still clinging to the corner, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, he looks amused.

He exhales a short laugh, running his tongue along his teeth like he’s testing for more damage.

– Gotta give it to him. Your brother might be a bitch, but he's got a hell of a right hook.

You don’t laugh. Your stomach twists as he steps closer and leans against the shelf before you, that same strange look in his eye. Your grip tightens around the washcloth. – Rafe—

– Relax, baby, – he drawls, his voice softer now, slower. His hands bracket your arms, your skin is buzzing, like someone turned a light switch in you. – You look like you’re the one who just got hit.

You frown, shake your head. You can’t stop shaking it. – I’m fine. – Rafe laughs. He’s not acting right. He’s too relaxed, too loose, and there’s something almost sweet about the way he’s looking at you, like the punch knocked a different side of him loose.

– You might have a concussion, – you mutter, reaching out before you can stop yourself. He leans into your touch, holding onto your wrist as your fingers brush his forehead. – C'mon, let’s— let's sit you down.

He doesn’t fight you as you guide him toward the counter, settling him onto the cool surface. He’s still watching you, his head tilting slightly, studying you like he can’t quite figure you out. His hands twitch at his sides, restless, like he’s not sure what to do with them.

– You’re frowning. – He chuckles, like it's funny, and presses a finger between your brows. – You look really cute when you’re worried.

You push his hand away, the words flying over your head.

– This is gonna sting a little. – You step between his knees, pressing the ice against his lip, and he hisses softly at the cold. – I'm sorry.

– You said that already. – Rafe exhales, the sound more like a laugh than a groan. – I'll forgive you if you kiss it better.

You glare at him, but it’s weak. He grins anyway, his hands coming up, slow and unhurried, fingers trailing absently down your arms. It’s light, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

– You’re shaking, – he murmurs.

– The freezer. – you hum. – It's cold.

– Mm. – His fingers drift to your shoulders, then to the ends of your hair, twisting a lock between his fingers. He eyes it intently, pressing the strands between the pads of his fingers as if trying to assess whether or not they are real. – Dunno. Feels like something else is making you nervous.

You swallow hard, refusing to look at him, focusing on the ice pressed against his skin. You can feel the warmth of him, the way his legs bracket yours loosely, the way he just lets you tend to him.

It feels too much. Too something.

You have to stop yourself from backing away.

He exhales again, this time slower, his breath warm against your wrist. – You always this nice when a guy you like gets hurt?

You don’t answer. You just press the ice against his lip a little harder.

He hisses again, but when you pull the washcloth away, his lips part slightly, tongue flicking out to chase the cold. His eyes search yours, heavy-lidded.

Then, softly, almost teasing:

– You sure you don’t wanna kiss it better?

Rafe hums, low in his throat, his fingers still lazily playing with the ends of your hair. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up, his grin widening just slightly. – Still hurts, y'know? – He murmurs, tilting his head, exaggerating the movement like he’s testing the ache. – You really gonna leave me like this?

– You're gonna be okay.

– Dunno. – His hands drift, tracing up your arms again, then down, smoothing over your shoulders like he’s trying to work something out of his system. – I feel like I’m aching everywhere, baby.

He shifts slightly on the counter, his knees brushing against your hips, the warmth of his skin burning through your clothes. His voice is quieter now, softer, coaxing. – C’mon. Help me out here.

You shake your head. – You’re beat up, Rafe. You aren't making any sense.

– I’m not making sense? – His laugh is breathy, and his hands tighten briefly on your shoulders, fingers pressing lightly into your skin. – You’re the one standing between my legs with your hands all over me. Feels like you wanna help.

You don’t dignify that with a response.

But his gaze doesn’t waver. He tilts his head again, mouth curving into something dangerously close to a pout. – It really hurts, you know. Really hurts.

You sigh, hands itching to press onto his mouth and shut him up.

He's like a child. He pulls you around and he backs you into a corner, then his eyes widen, his lips pout, and you just have to do what he wants. – Please? – He whispers. Batting his eyes and tilting his head to the side just like your mother often did when she wanted something, from your dad, from her boss, from that guy at the drugstore she was always talking to.

It didn’t matter.

She always got what she wanted.

And so did Rafe.

You find yourself looking at the door as he pleads again, sliding a little closer until he can press your hips between his legs.

So you do.

Before he can say anything else, you lean in and press a peck to his lips—so small, so fleeting, you barely feel it. But you do feel the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers tighten against your shoulders, the way his whole body seems to go still, just for a second.

His mouth parts slightly as you pull away, and then he lets out a slow, pleased exhale, his voice low, almost smug.

– Forgot how good you kiss. – His grip shifts, hands sliding up the curve of your shoulders again, thumbs pressing into the dip of your collarbones. He’s already leaning back in, already chasing another taste, and his voice dips into something softer, something almost desperate. – Just one more.

But before he can close the distance, you press your hand to his chest, stopping him. It’s not forceful—not a shove, not a hard rejection. Just a quiet barrier, a gentle push.

He doesn’t move back right away. His lips part, his brows furrowing, like he wants to argue. Like he wants to beg.

But then—

– Rafe.

The voice cuts through the thick air between you like a knife, sharp and immediate.

Rafe’s shoulders go tense beneath your palms.

Your hand drops as he exhales slowly, his entire body stiffening, his easy smile fading into something angry. – What do you want?

Ward Cameron steps further into the kitchen, his presence like a cold gust of air. You straighten a little, keeping your eyes to the ice. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes flick between you and Rafe before settling on his son.

He doesn’t waste time. Doesn’t soften his tone.

– You were reckless.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head. – Oh, here we go.

– You knew exactly what you were doing, – Ward continues, ignoring him. – That mockery at the table was cruel, Rafe. The things you said, I'm surprised she didn't punch you.

Rafe rolls his eyes. – Oh, please—

– Don’t interrupt me, boy.

You felt like you were twelve again.

You might not know the man, but you knew that tone. — It was your father’s go-to, when he wanted you to feel guilty, or inadequate, or whenever he got bored of pretending you weren’t there.

For a second, Rafe almost looks like he might listen. His jaw tightens, and his hand clenches into a fist against the counter, but he doesn’t speak.

Suddenly you wish you could hold him.

Ward crosses his arms, his jaw clenched. – You know damn right you wouldn’t like it if someone spoke about your sisters that way.

Rafe lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. – Yeah, well, I’d never be as much of a cunt as John B is, so we don’t have to worry about that.

Ward’s expression hardens. – Watch your mouth around me, Rafe! I'm not one of your little friends!

– He’s right. – Both men turn toward you, surprised. – Rafe’s right.

You wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if you didn’t say anything, but you’re regretting that instinct even as your eyes meet the floor.

You shift slightly, exhaling through your nose.

You don’t resent your brother. You know what he was trying to do—protect you, in his own stupid, thoughtless way. But the problem with John has never been his heart. It’s always been his temper.

– John doesn’t know when to stop, – you say. – I know he was trying to look out for me, but that’s just it—he doesn’t know when to stop. If I don't walk away when we fight, eventually he just— Your voice dies in your throat. The bruise around your arm throbbing. – It's just like dad all over again.

Rafe doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, watching, waiting. Then he turns to his father. – I told you so.

Every last bit of calm on Ward's face vanishes:

– Every time I think you’re getting better… – He scoffs. – She’s not shifting the blame, Rafe. You were wrong, and you know that.

Rafe makes a quiet, irritated sound. – Can you spend a second talking without making me the bad guy?! The guy is an asshole, dad. He treats his sister like crap, how do you think he's gonna treat his girlfriend?!

You swallow hard, whispering. – Rafe.

He doesn’t listen. – I mean, look at what this piece of shit did now! You wouldn’t imagine he— He grabs your arm, pulling up the sleeve on your left arm. – grabs like a fucking—

– Please!

You don’t know what to do. You grab his hand, you're still holding onto it as you focus on your breathing, trying not to cry.

Rafe stops.

His shoulders shift, almost sinking into himself.

He’s standing frozen before you as if you’d just slapped him, his eyes wide again.

You don’t have to say it twice.

He lowers his head, and quietens his tone, squeezing your hand in his as he whispers – I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. That was shitty. I shouldn’t have done that.

The words lingers between you, his father suddenly silent, almost stunned.

– It’s okay. – His hand clutches yours tighter. He almost seems guilty. You pull the sleeve back down. – John does have a temper, but this was a mistake. He’d never hit me, even though he hates me right now. And he’d never hit Sarah either. Never.

You turn, unsure of what else to say, and your eyes fall back on Ward. The shock on his face is not hard to miss, barely a raise of a brow as his lips part open for a moment, he steps closer, placing a hand on his son's shoulder before he can give away anything else. But you catch it. That sudden shock on his face. – Go to bed, Rafe.

The boy’s tone is softer, but no less annoyed: – Dad,

Ward looks at you for a moment, then looks back at Rafe, almost cautious, as if he’s trying something out. – Please, – You feel Rafe’s grip on your hand tighten, and loosen again.

– You should rest. – Your voice is sweet, you know that. It's a low blow. But the shock on Mr. Cameron’s face stirs a question up in you. You’re not exactly sure of what that is, but there’s something there you need to probe.

And though Rafe hardens for a split second, you feel some tension leave him along with a breath as his eyes meet yours. His expression softens, his jaw unclenches, but he looks like a kid who's just been told off, all unkempt anger and barely restrained complaints.

So you keep going. – I'm gonna get you some painkillers. – You brush your fingers over his hand, soft, quick, thoughtless, but he chases that touch as you move away to get him some water and the naproxen in your purse. You can feel him watching you as you fill a glass with water, and when you put your purse next to him, he starts looking at it, playing with the clasps and toying with your keychains. – Here. You should close your blinds, and have some tea. I can bring it up to you.

He breathes, laughs. The stress in his face turning into something like amusement.

He lays your purse on his lap, patiently taking the pill and the water. His eyes still cling to you as his throat bobs, draining the cup as quickly as possible.

He seems so much calmer as he hands the cup back to you.

It worked. – Thanks, newbie. – He hums, with half a smile on his face, almost resigned. – I hate tea, though. File that for later.

– Filed. – You nod. – Do you need anything else?

– Yeah. – You're glad to hear him laugh, lighter now, with ease. – For you to quit doing those puppy dog eyes at me. It's breaking my heart.

You take back your hands, putting them over your eyes. Rafe chuckles, and you can see the smile even with your eyes closed— Sweet, soft— It's even sweeter when your hands fall back beside you again. – Better now?

– Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow?

– Eight AM on the dot, just like my boss told me to.

– That’s a good girl. – He hums, and stands, his eyes darker, his smile wider as he stands barely an inch away from you, and then moves again. – Night, newbie.

– Sleep well, Rafe.

The last you hear of him is a hum, something between a chuckle and a sigh, as he walks out of the kitchen, ignoring his father entirely.

Ward exhales slowly, his fingers smoothing over the cuffs of his sleeves. His gaze lingers on the door Rafe just walked through, his expression unreadable.

Then, suddenly, his eyes flick over to you.

You stiffen, instinctively straightening your posture. Your hands twitch at your sides, unsure whether you should be standing at attention or making yourself small.

– I’m really sorry about all of this, – You blurt out, voice steady despite the tension. – I didn’t mean for any of it to—

Ward lifts a hand, cutting you off mid-sentence.

– I don’t need your apology, – He says simply. – I need professionalism.

You nod quickly. – Yes, sir.

His lips press together, but not in disapproval. If anything, he seems almost pleased. Not overtly—nothing as obvious as a smile—but in the way his eyes narrow just slightly, as if filing your response away somewhere important.

He studies you for a long moment before speaking again.

– You handled that well, you know, given the situation.

You don’t know if that’s meant to be a compliment. You don’t know if you want it to be.

You're not sure you agree either, as the remnants of a racing pulse are still running slower under your skin.

– Thank you, sir.

– I have an older brother. – He says, almost like an afterthought. – He treats me just like that, like I'm the problem, as if I'm not the one who works. I know I wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face if I showed up to my place of work and he was there. Most people would have let their emotions get the better of them. Especially with Rafe.

You tilt your head without realizing, but you nod, and even if half-unconsciously, he keeps going.

– He gets that from his mother. Nothing in this world pleases him more than getting under people's skin. – Ward’s gaze flicks to the washcloth still clutched in your hands, the ice inside melting slowly, dripping down your wrist. His head tilts slightly, considering. – He didn't get under your skin, though. I thought you would punch him, with everything he kept throwing at you. But you de-escalated him at every turn.

– That's my job.

He hums, and you can see him file that response somewhere in his mind.

– How old are you?

The question throws you for a second, but you don’t let it show.

– I'll be eighteen in a couple of weeks, sir.

His brows raise slightly. Not in surprise—more like interest. Like he wasn’t expecting that answer, but it fits into whatever equation he’s solving in his head.

– You worked at The Wreck before this?

– Yes, sir.

– For how long?

– Three and a half years.

He makes a quiet noise in his throat, almost amused. – Started young, then. – You nod. – And what did you do there?

– I was a roast chef.

His lips twitch, like he’s waiting for something more. – A good one?

You hesitate, but not for long. – Yes.

That earns a small nod from him, his gaze flickering over you like he’s weighing something, testing something.

He watches you a second longer, then exhales, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. There’s a sense of finality in the movement, but it's not dismissal. It's not exactly approval either, but he seems pleased, the way a child is pleased when they figure out their homework.

– You can leave after you clean up. – He says. – I’ll see you tomorrow.

It’s not a compliment, but it feels like it. The fact that there is work tomorrow after such a giant crisis is the greatest reassurance you can receive.

And as he walks away, you realize that Ward Cameron isn’t just assessing you.

He’s pleased with what he sees.

The relief sinks into you like a carbon tablet, and it fizzles out slowly as you go through the motions, cleaning, putting away and writing down the rough draft for tomorrow’s breakfast. Halfway through 8 PM you realize that Kareem won’t return, so you follow Ward’s orders, and gather your things to leave.

The night air is thick and warm as you step outside, the damp heat of the island settling against your skin as you clutch your purse to your side. The driveway stretches long and empty before you, the distant glow of the streetlights barely cutting through the dark.

You exhale, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. Walk or call someone? Neither option seems particularly appealing at the moment. Walking means at least forty minutes alone in the sticky night air, but calling someone—JJ, since he’s your only option now—means answering questions you don’t have the energy for.

You’re still mulling over your options when you hear it.

Footsteps behind you.

You turn, and there he is.

Ward Cameron stands in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light spilling from the house. His posture is relaxed, but his gaze is focused—zeroed in on you with that same unreadable expression.

There’s something familiar about it. Something you’ve seen before.

On Rafe.

That realization sits uneasily in your stomach, but you push it down, straightening as he steps closer.

– You’re not driving? – he asks, voice smooth. Casual.

You shake your head. – I don’t have a car.

He hums, as if he already knew that.

– How were you planning to get home?

You hesitate. – God gave me legs, figured I should use them.

His gaze flicks toward the road, the dark stretch of asphalt cutting through the island. His lips press together, but this time, in something closer to disapproval.

– I’ll drive you, – he says simply.

It’s not a question.

– Oh— You shake your head quickly, forcing a polite smile. – That’s really not necessary, sir. I can—

– I insist.

You swallow. – I don’t want to be any trouble.

His head tilts slightly, studying you. Then he exhales, slow and measured, as if he’s amused by your reluctance.

– You think it’s trouble to drive one of my employees home?

You don’t know how to answer that without making it worse.

His eyes flicker, something sharp and knowing flashing behind them. – It’s late, – he says, like that alone settles the matter. – And I’d rather not hear about something happening to you on your way home.

The words are simple, but the weight behind them isn’t. It’s not concern. Not exactly. It’s something else—something quieter, something calculated.

Something distinctly Cameron.

He doesn’t give you another chance to argue. He just gestures toward the car, expectant, almost commanding.

You hesitate for half a second longer, then nod.

Because really, what else can you do?

You slip into the passenger seat as he slides behind the wheel, the doors shutting with a quiet finality.

The engine purrs to life, and as Ward pulls out of the driveway, the silence between you settles thick.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. His grip is firm on the steering wheel, his posture at ease. But his gaze—steady, focused—flicks toward you briefly, that same unreadable look lingering.

The same look Rafe always has.

You exhale slowly, shifting your gaze out the window.

The drive stretches ahead, the road dark and winding.

And you’re not quite sure where you stand anymore.

The low hum of the car engine fills the silence between you, steady and rhythmic. The road stretches dark and empty ahead, the occasional flicker of streetlights casting brief shadows across Ward’s face.

You keep your gaze out the window, watching the shapes blur past, but you can feel his attention shift. The weight of his gaze settling on you, sharp and deliberate.

– You seem to know Rafe well.

It’s not quite a question.

Your fingers twitch in your lap.

– I— You hesitate, just for a second. – I wouldn’t say well.

Ward hums like he’s considering that. Like he doesn’t quite believe you.

– So how did you two meet?

You knew this was coming.

Your pulse ticks up, but you keep your face even, your voice smooth. Lies are easier to tell when they aren’t really lies. When they’re just stretched-out versions of the truth.

You inhale, carefully measured. – We were supposed to go to a party together. – Ward doesn’t react. Just keeps driving, keeps listening. – But he got sick, – you continue. – I stayed with him and drove him home.

A pause.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. His expression hasn’t changed much, but there’s something—something—about the way he exhales through his nose.

Like he’s remembering something.

– And when was that? – he asks, almost casually.

You swallow. – A couple days ago.

Ward laughs. But it’s not really a laugh. More of a sharp exhale, dry and humorless.

– That makes sense.

You stiffen slightly. – What do you mean?

Ward doesn’t answer right away. He turns onto a quieter stretch of road, the car gliding smoothly through the empty streets. His grip on the steering wheel is loose, relaxed, but his voice is steady when he speaks again.

– I’ve been wondering what’s gotten into him these past few days, – he says, almost like he’s thinking aloud. – He’s been… different.

Different.

You don’t know what to make of that.

– He’s always been agitated, – Ward continues, his tone even. – But lately, it’s like he’s been looking for something. Distracted. He's at home a lot more than he used to be.

His eyes flick to you, sharp and searching.

You keep your face carefully neutral. – I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir.

Ward hums again, low and thoughtful.

– No, – He says. – I suppose you wouldn’t.

But the way he says it makes you think he’s not entirely convinced.

The silence stretches again, thicker this time.

And you get the unsettling sense that Ward Cameron is still putting something together.

Ward doesn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it isn’t easy either. It stretches between you, thick and heavy, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll break it first.

You don’t.

His fingers drum against the steering wheel once. Twice. Then—

– He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?

The question is casual, but the way he asks it isn’t. His voice is light, but his gaze flickers to you, sharp and waiting.

You shake your head. – No, sir.

Ward exhales through his nose. He doesn’t look convinced.

– Rafe can be a handful, – he muses, like he’s not really talking to you, more to himself. – Always has been. He was a good kid, though. Smart.

The words are nostalgic, almost distant, but there’s an undercurrent of something else there. Something measured.

– Still is, – you offer carefully.

Ward huffs out a small, dry laugh. – You think so?

You hesitate. – I think so, sir. – You swallow, all the recent interactions reeling through your mind like a movie. – I'd say he's a people person, though. Read me like a book. My brother too. – He looks at you as you look away. – They did know each other for longer, but, it's like he knows him in his marrow.

– Mm. – He watches the road for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then— You said this was a couple days ago?

Your stomach twists, but you keep your voice steady. – Yes, sir.

Ward nods, slow and thoughtful. His knuckles tighten just slightly around the wheel. – That would explain the missing motorcycle.

You still.

He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the weight of his words. The way they settle in the space between you, thick with meaning.

You don’t know what to say. What answer he’s looking for.

Ward exhales, shaking his head slightly. – Doesn’t matter, – He says. – I’m sure it’ll turn up.

Your fingers curl in your lap.

The street lights flicker past, the golden glow casting fleeting shadows across his face. He’s still thinking—you can see it, the way his jaw shifts slightly, the way his fingers tap absently against the leather of the steering wheel.

Then, finally, he speaks again.

– Rafe doesn’t take to people quickly, – He says, almost musing. – Never has.

There’s something off about the way he says it. Like it’s not a compliment.

You keep your voice neutral. – I wouldn’t know, sir.

Another hum. Another glance in your direction.

– But you’re here.

You swallow. – I needed the job.

Ward nods slowly, like he’s filing that response away. – Smart girl.

The words settle in your chest, heavier than they should, and you don’t quite know what to make of them. The car stops. You're in front of your house, you realize, and he’s still looking at you. – Aren’t you gonna thank me for the ride?

He chuckles, lightly, and you have to force yourself to smile back. – Thank you for the ride, Mr. Cameron.

– I'll see you soon.

– You bet. – The door doesn't open when you reach for it, you move two other times before you look back at him.

Ward is sitting still.

Watching.

Waiting.

Then as if it was nothing, he smiles again, laughs, and unlocks the door. – Sleep well, Routledge.

You do your best to maintain your smile.

– Thank you, sir.

You step out of the car, your pulse a dull, an erratic thrum in your throat. The weight of Ward’s gaze lingers long after his car disappears down the street, swallowed by the dark.

You exhale, rolling your shoulders, trying to shake off the unease.

And then you see it, right there, bathed in shadow, almost invisible as it leans againt the tree: yellow and red metal.

Rafe’s bike.

The porch light flickers against the metal frame, casting long shadows across the muddy driveway. The sight of it turns your stomach to ice.

What the hell is he doing here?

You don’t think—you just move.

The door creaks as you push inside, the house bathed in stretching darkness. The kitchen window lets in a sliver of moonlight, cutting across the counter in a thin silver line. The furniture sits in silhouette, familiar shapes swallowed by shadows. It feels empty—like the air itself is holding its breath.

You look over your shoulder at John's door.

The only glow in the house seeps from the cracks beneath it, a warm, flickering light bleeding into the hall. His voice is a low murmur, sharp and frustrated, barely intelligible from behind the thick wooden door, tangled with Sarah’s. The words are indistinct, but you can hear the tension, the way it scrapes against the walls.

Your stomach tightens.

If Rafe is here, he’s not with them.

Which means—

Your grip tightens around the strap of your bag as you take careful steps toward your room. The ground creaking beneath you, that sound sets your nerves alight.

You push open your bedroom door. The air inside is still. Undisturbed.

The thought barely forms before you turn toward your dresser and freeze.

There’s someone sitting on your bed, but it isn’t Rafe.

Your eyes drag over the cut on the jeans, caked with dry blood. The heavy boots, still powdered by dirt, the black wife beater.

Your stomach drops.

Barry.

He’s barely visible in the dim light, his posture relaxed but… off. One arm draped over his knee, the other flicking something between his fingers. Your lighter.

His gaze flicks to yours, cautious, almost nervous.

– Hey, sweetheart. – He says quietly, his voice is thick, slow, like he’s thinking too much about every word.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He flips the lighter open with a click, the flame briefly illuminating his face before he snaps it shut again. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t grin. He just watches you.

– I— He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. – I know I shouldn’t be here.

You don’t move as he stands, nearing you. His face shifts, almost hurt.

He clears his throat, tapping the lighter against his palm. – Door was unlocked.

You swallow hard.

His eyes flick over you, searching, like he’s trying to gauge whether or not you’re going to kick him out. He shifts slightly, closer than he was before, expectant, uncomfortable.

Then, voice quieter—almost hesitant—

– Can we talk?

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvillaintrophy

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Mydei x (fem) reader (3)

Mydei’s secret friend

Part1 Part2 Part3

Y/N moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, setting out ingredients and lighting the stove. The warm glow of the flames flickered against the walls, casting a cozy light over the small home. As she worked, the scent of sizzling meat, fresh herbs, and fragrant spices gradually filled the air, wrapping around them like an inviting embrace.

Phainon sat at the table at first, lazily leaning back in his chair. Mydei, meanwhile, remained as he always did—silent and observing, arms crossed as if he had no interest in anything happening around him.

But after a few minutes, Phainon’s fingers started tapping against the table. Then his legs bounced a little. He glanced around, looked at the food, looked at Mydei, then back at the food. Finally, with a groan of impatience, he stood up.

“Alright, I cannot just sit here doing nothing,” he declared, rolling up his sleeves. “Let me help.”

Y/N raised an amused eyebrow. “You cook?”

Phainon scoffed, placing a hand on his chest as if deeply offended. “Of course I do! I’m a man of many talents.”

Mydei snorted. “I’ve seen you cook. It was a disaster.”

Phainon shot him an unamused look. “That was one time.”

“You nearly burned down the barracks.”

“The fire wasn’t my fault,” Phainon huffed. “It was the stove! Clearly defective.”

Y/N chuckled, handing him a knife and a bundle of vegetables. “Alright, let’s see if you’re as good as you claim.”

Phainon grinned and got to work, chopping away with enthusiasm. His technique was... passable at best. His slices were uneven, and his movements a little reckless, but at least he wasn’t entirely useless.

“So,” he started, casually sliding some diced onions into a bowl, “since Mydei is acting all mysterious about you, maybe you can tell me—what’s your story?”

Y/N stirred the pot on the stove, adding spices as she considered her answer. “That’s a broad question.”

“Fine, I’ll make it simpler,” Phainon said, pausing to dramatically wipe his imaginary sweat. “Where are you from?”

Y/N hesitated for only a fraction of a second before replying, “Here and there.”

Phainon stopped chopping. Squinted at her. “That’s not an answer.”

She smirked. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes! It’s exactly the kind of vague nonsense Mydei would say.” He groaned, running a hand through his white hair. “You two really are alike.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re friends.”

Phainon gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “You admit it!”

“I never denied it.”

Mydei, still seated, smirked slightly. Finally, someone who could match Phainon’s energy.

Phainon, recovering quickly, grinned. “Alright, fine. If you won’t tell me that, then how about—”

“Don’t,” Mydei cut in, already seeing where this was headed.

Phainon turned to him with an innocent look. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t start prying into things that aren’t your business.”

“Oh, please, Mydei.” Phainon rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to get to know our dear new friend.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to interrogate her.”

Phainon smirked but didn’t deny it. He turned back to Y/N and leaned against the counter. “I mean, you do have this whole ‘mysterious traveler’ thing going on. You can’t blame me for being curious.”

Y/N chuckled, flipping a piece of meat in the pan. “I don’t mind a little curiosity.”

Phainon shot Mydei a smug look. “See? She’s fine with it.”

“But I mind,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon sighed dramatically but didn’t push further—for now. Instead, he focused on helping with the cooking, sneaking in smaller, more casual questions whenever he could.

“So, what are we making?” he asked, watching as Y/N mixed ingredients together.

“A little of everything,” she replied. “Braised meat, some roasted vegetables, stew on the side.”

Phainon whistled. “You really know how to cook.”

Y/N shrugged, stirring the stew pot. “I like good food.”

Phainon nodded approvingly. “I respect that.”

The meal came together quickly, the flavors blending into something rich and savory. Mydei had remained mostly quiet, watching from his seat. But even he had to admit—the smell of the food was tempting.

Eventually, Y/N turned around, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Alright. Let’s eat.”

Phainon grinned. “Best thing I’ve heard all day.”

And as they sat down to share the meal,

The meal was nothing short of a success.

The rich aroma of the braised meat mixed with the savory warmth of the stew, perfectly complemented by the crisp, roasted vegetables. The food was flavorful, well-seasoned, and filling—something Phainon had no problem voicing.

“This—” Phainon took another bite, nearly humming in satisfaction, “—this is amazing. Y/N, you might just be my new favorite person.”

Y/N chuckled, sipping from her bowl. “Glad you like it.”

Phainon turned to Mydei, jabbing his spoon at him. “How come you never told me she could cook like this?”

Mydei sighed. “Because it’s not relevant.”

Phainon gaped. “Not relevant? Mydei, this is incredibly relevant.” He turned back to Y/N with a pleading expression. “If you ever need someone to taste-test your dishes, I volunteer.”

Y/N smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Phainon took another bite, visibly savoring it before looking at Y/N again. “Alright, alright, I’ll admit defeat. You’ve won me over with food.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Now, let’s get back to the important part—you and Mydei.”

Mydei groaned, already regretting staying.

Phainon grinned. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t keep dodging forever. You’ve already fed us, so why not throw in a little storytelling?”

Y/N tapped her fingers against her bowl, pretending to consider it. Mydei, sitting across from her, narrowed his eyes slightly. He knew she was enjoying this more than she let on.

After a few moments, she sighed in mock defeat. “Fine. Since you’re so curious.”

Phainon beamed, leaning in. “I am.”

Y/N placed her bowl down, glancing between the two men. “It happened at the ruins of Kremnos.”

Silence settled over the table as she began.

“I was exploring the area out of curiosity,” she explained. “The ruins are fascinating—old, crumbling, but still standing. I wanted to see what secrets they held.”

Mydei huffed. “Reckless.”

Y/N smirked. “Says the man who practically lives in battle.”

Phainon snickered. “She’s got a point.”

Y/N continued. “Along the way, I ran into some Titankin. Nothing I couldn’t handle. A few fights here and there.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “You took on Titankin alone?”

Y/N shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time.”

Phainon let out a low whistle. “Alright, impressive.”

Y/N nodded. “But then I spotted him.” She tilted her head toward Mydei. “At first, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. He was moving through the ruins like a ghost—silent, purposeful. He didn’t seem like the usual treasure hunters or ruin explorers. There was something… different about the way he carried himself.”

Phainon grinned. “Creepy.”

“Focused,” Mydei corrected, rolling his eyes.

Y/N smirked. “Creepy and focused.”

Phainon burst out laughing. “I like you.”

Y/N chuckled before continuing. “I didn’t approach him at first. Instead, I watched from the shadows, keeping my distance. I wasn’t sure if he was a threat or not. But then…” She glanced at Mydei. “He noticed me.”

Mydei crossed his arms. “Of course I did.”

Y/N hummed. “But you didn’t know who I was. I had my hood and mask on, after all.”

Phainon’s eyes widened with amusement. “Wait, so Mydei was paranoid?”

“Agitated, more like,” Y/N corrected. “Neither of us knew who the other was, but we both assumed the worst. One wrong move, and suddenly—”

“A fight broke out,” Mydei finished, smirking slightly.

Y/N nodded. “And it wasn’t a small one, either.”

Phainon leaned forward, very invested now. “Tell me everything.”

Y/N took a sip of water before speaking again. “He was fast. Strong. He fought like he owned the battlefield, like nothing could stop him. I held my own, matching his attacks, dodging when I could. But Mydei…” She exhaled. “He doesn’t go down easily.”

Phainon grinned. “Trust me, I know.”

Mydei remained silent, simply listening.

“I realized something was off about him as the fight dragged on,” Y/N continued. “Most people—no matter how skilled—slow down eventually. Their stamina wears out. They make mistakes.”

“But he didn’t.”

She turned to Mydei. “You didn’t falter. Not even once. You just kept going.”

Phainon smirked. “Yeah, that’s the annoying part.”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “You sound bitter.”

“I am bitter.”

Y/N chuckled. “Eventually, I reached my limit. I wasn’t exhausted yet, but I could tell if the fight kept going, I’d lose. And then—” She glanced at Mydei again. “You won.”

Phainon clicked his tongue. “Of course he did.”

Y/N smirked. “You say that like it bothers you.”

“It does.”

Y/N laughed softly before continuing. “After that, I expected him to finish me off. Or demand to know who I was. But instead… he just stood there, looking at me. Studying me.”

Phainon turned to Mydei. “So? What were you thinking?”

Mydei shrugged. “I was curious.”

Phainon blinked. “That’s it?”

“There aren’t many who can match my strength,” Mydei said simply. “Besides the Chrysos heirs, most people don’t last long against me.” He glanced at Y/N. “But she did.”

Y/N smirked. “And so, instead of enemies, we became…”

“Rivals?” Phainon suggested.

“Friends,” Y/N corrected.

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “That’s a weird way to make friends.”

Y/N chuckled. “Maybe. But it worked.”

Phainon leaned back, arms crossed, clearly intrigued. “Huh. And here I thought Mydei was incapable of making friends on his own.”

Mydei groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“I try.”

Y/N laughed softly, enjoying the banter between them. The conversation continued, shifting between jokes, light teasing, and small stories.

For once, Mydei didn’t mind the company.

And maybe—just maybe—he didn’t mind sharing this story either.

The meal was nearly finished, but the conversation carried on, the air warm with lingering laughter and the scent of spices still thick in the air. Phainon, still savoring the last bites of his meal, leaned forward with his usual mischievous grin.

“So,” he drawled, tapping his fingers against the table, “you and Mydei. Fighting, exploring, being all mysterious together. That’s nice and all—but surely, surely there’s more.”

Y/N tilted her head. “More?”

“Oh, don’t play coy now,” Phainon said, grinning. “You must have some good stories about our ever-serious prince here.”

Mydei sighed, already regretting not leaving earlier.

Y/N tapped her chin, as if considering it. “Well… there is one thing.”

Phainon perked up immediately. “Yes. Spill.”

Y/N smirked, casting Mydei a glance. “Did you know he likes baking?”

The room fell silent.

Phainon stared. Then he slowly turned to Mydei. “What?”

Mydei, who had been drinking water, exhaled sharply through his nose and set his cup down hard. “Y/N.” His voice held a clear warning.

But Y/N only smiled, resting her chin in her hand. “Oh, did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

Phainon blinked, as if trying to process what he just heard. Then, a slow, delighted grin spread across his face. “No. No way.”

Y/N nodded. “It’s true.”

Phainon pointed at Mydei, barely holding back his laughter. “You—you bake?”

Mydei scowled. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Phainon let out a short laugh. “You, the Mydei, Crown Prince of Kremnos, warrior of Okhema, immortal being rejected by death itself—stand in a kitchen and bake?”

Y/N chuckled. “And he’s good at it too, i love his honey cakes.”

Phainon gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in exaggerated shock. “I—I don’t even know what to say.” He turned to Mydei, eyes practically sparkling. “Why have you never told me this?”

“Because it’s not your business,” Mydei grumbled, shooting Y/N a look.

Y/N just smiled innocently. “You never told me to not mention it.”

Phainon was clearly enjoying this revelation far too much. “What do you even bake?”

“Does it matter?” Mydei snapped.

Y/N, still unbothered, answered for him. “Mostly cake. Sometimes pastries or bread.”

Phainon’s mouth fell open. “You bake pastries?”

“… Occasionally.”

Phainon nearly collapsed in his seat. “This is the best thing I’ve ever learned.”

Mydei groaned, rubbing his temples. “I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

"can I try some...." phainon ask but mydei cut him off "NO!"

Phainon ignored him, still grinning. “So, what else? What other hidden talents does our dear prince have?”

Y/N hummed. “Let’s see… Oh, sometimes we go on walks together.”

Phainon blinked. “Walks.”

“Mmhm.”

“You mean like, patrolling ruins? Training?”

“No,” Y/N said casually, “just strolling around.”

Phainon looked between the two of them. Then, with an absolutely incredulous expression, he burst into laughter. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Y/N replied, still amused.

Phainon turned to Mydei, who looked deeply, deeply (very deeply) unamused. “You—you take walks?”

Mydei scowled. “I don’t see the issue.”

“The issue is that you don’t even like talking to most people, let alone casually strolling with them!” Phainon exclaimed, still grinning. “Yet here you are, taking relaxing little walks like you don’t have the reputation of a battle-hardened warrior prince.”

Mydei exhaled through his nose, clearly trying to contain his irritation. “Are you done?”

Phainon smirked. “Not even close.”

Y/N chuckled, continuing, “Sometimes he even accompanies me when I explore ruins.”

Phainon shook his head, feigning shock. “Mydei? Voluntarily exploring with someone else?”

Y/N nodded. “He’s surprisingly good company.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly?”

“Well, he still complains sometimes,” Y/N admitted.

Mydei huffed. “Because you get distracted.”

“It’s called curiosity,” Y/N said with a smirk.

“It’s called reckless wandering.”

Phainon was absolutely thriving in this conversation. “Wow, this is so much better than I expected.” He grinned at Mydei. “And you always act like you prefer being alone.”

Mydei shot him a glare. “I still do.”

Phainon just grinned wider. “Sure, buddy.”

Y/N, watching the exchange, only smiled. She had no regrets about letting a few things slip.

If anything, she was enjoying it as much as Phainon was.

Phainon sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples dramatically, as if he were trying to process something impossible. He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief before turning his sharp blue eyes back to Y/N.

“I just… I don’t get it,” he said, voice laced with genuine confusion. “You. Friends. With him.” He gestured toward Mydei like he was pointing at a wild animal rather than a person.

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Watch it.”

Phainon ignored him completely, leaning toward Y/N. “You do know who you’re talking about, right? Mydei? Crown Prince of Kremnos? The guy who treats most people like an inconvenience? The same Mydei who barely tolerates me—and I’m fantastic!”

Y/N simply chuckled, amused by his reaction. “And?”

Phainon threw up his hands. “And—how did this happen? How are you still here? Why haven’t you run off like every other sane person he’s scared away?”

Y/N only smiled before turning toward Mydei, her expression warm. Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle, familiar embrace.

Mydei froze.

Phainon’s jaw dropped.

Y/N didn’t seem to notice their reactions—or if she did, she didn’t care. She rested her head lightly against Mydei’s shoulder, speaking softly. “Because Mydei is an amazing friend.”

Mydei remained stiff, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. His mind immediately jumped to retreating—he wasn’t used to people being this open with him. But Y/N’s embrace was warm, steady, completely unafraid.

Phainon, meanwhile, looked like he had just witnessed a divine revelation. He pointed at Mydei in stunned disbelief. “What. The. Hell.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to meet Mydei’s gaze, her eyes filled with warmth. “I mean it,” she said gently. “I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

Phainon gawked. Mydei stared.

The room was completely silent.

Y/N, as if unaware of the sheer shock she had just sent through them, continued smiling. “Sure, he can be a little grumpy, and he acts like he doesn’t care—but he does.” Her voice was soft but firm. “He always has my back. He listens, even when he pretends not to. He’s reliable, strong, and even if he won’t say it outright… he’s someone you can always count on.”

Mydei swallowed, his jaw tightening slightly. There was something unfamiliar twisting in his chest—something he didn’t quite know how to handle.

Phainon finally found his voice, pointing at Mydei in absolute astonishment. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Mydei?”

Y/N laughed. “Oh, he’s still the same Mydei.”

Phainon shook his head, still completely thrown. “I refuse to believe this. You like him?”

“Of course.” Y/N gave Mydei a small squeeze before pulling away fully. “He’s my friend.”

Phainon dragged a hand down his face, muttering to himself, “This is insane.”

Y/N chuckled, watching as Mydei exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to shake off whatever strange emotions had settled over him.

“…You’re both insufferable,” Mydei muttered at last.

Y/N just smiled, her expression knowing. “Sure, Mydei.”

Phainon slumped in his chair, still staring at them like he had seen a ghost. “I think I need to lie down.”

Y/N laughed again, and just for a brief moment—so brief it was almost imperceptible—Mydei’s lips twitched upward, barely a ghost of a smirk.

For once, he didn’t entirely mind the company. (Except for phainons)

Phainon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at Mydei like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. His blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, darting between him and Y/N.

“I’m leaving,” he finally announced, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that this was real life.

“Good,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon ignored him. Instead, he pointed dramatically at Y/N. “But you. You’re strange.”

She simply smiled. “I’ve been told.”

Phainon exhaled heavily, raking a hand through his white hair. “I need—” he paused, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what I need. To think maybe. To lie down. To question reality.” He took a step back. “This isn’t over.”

And with that, he finally left, muttering something under his breath about "needing a drink" and "Mydei being secretly replaced by a doppelgänger."

Silence filled the room.

Mydei let out a deep exhale, rubbing his temple. “Finally.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “You say that, but you know he’s going to be losing his mind over this for weeks.”

Mydei just grunted. “Not my problem.”

They sat in a comfortable quiet, the golden evening light filtering through the window, casting a warm glow over them. For a while, there was nothing but the soft sounds of the city outside, the occasional distant chatter from passersby.

Then, Mydei spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“…You meant all of that?”

Y/N turned her head slightly to look at him. “Of course.”

His crimson eyes flickered with something unreadable. He stared at the floor, his fingers idly tapping against his knee. “…Even the part where you said you wouldn’t trade me for anything?”

She smiled. “Especially that part.”

His jaw tightened slightly, as if the words were settling somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere unfamiliar.

Y/N shifted closer, resting her head gently on his shoulder.

Mydei immediately stiffened. His entire body went rigid, like someone had just dropped a battleaxe in his lap. His first instinct was to move away—space, he always needed space—but… he didn’t.

He let out a slow breath.

“You don’t have to overthink it,” Y/N murmured, voice soft and reassuring. “I like you just the way you are, Mydei.”

His breath hitched.

“I adore you,” she added. “Grumpiness, sharp edges, and all.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He knew it. He felt it. His entire face was burning.

“…You say ridiculous things,” he muttered.

“And yet,” Y/N teased, “you’re still listening.”

He huffed, scowling slightly. But he didn’t move.

He let her stay, resting against him, her warmth a quiet comfort.

For once, he didn’t feel the need to push it away.

Meanwhile, outside, Phainon had barely made it five steps before stopping in his tracks. He placed his hands on his head, eyes wide, staring at nothing in particular.

“This—this doesn’t make sense.” His voice was hoarse, as if the very fabric of reality had just been torn apart before him.

He turned toward the nearest street vendor. “Hey, hey, quick question—what do you do when you see something so impossible, so unbelievable that your brain refuses to accept it?”

The vendor blinked. “…Uh.”

Phainon grabbed his shoulders. “Do you—do you just pretend it didn’t happen? Do you try to rationalize it? Or do you just—accept it?”

The vendor nervously handed him a roasted skewer of meat. “Uh… here. Have this. You seem… unwell.”

Phainon took it but barely noticed. He turned back toward Y/N’s house, eyes still wide in disbelief.

“I need to sit down.”

And with that, he promptly collapsed onto a bench, skewer still in hand, questioning every life decision that had led him to this moment.

_______________________________________

Well here's the 3rd part XD

If u have any wishes or scenarios u wanna see, feel free to ask XD

[sturniololuvz]

could you do a fic where 3 year old sister clearly has a favorite and it’s matt, ps i love your sister series 🤍

yes, and sorry for not getting to you sooner. I’m actually at the very bottom of my inbox. I have like around 60. so I’m trying to do these all so very sorry I couldn’t get to you.



“Matty’s Little Shadow”

Sturniolos x sister

The sun streamed through the windows of the Sturniolo family’s living room, casting a warm glow on the floor. The sounds of laughter and playful shouts filled the air as Chris, Nick, and their three-year-old sister, Y/N, played with her toys. The boys were trying to film a TikTok, but Y/N had other ideas in mind.

“Matty, come play with me!” she called, her voice sweet and demanding as she tugged on Mat’s sleeve.

“Just a sec, Y/N! We’re almost done here,” Matt replied, trying to balance his attention between the video and his little sister.

But Y/N was persistent. She let out a dramatic huff, crossing her arms. “No! I want Matty! Come on!” She pouted, clearly upset that her favorite brother wasn’t giving her his full attention.

“Okay, okay! Just give me a minute!” Matt laughed, shooting Chris and Nick an apologetic look.

As soon as he finished recording, he turned to Y/N. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got for me!”

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree, and she grabbed his hand, dragging him over to her colorful play area. “Look! I made a castle!”

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Matt knelt beside her, genuinely impressed. He leaned in to inspect her creation, and Y/N beamed with pride.

Chris and Nick exchanged glances, both bemused and slightly jealous. “You know, she didn’t look at any of us when we were playing,” Nick said, nudging Chris. “I think she’s officially a Matty girl.”

“Tell me about it,” Chris replied, rolling his eyes playfully. “I’ve been trying to get her to play with me all day.”

Matt grinned, unfazed by the teasing. “What can I say? I’m just the best!”

As they continued to play, Y/N followed Matt around like a shadow, giggling and insisting he help her with every little thing. Whether it was stacking blocks or pretending to have a tea party, she wanted Mat’s undivided attention.

“Can we have a picnic?” Y/N asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“A picnic sounds fun! Let’s grab some snacks!” Matt said, rising to his feet.

Chris and Nick, feeling a bit left out, decided to join in. “Can we come too?” Chris asked, smirking.

Y/N frowned, placing her hands on her hips. “No! Just Matty!”

“Come on, don’t be like that!” Nick said, feigning disappointment. “I make the best sandwiches!”

“Y/N, it’s okay to let us join, right?” Chris added, trying to negotiate.

Y/N shook her head vigorously. “No! Matty’s my best friend!”

Matt chuckled, feeling a mix of pride and amusement. “You can have more than one best friend, you know. You can have all of us!”

“Okay, but I still want Matty to help me,” Y/N replied, climbing onto the couch and pulling out a small blanket.

The boys watched as Matt set up a makeshift picnic, spreading out the blanket and laying out snacks. Y/N was in her element, and her joy was infectious. As they munched on snacks, the laughter and chatter filled the room, and the triplets couldn’t help but feel grateful for these moments.

As the afternoon wore on, Matt leaned back against the couch, Y/N resting her head on his shoulder, blissfully content. “You know, I really love spending time with you, Y/N,” he said softly.

“I love you, Matty!” she exclaimed, her tiny voice full of affection.

Chris and Nick exchanged glances again, their hearts melting at the scene. They knew Mat would always hold a special place in Y/N’s heart, but they also felt the warmth of being part of her world.

In that moment, surrounded by laughter, snacks, and love, they were all just siblings—no matter who Y/N’s favorite was. And as the sun began to set, the Sturniolo family continued their playful antics, each moment cherished and remembered, the bond between them growing stronger with every passing day.

[hoeleeheeseung]

Dirty Dancing

genre: smut; dom! heeseung x fem! reader

synopsis: you're best friends with Heeseung, and his dance partner in your dance academy, what happens when a certain performance of yours, leaves him wanting more of you?

warnings: marking, fingering, oral (reader receiving), use of profanity, unprotected sex (stay safe y'all), degrading, creampie, filming (consensual)

trope: dance partners! heeseung x reader

a/n: not proofread, lmao

mdni!!

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

You were waiting for Heeseung outside the dance academy so that you could walk in together. He'd usually pick you up before going but you did not know why he said he couldn't pick you up today.

You finally saw him walking towards you, he was wearing a white tank top with black sweatpants, he'd paired it with his favorite baseball cap.

" Heeseung, you're 10 minutes late" you muttered

" I didn't ask you to wait for me, y/n. " he retorted

" What's wrong with you? why are you being so mean today?! did something happen?"

" It's nothing, I'm just having a bad day"

you giggled before answering

" Well, then buckle up, sweetie, because that's definitely going to change when you see my spectacular performance today"

" Oh yeah, you have that recording today, don't you? for the dance cover?"

" Yes sir!! and you're going to love the song that I've chosen"

" What song did you choose?"

" Bad Girls Like You by Tobii"

He snorted

" Yeah, as if you can pull that choreography off"

You rolled your eyes at his comment as you plopped your bag on the cold floor of the practice room.

Everyone had gathered to see your performance today, they recognized you as the best dancer in the academy.

" Y/n, the song that you've chosen is amazing, but I suggest that you perform with Heeseung, it gives the performance a sense of intimacy, like the song." said your trainer.

" But I didn't prepare the choreography with heeseung"

" Don't worry, I know the choreography, I can definitely perform with you, and improvise for parts I don't know."

" Great then, both of you can perform together, we'll begin in 5"

" God, Lee, do not ruin this, okay?" you muttered under your breath.

" Calm down, woman, i'll watch the choreography again if you'd like"

" Yes please!"

Heeseung watched the choreography a couple of times, you were lucky because he could learn choreographies easily, it was a piece of cake for him.

" Okay, let's begin, are you guys ready"

You nodded before getting to your positions.

" Starting in 3, 2, 1! "

The choreography came naturally to you, because you had practiced it so much that it became a part of your muscle memory.

You danced effortlessly to the song, pulling heeseung closer to yourself and grinding onto him for one part of the song. It caught him off guard, this was not part of the choreography, but he went along with it.

He couldn't comprehend why, but he liked the feeling of you against him, it made him hard. If it were up to him, he would've spanked your ass right then and there because of how good it felt against his cock, even if it was for barely 2 seconds.

Little did he know, the second time you started grinding against him, you felt him get hard.

He knew that everyone wanted the dance to be intimate so he gave them exactly that.

For the ending, he pulled you closer, wrapped one of your legs around his waist and kissed the spot between your collarbones.

You could feel his hard cock against your clothed cunt, which was now wet.

Everyone loved the performance and praised both of you for your immaculate skills.

After your performance, everyone just went back to practice their own choreographies.

Heeseung and you stayed back late, choreographing and recording another dance because you really had nowhere to be, maybe you didn't feel the tension when you were practicing, but you knew one thing, you were definitely going to go back home and finger yourself to the thought of heeseung, you were embarrassed about it but your wet pussy and hard nipples had a better grip on you than your conscience did.

" Do you want me to drop you off?"

"Sure, it's pretty late" you replied as you checked the time

It was 10:45 pm

You got inside heeseung's car, buckling your seatbelt.

Heeseung started driving, and none of you dared to utter a single word.

You kept thinking about how if no one was in the room during the performance, heeseung would've kissed your neck, sliding his hands under your top, unclasping your bra and massaging your tits.

Your train of thought was broken when you felt Heeseung's cold hand on your warm thigh, slowly inching up toward your shorts, squeezing your thigh lightly.

The feeling of his thick, veiny hand on your thigh made you let out a loud moan, which snapped you back to reality.

You turned to look at Heeseung, who gulped harshly, feeling his dick twitch at the sound of your moan.

Heeseung was hard beyond control, he knew that he wouldn't be able to relax until he flipped you over and fucked you, he knew that he wouldn't be able to calm down until he's filled your hole up.

So held himself back and drove to a relatively quieter place.

As he drove, you pulled his hand closer to your cunt and rubbed his fingers against yourself.

He pulled your shorts to the side, feeling your wetness through your underwear, moaning at the feeling of your wetness.

Heeseung pulled over to what looked like an abandoned parking lot.

Quickly unbuckling your seat belt, you climbed over to the driver's seat, sitting on his lap, resting your back against the steering wheel.

You stared at him for about a minute, maintaining eye contact, confirming that you both wanted to feel each other like never before.

He was quick to kiss you, his hand sliding across your torso, as you started to slowly ride his clothed cock, your hands tangling in his hair.

His white tank top was now translucent due to all the rigorous practice, you liked the feeling of his sweat on your palms.

You held his face in your hands as you moaned at the feeling of his body against yours.

He quickly stripped you out of your top, as he continued to moan onto your neck, leaving wet kisses, all over your body, as you still continued to grind against him.

Heeseung swiftly moved you to the back seat, hovering on top of you, after taking his tank top off

He kissed your neck, making you grip and tug his hair, moaning with pleasure and rolling your eyes as you bucked your hips up to feel his dick against your wetness.

He gradually moved down to your chest, leaving kisses onto your cleavage and tugging the material of your bra with his teeth

you sat back up, pushing him over, unhooking your bra, freeing your tits, making them bounce.

You were about to throw your bra towards the rest of your clothes but he snatched it from you, sniffing it, moaning as he bucked his hips into yours.

You spread your legs wide after he pulled your shorts down along with your underwear.

" look at that cunt, so gorgeous, dripping just for me."

He placed your right leg on his shoulder, as his hands caressed your leg, squeezing your thigh.

His left hand started to rub circles on your clit, making you moan loudly.

The windows of his car had started to fog up, his thumb swiping across your opening, he slowly leaned in to bury his face between your legs, making you shiver and jerk towards him.

Your grip on his hair started to get tighter, as you felt him spit into your hole, slowly licking your opening, making you shiver.

"Hee-fuck!" you groaned

He placed you back on the seat so that you were lying on the seat. Your hair started sticking to your body because of the sweat dripping down your neck.

Heeseung continued to lick around, caressing your clit with his thumbs, his nose rubbing against your clit every time he tilted his face.

" I'm cl-ose"

He stopped and got back up, making eye contact with you, swiftly sliding his middle finger in your hole, groaning at how you clenched around it.

"f-uck-you're so tight"

he then buried his face in your chest, licking your cleavage, moving his finger inside you, slowly adding another one in as you moaned.

You suddenly came undone all over his fingers, making him shut his eyes and moaning loudly.

"hm-ngh-such a whore for me"

He pulled his fingers out and wiped them off on your cleavage, leaning in to lick it off you, his hands each massaging your tits, squeezing them, slowly moving towards your nipple, sucking on it.

You screamed at the pleasure, your hands roaming all over his back, leaving scratches, digging into his skin.

Heeseung slid his boxers down and started to pump his cock, whining at the feeling of his cold hand on his shaft.

He sat back up, pulling you onto him, your back against his chest.

He slowly entered, your eyes rolling back as you rest your back on his chest, moaning loudly.

"ahh-mm-nghahh"

he started guiding you slowly, making you grind yourself on him, his right hand keeping you stable as his left hand squeezed your tits, moaning at the feeling of you on his cock.

You turned around to face him, stretching your hand to grab your phone from the passenger seat.

" Film me"

"wh-at?"

" Film me riding your cock, lee"

He took your phone, positioning it in his hand to film you

You started riding him, slowly, gradually increasing your speed as Heeseung continued to moan under you.

He filmed your tits bouncing up and down as you moaned his name, louder with every passing second.

You leaned in to mark his neck, leaving kisses on his adam's apple.

Heeseung groaned at the feeling of you grinding on his dick.

"I'm-gonna cum" you mumbled.

" Hold it in, you slut- fuc-k hold it in like a good whore-"

You started riding him faster, your moves getting sloppier until you both couldn't hold it in anymore and came together.

You screamed loudly at the feeling of him filling you up to the brim. Cum started flowing from your hole, as he lifted your leg up to film him cum dripping out of your hole.

" i can fuck you senseless forever"

"round 2?"

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Valentine's I Love You Miniseries: Stray Kids [Maknae Line]

a/n: FINALLYYYYY. From Canva not saving my banner designs to me taking so long to edit omg. A whole week later buuuuut I hope you enjoy nevertheless! <3

pairing: stray kids x reader

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

JISUNG:

You never knew what you were gonna get when it came to Jisung and his surprises, but you welcomed them warmly because you saw how excited he became when planning how to surprise you. He had a spontaneous nature and loved to surprise you with impromptu dates that were intricately planned to a T.

Jisung liked to be the element of surprise. Initially it used to be an insecure feeling for him because he never wanted to be seen as overbearing but you were very welcoming to his spontaneous ideas; you just asked to be given a little heads up to be prepared and ready. Jisung understood and it made him feel more at ease about being himself.

You love Jisung for who he is and he was so grateful you regaled him with his ideas. He fell more and more in love with you every time. When he daydreamed about the night before, he would find himself unconsciously smiling widely when he thought about you and the way you would sneak in a kiss out of nowhere. And especially the moment when you had let it slip that you love him.

So on Valentine’s Day, when he grabbed your hand and twirled you around, he made sure to clearly make his feelings also known.

“I really love you.”

You’ve got the one thing Jisung always needed in his life - the energy to match his spontaneity.

FELIX:

When Felix met you, you were two single people who just so happened to be standing right next to one another when a fireworks display was set on Valentine’s night. The two of you jumped at the sudden sound and looked right into each other’s eyes after embarrassingly. And when he looked at you, Felix felt that giddy and excited feeling.

The two of you continued to talk after and did so everyday after, becoming close friends instantly. And when he finally had the courage to ask you out, Felix couldn’t help but become more enamored with you. You had your quirks and playful traits and with Felix’s sweetheart nature, the two of you were a perfect pair.

The two of you were like silly little kids who became each other’s better half. So a year later on Valentine’s night again, when the two of you were back to watch the fireworks display again but this time as a couple, Felix knew this was the best time to say what he had on his mind for a long time.

“I love you Y/N.”

Under the lights one night, you stole Felix’s heart.

SEUNGMIN:

Seungmin wasn’t fond of physical touch or contact. He didn’t mind holding hands or hugging per say, but he didn’t really understand how people could be so clingy to someone else.

And then he met you. You made him feel so calm and relaxed and you either always knew what to say or knew when sitting in silence in each other’s presence was the best route to go. It made him feel safe and as time went on, during your silent sessions, he would always mindlessly play your hands and press a chaste kiss to it or pull you close to give you a sweet kiss.

Whether it was on the lips, cheeks or forehead, he would do it on a whim which would always surprise you. At one point, you jokingly said he loves you. But it wasn’t a joke to Seungmin. When he heard that and really thought about it, he realized how special you are to him.

After a night on the town for Valentine’s, when he once again on a whim kissed your hand that he was holding, you joked again that he loves you, but this time he responded.

“I do.”

“Huh?”

“I do love you.”

“HUH!?”

“I just really love you, so let me kiss you.”

JEONGIN:

It annoyed Jeongin that everyone still saw him as a kid sometimes, especially when it came to going out on dates. But then when he met you, he actually didn’t mind being seen as a kid sometimes. He found himself having fun and embracing his silly side with you, even though you had only known each other for a short amount of time.

But it didn’t matter what anyone else said, the two of you just enjoyed yourselves and each other’s company. So on Valentine’s night, after a night out that was planned like a scavenger hunt, while the two of you skipped down the street hand in hand swinging and giggling, Jeongin took a moment before loudly confessing.

“I love you so much, thank you for loving me.”

And then he pulled you with him, racing down the street to get a sweet treat.

The two of you may have only just met not too long ago but it definitely felt like love.

[msbysuperfan]

like-like ✰

kenma kozume x gender neutral reader, fluff, just reader being silly <3

this is my first work like this, i don't love it but i thought it was cute :)

wc: 360 ✰

"kenmaaaa." you flop onto his bed, ignoring the huff your boyfriend lets out as he's jostled by your movement. "i have a question."

he doesn't answer, too focused on the console in his hands, but the slight tilt of his head tells you he's still listening.

“do you have a crush?”

there’s another moment of silence, but it’s cut off by kenma actually pausing his game and looking up at you, confused. “... what?”

“a crush. do you have one?” you roll onto your stomach to face him, legs moving up to kick idly behind you.

“am i supposed to say you?” he sounds unimpressed. rude.

you let out a dramatic gasp in response, scooting closer. “is it me? really?”

kenma looks about ready to push you off the bed, hands already moving towards his handheld again. “are you being serious?”

“dead.” a poke to his cheek. “c’mon, i need to know!”

“y/n, cut it out, of course you’re my crush.”

another gasp. “you admit it! you like me!”

kenma is very much regretting pausing his game. he rubs at his eyes, wondering if it was a good idea to even agree to let you come watch him play. he met you through kuroo, which should have already given him a good idea of your personality, but he foolishly assumed that you couldn’t be worse than his rooster haired best friend. he was wrong.

“yeah, i like you.”

“do you…” you pause for dramatic effect. “... like-like me?”

he throws a pillow at your head. “y/n, we’ve literally been dating for a year.”

“i needed to make sure!”

kenma goes back to his game with a slight roll of his eyes. “as if. you know you’re the only person i would ever feel this way for.”

after his comment goes without a reaction from you, he starts to worry he’s said the wrong thing. he pauses the game again, already opening his mouth to form an apology, but instead he’s tackled to his back by your hug.

“ah! stop, stop-!”

a sloppy kiss to his cheek shuts him up. “i love you, nerd.”

“you’re so gross.”

he loves you too.

likes/rbs are appreciated!

[sylusonychinus]

Boy i love you pt.3 Finale :3

Pairings: Zayne x FemReader

Summary: Really like you :3

Part 1 Part 2

The sun was setting over the skyline, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, a perfect reflection of the warmth in Y/N’s heart. Today was the day. The day she and Zayne would finally take the step they had both known was inevitable. Their wedding day.

The grand ballroom of AKSO Hospital had been transformed into something out of a dream—a beautiful blend of elegance and simplicity, with soft white flowers cascading from every corner and twinkling lights hanging from the high ceilings. The room hummed with excitement as guests mingled and admired the decor. It was strange, she thought, that a place so often filled with medical equipment and urgent cases could now hold such a special meaning.

Y/N stood in front of a full-length mirror in the bridal suite, her wedding dress hugging her form perfectly, the delicate lace and satin shimmering softly in the light. The reflection staring back at her was one she barely recognized—she felt like a new person. She had spent so many years hiding her feelings, burying her love for Zayne, that seeing herself now, about to marry him, was almost surreal.

Her best friend, Tara, stood by her side, adjusting the veil. "You look absolutely stunning," Tara said, her voice filled with emotion.

Y/N smiled, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous in my life. Not even on my first day as a resident."

Tara chuckled, brushing away a stray tear. "I don’t blame you. But if anyone can handle this, it’s you."

The door creaked open, and Zayne’s mother, Mrs. Li, stepped in with a smile, her eyes already glistening with tears. "There you are, my dear," she said, walking over to embrace her. "I can't believe this day is finally here."

Y/N hugged her back tightly. "It feels like a dream."

Before she could say more, the door swung open again, and Zayne’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Mom, is she ready? I can’t wait any longer!” His excitement was palpable.

Mrs. Li smiled warmly. “She’s almost ready, Zayne. Go on, wait outside.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she turned back to the mirror. Soon, Zayne would be standing before her, just as they had imagined countless times through the years—finally together, in love, and ready to begin the rest of their lives.

Zayne stood at the altar, his eyes focused on the beautiful woman in front of him. He had never seen her look more radiant, and as he watched her walk toward him, his breath caught in his throat. Every step she took felt like a dream, the years of waiting, the uncertainty, and the moments they had shared all coming to fruition in this one perfect moment.

When she reached him, he took her hand in his, his voice steady but full of emotion. “You’re breathtaking, Y/N. I’ve never seen anything so perfect.”

She smiled, her heart racing as she looked into his eyes. "I think I’ve been dreaming of this day my whole life."

The ceremony was simple but filled with meaning. Their vows were personal, touching, and full of promises for the future they had always known they would share. In that moment, surrounded by friends, family, and colleagues, they sealed their bond in the most beautiful way.

When the officiant finally pronounced them husband and wife, Zayne leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that spoke of everything they had been through together. It was a kiss full of love, but also of relief—of knowing that they were finally on the same path, together, forever.

The guests erupted into applause, and as they walked down the aisle, hand in hand, the world seemed to open up before them. This was only the beginning of their journey.

The years that followed their wedding day were nothing short of a whirlwind, but they were a whirlwind that Y/N and Zayne embraced together. Their careers continued to flourish at AKSO Hospital, where they had become pillars of their departments. Zayne’s infectious optimism and warmth made him beloved by both patients and staff, while Y/N’s expertise in pediatrics made her one of the most respected doctors in her field.

But nothing compared to the joy they found at home. Their lives changed forever one chilly autumn evening when they brought their baby girl home from the hospital.

“Meet your daughter, Dr. Li,” Y/N whispered, her heart full as she cradled their newborn in her arms. The little girl was swaddled in a soft pink blanket, her tiny fingers wrapped around Zayne’s finger as he gazed down at her with awe.

Zayne was speechless for a moment, his eyes misting over. “She’s perfect,” he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. “She looks just like you.”

Y/N chuckled, gently rocking their daughter. “I’m sure she’ll take after you in some ways, too.”

Their little girl, whom they named Emma Grace, quickly became the center of their world. She was their miracle, their joy, and their reminder of the love that had always existed between them. She grew up in the warmth of their home, surrounded by the love of two doctors who had dedicated their lives to healing others but never forgot to cherish their family.

The hospital became a shared part of their lives. Emma loved to visit, running through the hallways and visiting Zayne’s office, where he would always sneak her a candy. Her laughter echoed through the corridors, a reminder to everyone around them of the joy that family brought.

As Emma grew older, she began to show an interest in medicine, often asking her parents questions about their work. Y/N would find her daughter watching videos of pediatric surgeries, asking about the heartbeats of babies and the importance of vaccinations. Zayne, too, couldn’t help but talk about his cases with her—how he loved seeing patients improve, how he had always wanted to be the kind of doctor who made a difference.

One sunny afternoon, Tara, still Y/N’s closest friend, arrived at their home, a wide grin on her face. “Look at you two,” she said, teasing them as she held Emma in her arms. "You’re parents now. How did this happen so fast?"

Y/N smiled softly, leaning back into the couch. “I know, right? Feels like just yesterday we were studying for exams together.”

Tara laughed, playfully tickling Emma, who squealed with delight. “It’s crazy how time flies. But look at her—she’s going to be a doctor, too, right?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she is,” Zayne said with a chuckle, his arm around Y/N as he watched Emma play.

Emma looked up at her parents with wide eyes. “I’m going to be the best doctor! Just like you, Mom, and you, Dad!”

Zayne and Y/N exchanged glances, pride radiating in their smiles. “That’s the spirit, sweetie,” Y/N said, her voice full of love. “You can be anything you want to be.”

As Emma grew older, she continued to show an incredible curiosity for medicine, her room filled with medical books and toy stethoscopes. Tara, who had always supported Y/N’s journey, was now an integral part of their lives as their unofficial family member, often visiting to lend a hand or just spend time with Emma, who had grown fond of her “Aunt Tara.”

On their quiet weekends, the Li family would sit together in their cozy living room, reading stories to Emma or watching her play with her dolls. The laughter, the little moments of joy, were all reminders of how far they had come—from study dates in medical school to now being a family, with a future full of endless possibilities.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she watched Zayne pick up Emma, tossing her in the air and catching her in a fit of giggles. Zayne had always been the kind of person who gave so much to others, but with Emma, he gave a love that was fierce and protective, as if he was savoring every moment with her.

“Mom, Dad, look!” Emma yelled from the living room, her little voice full of excitement as she held up a toy stethoscope. "I'm a doctor, just like you!"

Zayne turned to Y/N, his eyes twinkling with pride. “Looks like we’ve got a future doctor on our hands.”

Y/N laughed softly, her heart swelling with love for the life they had built together. It had been a journey full of growth, challenges, and moments of doubt—but now, with Zayne by her side, with Emma in their arms, she knew that everything had led to this.

A family.

A love that had always been written in the stars.

And with every new day, they would continue to navigate the world together—stronger, more connected, and filled with love.

[bluejackals]

LMAO FORR REAL LOCK IN BIRD BOY!! /lh

HELLO SAIINT..

mb for the late response I went to lock in on my homework. I do agree with you saiint about the lack of audience catharsis cause I felt it while watching! I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop (more stuff related to wifies's death) and if it never drops that says something about parrot's artistic choices and inevitably about uu!parrot for obvious reasons. Whether it would be a good choice or not is subjective. I'm not sure if I can speak on why he made the choice not to include anyone mourning Wifies, since the author's intentions are always up in the air, but I do completely get how you could see it as Parrot deciding it's not important.

I agree about the time investment not being proportional to the current ripples of wifies's death. Characters are all plot devices in some way, but your goal as a writer should always be to make them feel like real people, not tools that get thrown to the side the moment they've served whatever purpose they have in your eyes. I understand it can feel like that's kinda happening with uu!wifies right now. He was touted around as Parrot's best friend, he was in all the right situations as Parrot's right hand man, he did his job well, and now that he's served as the light of the beacons or whatever, he's kind of faded into the background. If that's what your saying. This is how I'm interpreting what you're saying

My opinion on Wifies not getting a grave is that the beacons were his grave (and a huge cope). His idea, his spirit are the foundation of every single one. But I do think that's not enough for him. It's nice, but once again, the amount of emotion and time the audience and Parrot as a writer have invested into uu!Wifies surpass just the beacons. I can take the emotional flatline uu!Parrot experienced at the end of season 1 in stride as long as it's the calm before some kind of storm, but yeah I understand the ball dropping end of s1 for you. I think we as the collective audience expected a little bit...more of anything from Wifies's death and we didn't quite get it. And it's definitely hard to invest in a story where the pov character doesn't really seem to care when terrible things happen. I have reasonably high expectations for the writing so I will be observing s2 closely :3

OKAY HELLO CONNIE hii o/

I do think that the results of luigi and wifies's deaths (speaking of their current impacts, not future impacts, whatever those may be) are not the most proportional. It exposes luigi and wifies as tools for the plot, which they are, but one should try to conceal that from the audience I think. Luigi is clearly a catalayst to push the plot towards the Farlands. That's fine! That's awesome! But like you said, if he can do that in one episode, Wifies's death better be echoing for the next like. ten.

AND HELLO SAINT AGAIN

yeah it is strange that the only person who seems to know Wifies was behind the beacons is Spoke. Even if they were spread across the server, nobody knows it was Wifies's thing. And it's intriguing that Parrot has just seemed to skip from emotional flatline to emotional flatline but with extra spikes on top. I wonder if uu!Parrot is repressing his grief or something. And also if the lack of lashing out is because he's just gotten colder with it and he really has nobody to lash out at. No tangible enemy, no Wifies to comfort him or be there silently for him. Literally just sitting in the aftermath of a giant war with nobody left. Even Ashswag has fucked off to live in his little house.

One thing I'd like to note is that Parrot has a pattern of introducing something that makes my "ooh it's gonna be important" detector ping but then two episodes later it's gone. See: the allay, luigi's emerald, the wolf Wifies made Parrot tame. Them disappearing makes the story a bit more jarring because once again, it can expose the fact that characters are plot devices. Why keep something around once it's had its "awww" moment? The only thing uu Parrot has kept is the spyglass. I find this interesting. Of course, Parrot is still improving and growing as a writer as we all are, so who knows why this happened! Must be hard to keep track of things in UU tbh I can't imagine having to manage this large of a cast and world. Huge respect to parrot spoke and wemmbu for creating UU I am cheering them on

I AHATREEEE THAT WIFIES WAS SO UNIMPORTANT TO MOST OF THE SERVER THAT PEOPLE DIDNT EVEN NOTICE HIS DEATH MESSAGE this is the main thing ive been crashing out over for the past month or however long ago doomsday was. people dont even know the beacons were his idea, some people who are mainly in the other mcs povs probably dont even know how important wifies was to parrot (im lying about canon a bit shhhhh wifies WAS that important to parrot 🌀🌀) because parrot DOESNT SHOW IT OR TALK AHOUTBIT EVER. his death was so quick and it went so unnoticed im gonqa. throu up. leaves my word vomit in your inbox and dies

that's why I say that I feel like Wifies's death felt like he was being punished by the narrative as a whole. i seriously am floored that nobody even raises an eyebrow at his death message in chat. the chat is clearly supposed be used and seen by all the characters, we're not meant to ignore it and neither are the characters. nobody openly mourning Wifies outside of Parrot (which even then his mourning is divisive) and Wato's very brief appearance feels like a punishment. it feels like the story is saying nobody cares, and what are you gonna do about it?

and I've seen the argument that like. there wasn't a lot of time. there were so many things happening and no time to add more mourning for Wifies. and my answer to that is: that's a symptom of poor pacing. as a storyteller, it's your job to pace and time everything satisfyingly. and to me, there's no reason why there couldn't have been five more minutes. why couldn't there have been an extended scene at some point with Wato and Parrot? Why couldn't there have been 5 minutes of Ken looking for Wifies and finding out through Parrot that he died? ten extra minutes on a nearly 4 hr video means nothing time wise. nobody was going to decide to not watch it because it was 3:46 hrs long instead of 3:36 hrs.

in plain terms: if we spend nearly as much time with a side character as we do with a main character, then there needs to be a proportional response to that side character's death. time is a currency in storytelling. if you spend time somewhere or with someone, you put your "money" into it by developing it. and then, the audience accepts the expectation set by the time they spend: This Person Is Important, You Should Treat Them As Such. you would never waste time developing an irrelevant thing. and yet, when the audience does treat that character as important, they're then mocked for doing so. why are you so disappointed with how little time was giving to mourning this side character? they're not a main character.

so the narrative punishes c!Wifies with irrelevancy; no one knows who he was, he was never developed outside of being obsessed with Parrot, and a whole a person and a half mourned his death after a full season of a show. and then the audience is punished for caring by not getting emotional catharsis for the death of a character they were told to care for.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

so like do you think they made the plastic wheelchair ALONGSIDE the plastic prison as a Just In Case situation, only after they realized charles was going to be a frequent visitor, or both as in because they knew charles was going to be the only person visiting him during planning they decided to make him a chair ahead of time

[moeblob]

OC !

[drummer-from-down-under]

Happy anniversary to my favourite episode of my favourite show!!!

[orcelito]

I'm at the painful "confession" scene during the kage summit arc. It really is so emotional, but also... hm.

When I was younger, like 13 or so, I was a big Sakura and Naruto shipper. They were the first pairing I read fanfic for even. And in a way, I do still enjoy the two of them together... but it's moments like these that really drive home the fact that it Doesn't really work in canon. Not the way that it's set up.

As Sakura puts it, "Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke! That's all you think about!"

She's told that Naruto has feelings for her and decides to use it to convince him to stop going after Sasuke. She does love him, but not in the way she's trying to confess. The love they share is one of comradery, not necessarily romantic. The love of two people who have gone through such pain together, and who have leaned on each other throughout it all. And the fact that she's turning around and saying she loves him "simply like everyone else", now... it's trivializing. And the fact that she's trying to convince him of this, the fact that she thinks she Can convince him of this, is pretty hurtful. They've come a long way from when they were kids, Naruto the goofball vying for her attention while she yelled at him for being stupid. Sakura respects Naruto so much more than before, and Naruto respects her too. So the fact that she's still doing this... She's desperate, really. She thinks the promise he made to her to bring Sasuke home is what's driving him to let himself be hurt over and over and over again in the pursuit and protection of Sasuke.

But she's wrong.

That may be part of it, but it's only part. Naruto wants Sasuke back for himself, too. He let himself be beat up to avoid selling him out. He chases after him with single minded determination. Sasuke is his entire drive to get stronger, to catch up, to bring him home. Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke indeed.

As it is, Naruto knows she's lying to herself. And no matter what she says, he will keep going after Sasuke. Because that's just the person that Naruto is.

[crossbackpoke-check]

re last answer: please don't stop, being very unhinged about these two pretty white boys is helping distract me from the sharks losing streak rn so bring it on

https://www.tumblr.com/bondedpairs/764566430180147200?source=share

(sideblog woes but there's the link for you) anyway in the vid they talk about going over to each other's houses to have dinner and things and while that is a delicious example of their codependence i love it bc through an rpf lens there is definitely some old man ******* going on. they can have the dilfs and each other.

(someone else mentioned kept boys which i could write an essay on but i fear being Perceived™️)

anyway if you have anything to add to this please do, if not ignore me and i will hide under a rock until the stress-related insanity has worn off and i am a functioning member of society once more 😂

- @bondedpairs

ty for the video!!! and please, WRITE THE KEPT BOYS ESSAYYYY i promise i will read it with my hands over my eyes if you don’t want to be perceived. do it scared!! do it anyway!! we’ll all love you for it!!!