#ward drabble

[rafessecret]

Omg I need dadward and brother rafe rn pleas

⋆˚࿔ doll¡ reader && rafe cameron with ward cameron

YOUR FINGERS, THIER FILTHY SECRET.

He shouldn’t have clicked the link.

It was just some random file on the family computer, auto-saved deep inside your folder—buried beneath school essays, old birthday collages, selfies in sunlit rooms with that innocent smile of yours. He thought it’d be nothing. Thought it’d be safe. But when the screen loads, his lungs seize.

It’s you.

The footage is grainy, dimly lit by the amber glow of your bedside lamp, shadows dancing across your walls like voyeurs themselves. You’re tucked up on your bed in the softest little pyjamas—those barely-there shorts riding up your thighs, your tank top tight enough to cling to your tits, no bra underneath, nipples poking through the cotton. It’s the kind of thing you wear around the house without thinking twice.

But you’re not being innocent tonight. Ward’s eyes narrow, his whole body going still as your fingers slip beneath your waistband, slow and secretive like you're trying not to be heard. His cock gives an angry twitch. He shouldn't be seeing this. He shouldn’t want to see this.

But fuck, he does.

Your lips part in a shaky sigh, your head tipping back against the pillow as you drag your fingers over your cunt, lazy and tentative. Testing yourself. Dipping low, teasing that soaked little spot between your thighs like you don’t even know how sinful you look. Ward’s hand hovers over the mouse, frozen—but the other drifts lower, slow and deliberate, palming the heavy bulge in his pants with a shuddering groan.

You’re so soft. So needy. Hips lifting in these tiny, desperate rolls, seeking more pressure, more friction. Your lashes flutter, mouth falling open around the sweetest breathy moan—and it punches the air out of his lungs. Because he knows that sound. He’s heard you hum over morning coffee, giggle on the phone, and whisper sleepy thanks as you pad through the kitchen in those stupid fuzzy socks. But this? This is new. This is a version of you no one’s supposed to see.

❝Fuck,❞ he growls, breath hitched as he rips his belt open and drags his slacks down just far enough to free himself. His cock is thick, flushed, already leaking—and he strokes it with a tight grip, slow and cruel, matching the rhythm of your fingers. His mind spins with images: you, pinned beneath him and soaking wet, those shy little moans strangled by his mouth as he pushes you past your breaking point. Did you know the camera was on? Did you mean for this to be saved? Maybe it was an accident. Maybe you’re that careless.

Or maybe—maybe you wanted someone to see. Wanted him to see.

His jaw clenches. The idea makes his cock twitch in his fist. Maybe you’d be embarrassed. Maybe you’d cry if you knew. Or maybe you'd whimper and hide your face and beg him not to stop even as you blushed, thighs spread and shaking for more. Maybe you liked the idea of being watched. Corrupted. Caught.

And god, you’re so close now—hips stuttering, breath quickening. One hand still working between your legs, the other clamped over your mouth, failing to smother the whimper that slips out. That’s what ruins him. The sound. The sight of you completely unravelling, legs tensed, chest heaving, body jerking as you cum on your fingers like a good little mess.

Ward’s head falls back with a broken groan, ropes of cum spilling across his fist, his belly, and his slacks. His muscles tense, vision going white-hot with pleasure as he fucks his hand through the waves, biting down a grunt as he rides it out. Silence settles thick after the storm.

The video ends. He breathes hard, blinking at the dark screen like it personally offended him. His heart still hammers. His cock twitches in the cooling air. Slowly, he wipes himself up, zips his pants, and clears the browser history like a man possessed.

But that video? That stays.

He even makes a copy.

Just in case you ever need reminding of who’s watching.

Rafe finds it by accident. Or maybe not. Maybe he was snooping through your folders again, looking for something—anything—to get off to. You’d left your laptop open, humming through sleep mode like it wanted to be touched. And Rafe? He always touches. The video isn’t labelled, just tucked into a folder with your name on it. When he opens it and the grainy light flickers to life, his breath stutters.

It’s you. Soft and pretty in those tiny pyjamas, legs spread, hand between your thighs. The moment your fingers drag through your slick, Rafe nearly chokes on a groan. ❝Fuck,❞ he whispers, already hard under the covers. He’s in bed, lights off, the house quiet—nobody around to hear the filthy sounds you make. The breathy little whimper you try to smother with your hand? It kills him. His cock throbs.

Because this wasn’t for just anyone. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t careless. You made this for him. You knew he’d find it. Knew he’d watch it with his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself to the sight of you coming apart like that. His fist pumps slow and tight, tip flushed and leaking, matching your pace. He can’t tear his eyes away. ❝Fuckin’ knew you were mine,❞ he growls through clenched teeth, hips twitching. ❝Knew it, baby. You wanted me to see.❞

When you cum, shaking and whimpering like a dream, Rafe spills with a broken sound—hot, thick ropes painting his stomach as he bucks into his hand. His chest heaves, mind spinning. He watches the whole thing again before bed. Saves a copy to his phone. Just like his old man did.

Neither of them knows the other’s watching.

But you? You know exactly what you’re doing.

And who it’s for.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : okay, not gonna lie, I’m a little unsure about this one, but I figured I’d give it a shot. hope it’s not too much, but if you’re into the dirty stuff, I think you’ll like it.

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire , @faiyaz555

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[backstabbvrs]

Rafe Drabble

Smut! 18+ Not proofread.

Warnings!creampie, bullying, praise

Your friends never believed you when you said you were with Rafe. They always thought you were kidding. ‘Why would he want you?’ ‘He obviously wants me!’ They would tease you and say these nasty things.

After going to his house, you were in tears already. You told him all the nasty things they would say to you. How mean they were to you. Rafe reassured you, he wants you not them.

Next morning, video pops up on their phones. Rafe is fucking you from behind and your back is turned towards him. You’re moaning so loud, your needy cunt is so wet for his fat cock.

‘Good fucking girl. Take my dick like that. Oh yes!’ He said in the background and you would back your ass up to his hips taking him deep. At the end he would fill your cunt up with his cum, creaming your little hole. ‘Good girl, did such a good job.’ He said at the end of the video, slipping out and seeing his creamy dick.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

obsessive love

words: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ only!!!, smut!!!, MURDER!!!, SERIAL KILLER!RAFE, PSYCHO!RAFE but sweet with reader, best friends to lover, DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD AND STABBING, physical violence, psycho!reader as well!, romanticization/sexualization of murder?, mentions of stalking (in the past), road head, blowjob, p in v sex, semi public sex, rafe beating up your dates tehe, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (advisement to take caution and heed warnings! ty)

rafe is only half paying attention as the movie plays out on the screen. he’s far more focused on the way you’re tucked into him, squealing every time a jumpscare happens and ducking your head into his chest with a wide smile on your face.

it’s not unusual for you to get touchy with him, to cuddle in bed after a day together or hold hands when in a crowd. but lately rafe has found it difficult to not take things further. he has loved you since first grade. not had a crush on like some people like to say. no, rafe only knows deep, obsessive love for you.

it’s why you barely dated anyone high school, rafe was always there to beat your date up and make sure they didn’t reveal it was him. afterall, you’re his best friend. he just wants you to be happy. happy and with him. no one else deserves you, or can protect you the way he can, go to the extreme lengths rafe will.

rafe realized he was in deep shit when he was stalking one of your dates that he wasn’t able to get to. he dropped you off on your front porch and had the audacity to kiss you. rafe exploded the second you were inside. you found your date a bleeding and bruised pulp still on your doorstep the next morning.

“its not even that scary.” rafe chuckles, teasing you as you grip onto his forearm.

“yes it is!” you love getting scared. it’s what you often say is your worst feature. you may scream your head off at horror movies, but you’ll still drag rafe along to haunted houses come halloween and stay up late binging your favorite thrillers with a smile on your face despite the chills down your spine.

rafe forces himself to pay attention to the last couple minutes of the movie. its entertaining enough to distract him from wanting to pull you closer to him, to never let you go, to always keep you by his side where you're safe and happy.

an idea forms in rafes head as he watches the two characters finally kill the serial killer that had murdered all of their friends and tried to go after them. he watches the way they embrace, relief on their faces as they kiss, bonded together forever from the shared trauma.

rafe smiles as you ask him if he’s up for another movie, purposely navigating you to one involving an in love couple and people getting mysteriously murdered in their small town. rafe knows what he’s going to do to keep you close, to play into your fear and need for him.

--

“holy shit!” you grab the remote, unmuting the tv. you would apologize for using the language in front of wheezie, but she has just a bad of mouth as you do, and very little supervision now that ward is dead and rose fled with what little money she had left.

you both watch the news report on the edge of your seat, the anchor giving details on the recent murder in kildare. it’s a boy you went to school with, but haven’t spoken to since graduation. when the anchor begins to go over details of the murder, you click the tv off.

“hey!” wheezie argues, scrunching her brow as she looks at you, but you just shake your head. “you don’t need to be watching that kind of stuff, wheeze.”

you stand up to find rafe, eyes glancing around nervously, as if whoever murdered the boy could be lurking inside tanneyhill. you don’t realize that the murderer is just the man you want to see.

“rafe, oh my god!” you cry out when you round the corner to find him walking down the hallway. you fling your arms around his shoulders. he’s shocked for only a second before pulling you in, holding you by your waist as the words spill from your mouth, recounting the news to him.

“oh, that’s terrible.” he frowns, hand gliding up and down your back. “you better stay the night tonight, yeah?” he offers. it’s hours away from dark, but you certainly don’t want to venture home after hearing the news.

“yeah, if you don’t mind.” you feel your cheeks blush slightly, knowing you’ll end up sharing a bed with rafe as always.

“i never mind.” he smiles at you.

--

you wrap your arms around yourself as you watch the news report. the third murder in just under a month just took place last night. you lean against rafe, who presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“i can’t believe we knew all three people killed.” they weren’t particular gruesome deaths, most just a couple stabs with a sharp knife and leaving them to bleed out, there was no passion in the murder itself, no torturing or postmortem injuries.

“i know, it’s scary.” rafe is glad you can’t see the smile on his face. you already spent most nights anyways, but now you’re over more and more, only feeling safe when you have rafes arms around you. it makes it a little hard for him to slip away, but he finds the time.

“and not the fun kind of scary.” you pout. “although…” you trail off, almost like you didn’t mean to say it.

“although what?” rafe questions. 

you sit up a little straighter, wiping your hands on your pants. “it’s a little exciting, isn’t it?” you admit. “that makes me sick, doesn’t it?”

rafe shakes his head, pulling away slightly to see your big innocent eyes blinking up at him as you continue to explain. “obviously it’s terrible these people are dead but… god, it’s exhilarating!” your words switch to rambling as you finally get your feelings out. “like the thrill of knowing there’s someone out there killing people, it just makes me feel so alive! as long as i don’t get killed or anyone close to me-”

“i won’t kill you.” rafe says the words to stop your rambling, not even realizing his slip up. “i won’t let you get killed.” he quickly corrects himself.

“i know.” you look rafe up and down. he can tell when your face shifts into one of sheer concentration, mind slowly piecing the puzzle together. rafe needs to do something now before it all comes together.

he could scream or yell for wheezie or… rafe leans in and presses his lips against yours, mouths molding together. you hesitate for a moment before kissing back, much to rafes relief.

“i won’t let you get killed because i love you.” rafe says, hand cupping your jaw to bring you in for another kiss.

“oh, rafe.” you coo, smooching all across his face before landing on his lips again. “i love you too!”

--

it’s harder now that you’re moved in. you went from spending most nights in rafes bed to making tanneyhill your home as well, cuddling and kissing every night until you’re off to sleep.

he doesn’t need to kill as much now anyways, besides he’s got most of the boys from high school who looked at you a little too hard in your shorts for gym class, or said lude things about you when you weren’t around.

you’re well and truly his, but rafe can’t help himself. he loves the way you hide in his arms when a murder happens, how you kiss him deeply and tell him you love him so much, how you’re so glad that something good came out of something terrible and that you’re together now.

rafe waits until you’re fast asleep before slipping his arm out from under you. he grabs the knife from the back of his closet before heading out. he just needs someone. to stab and maim someone. it’s been months since the serial killers last appearance, and people are starting to relax again, including you, even asking if rafe minded if you went out with your girlfriends without him.

rafe does what he needs to do. he doesn’t enjoy the act itself, but he doesn’t dislike the feeling after either. he walks back into the house, knife bloody but wiped off on the victims own clothes as to not drip all over the house as he sneaks in.

his footsteps pause when he sees you standing there, robe wrapped around your shoulders. he knows you see it. he knows you know everything.

“baby, please don’t leave me i-”

“can i come with you next time?” 

“what?” your question shocks rafe, his voice raising before glancing up the stairs to make sure he didn’t wake wheezie.

“next time you kill someone. will you take me with you?” you ask, glancing at the knife, hating the rush you feel over your whole body when seeing it. it’s the last confirmation you needed for what you have been suspecting.

“i-baby, i don’t need to kill anymore. i’ll stop, it was just-”

“no.” you shake your head. “rafe, i don’t care. you can keep doing it. it’s… exciting.” you’re not ashamed this time when admitting it. you used to be worried about the murders but now you know there’s truly no need. rafe would never hurt you.

“okay.” he swallows, stepping closer, glad that you don’t turn away as you accept a kiss pressed to your lips. “okay, i’ll bring you next time.”

--

“shit, that was exciting!” you squeal, smiling as you turn to rafe. “seeing the life drain out of his eyes? and god, you were so hot when you stabbed him!”

“baby, you sound crazy.” rafe chuckles, easily gliding the car around the turns of the backroads, heading back towards home.

“rafe, you are a literal serial killer, i don’t think you should lecture me on sounding crazy.” you giggle, not even tired despite the late hour from all the adrenaline. “and god, you looked so hot stabbing that guy.”

you reach over and run your fingers down his forearm, remembering the way his muscles bulged and stretch when swinging the knife. your hand moves from rubbing his arm to his thigh, only pretending that your movements are innocent for a minute before you slide your hand up to his crotch, rubbing at his length, feeling it harden in his pants.

“baby-” rafe groans, eyes flicking between you, your hand, and the road in front of him illuminated by his headlights.

“just keep driving, it's okay.” you unbuckle so you can lean across the center console, lips pressing against his neck, tongue darting out to taste his skin.

you tug at the front of his sweatpants, rafe lifting his hips to assist you as the car engine roars. you grip his cock, teeth running over his jaw teasingly, never biting down as you stroke him eagerly, wanting to thank him for continuing his killing spree, for starting it for you and allowing you to take part.

“let me suck you off.” you gather your hair to one side, fucking your head until you're bent sideways. you hold rafes cock with one hand at his base while your lips sink down around the head, moaning at the familiar taste on your lips.

“fuck.” rafe swerves slightly, glad there's no one else on the road as you suck and lick at him, not caring that you're dripping spit down your chin from your movements.

“lemme pull over baby.” rafe says. he knows how much you like the excitement, the rare possibility someone could drive by, but he needs you hop0ing on his dick.

“fiiiine.” you say dramatically, going right back to sucking him off until rafe pulls on a dirt road. you work your shorts and panties off so the second the car is shifted into park, you swing your legs over to straddle rafe.

“shit, you're so wet.” rafe groans as you rub his cock through your folds.

“i told you.” you smirk at rafe. “you looked so hot killing that guy.”

you sink down before rafe can reply. 

the murders shift from rafe doing them in secret to make you rely on him, to force you closer, to something you do together, you often doing the planning while rafe finishes the task with violence.

you barely get back to the car before you jump on him, needing to feel his fingertips digging into your hips while he fucks ever, even if there are still specks of blood on him.

you know you won't get caught. no one would expect the former troubled teen turned happily domesticated man, raising his little sister after his father's death with his faithful girlfriend, to be the one behind the violence.

you see no reason to stop as rafe wipes his knife clean for what feels like the hundredth time.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut

[blushhbambi]

── ˙ ̟ ೕ !! ꣑୧ ward cameron x reader mdniᝰ.ᐟ age gap, cheating, thigh riding... . ༉‧₊˚. word count; ¹k a/n— ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ happy late fathers day angels !

“you look comfortable…”

a low grumble calls out from the patio. ward cameron, sitting back in his usual expensive looking clothing. an even more expensive looking watch adorning his wrist. while his hand coiled around a beer bottle neck as he watched you lounge by his pool all alone.

his thumb running over the rim of it slowly, flicking at the nub lazily like he was making a show of it.

with your teeth dragging over your bottom lip softly, your eyes follow the movement, heart thumping at the sight of his rough hands. wondering how they'd feel around you. gripping and tugging at all the right places, dipping between your thighs—

“where's rafe, huh ?”

you blink up suddenly, thinking back to your boyfriend, a fucking idiot who couldn't chose between his girlfriend and a line of coke. you manage a shrug and that was all he needed, he jerked his head and patted his thigh leisurely.

“c'mere sweetheart, c'mon—”

his words were honey thick and sweet, almost seeming hypnotic by how fast you got up and padded towards him with a shy and careful smile. it was a hot day, boiling even, only getting hotter by your proximity.

you stood before him in your pretty little bikini, like you were on presentation, a little dollie just for him.

“whats up with you two kids hm ?”

an awkward smile tugs at your lips as you twist half nervous, you felt so small under the older mans gaze.

“s'just rafe being rafe mr cameron—”

“ah— what'd I say ‘bout calling me that?”, he laughs deep and soft as velvet, pointing a finger at you, poking the soft of your stomach in jest.

“oh, right—”, you let out a little giggle, leaning closer without even realising, like he had this magnetic pull around him, and you were right in his orbit. you blink over his face, letting a beat pass before his name hums out of your smiling lips.

“ward.”

“yeah, that's right sweetheart…”, his face is suddenly a little more serious as his two fingers trace your side, leaving your skin buzzing in excitement, tugging you between his spread legs. you still have that stupid, naive look on your face, like he hung up the sky and stars himself.

his hands were big and rough, calloused as he rubbed over your hip. he glanced around and then up at you with a gentle look as if to ask if this was okay. he took your silence, that dumb look of awe on your pretty face as a yes. the look you always had, whether he was busy at his desk and hard at work or scolding rafe for forgetting to get you flowers for whatever occasion.

before you knew it, his hands got rougher, pulling you over the large of his thigh with ease, you gasp softly hips already twitching. he holds back a proud smile, holding your hips to keep you balanced.

you suddenly realise how empty the house was, how quiet the yard was, and how close you two were. you shift about to speak when he stops you with a squeeze of your hips, thumbs rubbing over your hip bones.

“say it again.”

“what—”

“say my name, sweetheart.”

your stomach tightens at the command and you feel a throb between your legs, maybe he felt it too the way he let out a little huff of laughter, looking over you, your chest pressed gently against his now. he stares at your curves barely hidden by the thin, damp fabric of your bikini.

“ward…”, you whisper out, you couldn't help the way your hips shifted over his thigh, the rough denim making you bite back a moan. he watches you intently.

“s'okay sweetheart— go on—”

it's all too much, too quiet, too desperate, too needy and its all bubbling in your stomach while you stare up at him wide eyed and cautious, grinding down half nervous onto his now tense thigh. hes got a palm to your cheek, keeping you looking up at him as you let out a shaky breath.

another sigh of his name sparks that look in his eye, like he's enjoying it, that look of desperation painted across your face that he's sneakily pulling closer to his own, your noses brushing together.

“that boys neglecting you huh—?”, he hums out amused.

you shift your weight to grind down harder, you're soaked, and embarrassingly so.

“shit— m'sorry—”, you gasp out but he shakes his head quickly, tutting gently as if to scold you, his hands help you drag your slick covered bikini bottom across the hard denim and you let out a sudden lewd yelp, closing your eyes tight as you held onto him desperately.

“you're good angel— c'mon— you're so fucking good—”, he nods rubbing the side of his face with yours, brushing his lips against your soft skin, cooing out soothingly as he pulled you closer, you were clenching around nothing and dampening his jeans now.

the friction between your legs was sharp, almost unbearable, and he's whispering sweetly into your skin, spurring you on with a soft,

“good girl—”, or “look at you— so fucking pretty for me angel—”.

your breath comes out in pants. short, choked, teary gasps. the coil in your stomach tightens, a thick, hot knot that grew with every pulse.

“oh— oh god—”, you moan out, and he nods like he understood your lack of words and how heavy your head was, filling with his cologne and dark eyes. his mouth is on yours now, swallowing your moans, trying to soften your cries with his tongue.

your peak hits suddenly, your humping against him pathetically, chasing your high, licking into his mouth and sucking at his tongue. you soak the fabric between you two, it's hot and overwhelming, and you can only gasp out his name while your nails dug at his shoulders, thighs tightening around his much bigger one.

you milk out the last of your pleasure and fall against him, limp and tired, shaking softly against him as you catch your breath.

his cock was straining against his jeans, practically throbbing at the sight of you. but he held you close, pressing soft kisses to your hair as you hid your face in his shirt and your head was so full of him that you'd forgotten all about rafe.

“did so good, sweetheart.”

© written by blushhbambi— do not steal or claim as ur own ᝰ.ᐟ

[thatsdemko]

something bout you - p. o'ward

masterlist | pairing: Pato o’ward x Rossi!fem!reader summary: your love for him is different and he couldn’t love it more. warnings: 18+ content + mentions of Indy500 results + fluff + angst(?) + minor errors a/n: hiiii! Im back :) I’ve been working on this since the results of indy500 and while it’s not perfect I hope you all enjoy!

where your brother was a dark cloud on rainy days, you were the thunder and lightning that boomed across the sky alongside him. its enticing to someone like him.

he’s drawn to the identical to dark like storm eyes, black hair that sways across your back. you were rossi’s identical down to the bone. zak brown used to swear it was traumatizing, now Pato finds it adoring.

where Alexander was millennial humor, and minimal smiles, you were nothing but witty gen z comebacks and a smile once a month. Pato found your personalities jarring in comparison, but made it his mission to brighten your clouds.

“woah.”

it sounded more like a whoosh of air exhaling from his lips. seeing you in a dark blue floor length gown truly took the air and words from his lungs. it threatens the muscles in your cheeks to tug upward, but you refuse to give pato the satisfaction of a smile.

“what?” you whip your head in his direction. navy blue suit jacket, a white shirt that was slightly unbuttoned, and matching pants. he looks heavenly. you hate that.

“you look gorgeous, amor.” the nickname rolls off his tongue, a smirk tugging his lips as he watches red flicker across your cheeks. you didn’t need to show any other signs of affection for him to know that subtle weakness for him.

“and you look like a buffoon. not even a suit can help your case.”

a chuckle escapes his lips, and for the first time since sunday morning he’s actually smiling. leave it to a rossi to lift his spirits.

“you brighten my day, Rossi.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Alex comes up behind you. his black suit and dark blue tie matching your dress like twins.

right, he reminds himself, siblings. she’s not for you.

“other Rossi,” you reply turning to your brother, “you think way too highly of yourself.”

—

a permanent scowl formed the second Josef took the stage. it was a common look for you, though you masked it well during most days, tonight was one of those moments you let it rip.

Josef drove a hell of a drive yesterday, but seeing him on stage was all but a reminder of what Pato lost and for some reason that angered you. having to watch your brother, his sister, and his own team members lift him up from another disappointing loss trickles into your memory. it was a well deserved win for Josef, but your heart ached for somebody else.

somebody you definitely shouldn’t have feelings for, but you find yourself having. someone who opened up the dark cloud and made it a little brighter.

when Pato finally took the stage, all he could see was you. the scowl loosening from your face to a contorted smile. all energy from earlier drained out of him. having to be reminded of his failed efforts, but he did enjoy the view of you practically envisioning what it would be like to strangle newgarden.

“that’s two smiles this month.” Pato whispered into your ear when he passed you to his seat. he could hear a low grumble come from you, and the scowl was back, but aimed at him.

he reveled in it. taking in all your features and how hard you work to keep your vulnerability inside that hard shell. because for a split second when he took that stage he saw you for what you truly were; a fool in love with him.

—

“I like when you get defensive of me.” he says, coming up from behind you. he rests his chin against your shoulder, the hairs that fell out his gel slicked back tickle your skin.

“the scowl was out of annoyance. don’t think too deep about it.” you say, attempting to fight his touch, but it’s too much strength to do so. you just relax your body into his and allow yourself to be held.

“I like to think you actually do love me.”

you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you feel his lips graze the sensitive part of neck. you can feel your knees weaken, ready to crumble into his arms.

love was a strong word and emotion, but it never felt big and scary with Pato. love was different with him. different was good, different was better than whatever you’d read in books. you didn’t need the fairytales, you just needed someone to remind you to smile once a month. or not attempt murder when he lost important races.

“say it,” he mumbles into your skin, teeth running across your flesh, you can feel goosebumps scatter across your skin, “say you love me.” he takes a piece of your skin in between your teeth, the sound of your sharp inhale fuels the fire in him.

“I do,” you swallow, trying to steady yourself against him, “I love you.” you spin around to face him, your dark eyes stare into his chocolate ones.

he nudges your body towards the bed and you comply. seating on the edge of the bed, you watch him remove his suit jacket. the most mundane task, was such a turn on for you. you unconsciously open your legs for him.

“I love you too,” he presses his knee in between your thighs, gently dropping your back onto the mattress, “even when you want to murder me.”

“I’d murder for you,” you say pulling him by the collar of his shirt, “but if you don’t fuck me, I will strangle you.” you growl into his ear before sinking your teeth into the outer edge of his lobe.

“you always seem to have a way with the words.”

[cherrielyme]

🍒 Yaps

Thinking about JJ’s older sister getting a job at a strip club on the mainland because who the fuck else is gonna pay the bills when JJ’s always off hunting treasure and Luke is a useless druggie always getting fired? And one day who else but Ward Cameron walks in?? And also idk why but I firmly believe that Ward and Luke were besties back in the day, pining over the same girl, who eventually chose Luke, and had JJ and his sister. And she and her mom look SCARY alike and Ward thinks he’s seen a ghost but nope, just a freshly 18 girl who’s very naive and gets all roped into Ward’s shit as soon as he talks nice to her and gives her more money than she knows what to do with.

And one day she’s leaving Tannyhil after spending the night with Ward and she runs into Rafe, who’s known his dad’s been seeing someone but didn’t know that it was like… a Maybank, and a hot one at that. And we all know what Rafe is like, like he wants to be his dad soooo bad so he gets sooooo obsessed with her like it’s bad he keeps showing up wherever she is, he’s always at Tannyhill lurking in the kitchen when she goes down to get a glass of water, he’s waiting for the bathroom when she comes out, he shows up to all the same parties as her, even the ones she goes to on the Cut with her own friends.

And finally one night she’s out with her girls at one of Topper’s parties and Rafe corners her in the bathroom talking all his shit like he normally does and she snaps, telling Rafe he couldn’t afford her and he probably couldn’t even get it up anyway, because yeah, she knows all about his little drug problem. And Rafe snaps right back and fucks her right there in the bathroom and she finds out that he actually can indeed get it up and now she’s ruined for all other men (including poor old sugar daddy Ward 😪)

So yeah I feel like I might write something for this? Idk

[ruenii]

YES i also like toxic shizun-disciple jiuyuan (platonically)

And YES i ALSO love it when after the damage is done to shen yuan, shen jiu will quietly suffer and panic at what he’s done. But healing isn’t easy, especially for a completely damaged person like shen jiu.

but shen yuan cares more about his self preservation more. why should he care about the scum villain? if anything, it proved his case even more that he’s a scumbag that could never be saved.

he would never enact revenge on him, shen yuan thinks, it would be worthless in the end. why would you try and force the person who hurt you to apologize when they don’t even see their wrongdoings in the first place?

their ending becomes bittersweet, imo, if it ended up this way.

shen yuan would leave to become a rogue cultivator to travel the world, and probably just avoid the plot all in all. (because as much as he admires Binghe and his badassery he does NOT want to be part of the kill count)

shen jiu will come to know of shen yuans decision to leave, and he wont stop him. he’ll continue to manage his peak without that pesky disciple of his.

he doesn’t miss the snarky arguments they have. the mind games, the competition of who could outsmart the other. no, he doesnt. and he wont acknowledge it.

he keeps the fan that shen yuan once brought him, though. he’ll say its a reminder of the insolent and ungrateful brat, and how he wont tolerate such disrespect like that once again.

but its one of the only fans he keeps on using.

[thewormofyourdreams]

to all carat writers on tumblr,

i need yall to stop writing cute, slice-of-life imagines/drabbles of svt members where they're married and/or acting domestic.

that 400 words drabble affects me more than a 15k angst i had to take a breather or I'll imagine my life living with them and trust that we DON'T want that.

sincerely,

im losing my grip on reality.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XX)redraft*

Revealing the Monster

Read part one here // Masterpost // Continued from here

Here's the tea, I am redrafting PART XX of this series and uploading it here, this is the canon - but I WILL POST THE NEXT PART TOMORROW!

The new part starts about halfway down XD

I am sorry, I wasn't happy with part XX! SO part XXI tomorrow, thank you for your time. :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kit was wary about following Ambrose down a very dark, a very concrete set of stairs. “If this is the fucking torture basement I woke up in initially—”

Ambrose waved the accusation away, as if it was daft for Kit to be wary. “It’s to the garage,” he told him, keying a code into the pin-pad beside the metal door.

Ambrose walked through the door and held it open, rolling his eyes when he noticed Kit still lingering at the top of the stairs.

“Come on.”

“I’m not going to willingly follow you into your torture dungeon.”

Ambrose blinked, tilting his head. “The sex dungeon is two floors down, Mallory.”

Ambrose laughed at the face that Kit pulled. “Come on. I can always force you to come if I want, and we’re kind of a time crunch here.”

Kit glared daggers at the man and begrudgingly walked down the stairs. He stopped at the last step, trying to get a peak into the room. Ambrose walked away from the door letting it close before Kit could. Kit lunged forward to catch the heavy metal door, but relaxed immediately when he saw it was in fact a garage.

Kit let out a long low whistle after stepping into the garage. The door shut with a buzzer after him. Ambrose opened a lock box with keys hung up in a numbered order.

He grabbed the keys named ‘01’.

“You’re such a control freak,” Kit snorted. “Do you have OCD or something?”

Ambrose shrugged, taking off through the cars covered by different tarps. The only car that wasn’t covered was the one closest to the garage door. The same car that Ambrose kidnapped Kit in last night.

He hated that Ambrose had a good taste in cars. He hated that Ambrose had this many cars when Kit couldn’t even afford one, nevermind a garage full.

Ambrose grinned at Kit over the roof of the Wraith as he unlocked the door. “If you like, I can give you one of the ones I don’t like.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I thought I told you to stay out of my head,” he said, opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat. The cream leather was so comfortable under him as he put his seatbelt on.

“Seriously,” Kit went on, anger curling around him the more comfortable he became with all of Ambrose’s luxury. “Don’t you have any thoughts of your own?! It’s fucking creepy, man. Just ask questions if you want to know my thoughts.”

Ambrose laughed as he opened the garage door with a remote and they rolled out of the house and onto the road again.

“I mean, don’t you have any friends?” Kit demanded hotly. In all honesty, he didn’t know why he was getting pissed all of a sudden, it’s not like Ambrose invading his mind was a new thing, but now? It pissed him off. “Don’t you know how to talk to people?!”

“Relax, Mallory. You’re the only person I relay their thoughts to. It might shock you, but generally, people love when you know what they’re thinking. It’s why humans seek connection. To feel understood.”

“Okay, Socrates,” Kit grumbled. “It’s just fucking weird. I don’t like it when you do it.”

“All of a sudden.”

“Yes!” Kit snapped, glaring at the villain beside him as the forest zoomed past them. “All of a sudden!”

What had Ambrose seen? What parts of him did he know? Could he see everything or was it selective?

“After you found out I’m Mentor’s son,” Ambrose said pointedly. Kit scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the passenger window. They drove in a terse silence for a while, cause Ambrose was a psychopath and didn’t have the radio on.

“We have to talk about it, Kit.”

“Well, you already know my thoughts on it all, so enjoy having a conversation by yourself.”

“Mallory,” Ambrose said with a tired sigh, flicking on the indicator as they pulled to a stop. “I know it must seem like a weird coincidence to you, but I swear I didn’t know you were Mentor’s s—”

Kit’s hands tightened into fists. Son. He was about to say son.

“Prodigy,” he settled on, taking a right and messing with the gears until they were coasting again. The air seemed tighter. “I didn’t know that he meant anything to you. I swear— I just assumed that when you were scared of me turning you into him, that you had heard the horror stories in the academy, or Superhero told you. Not that you… not that you were personally affected.”

Kit’s eyes burned as he stared out the window, the forest growing sparser the closer they got to the city. “I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”

“And if you did?”

Ambrose hesitated.

Kit turned his head to look at him, studying the villain’s reactions.

“And if you knew that he was like a father to me.” Like a father, not an actual one. “If you knew how much it hurt to see a man who plucked me out of nothing be destroyed. Would it have been any different?! Or would you have laughed and rubbed it in like salt in a wound?”

“Kit—”

“Oh, come off it. There’s no one here, Rosey. It’s only me and you,” Kit said, his voice dripping with a horrible hysterical knowing. “You can be your usual sadistic, unfeeling, monstrous self and I can tell nobody about it—”

“Mallory—” Ambrose tried to interject but Kit spoke over him again.

“But you know the funniest part in all this? You already took away the one person who would have given a shit about this! About me, not the Hero. Me. And you made him a monster!” Kit roared, something wet hitting his cheeks and flowing like a stream down his face. “And now, because clearly God hates me, I have to team up with you of all people, to go and stop — the one man who ever treated me like a person — from becoming a monster like you.”

The silence was deafening. In some strange way, it was comforting. No electricity crackles or malfunctioning lights accompanied his breakdown with the power dampeners locked around his wrist.

It was cathartic.

They had just pulled into the main road that brought them to the outskirts of the city, the skyline visible over the horizon when Ambrose spoke.

“He wasn’t a hero to me,” said Ambrose quietly, almost imperceptibly. Kit glanced at him, but his eyes settled on the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“Don’t fucking tell me you have daddy issues.” When Ambrose didn’t answer Kit let out a strangled laugh. Blinking in bewilderment, Kit raised his brows. “Are you telling me you have daddy issues? Mr Big Bad villain?”

“Oh fuck off, Mallory. At least I had parents.”

The words stung. They cut deeper than Kit would have ever admitted out loud or shown physically, but Kit knew that Ambrose was in his head after the villain winced.

Shifting in his seat, he said: “I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off snarky. I just—” Ambrose let out a groan. “You just rub me up the wrong way.”

“Well who’s fucking fault is that, dickhead?!”

“Do you want me to explain, or are you just going to argue with me the entire drive to the hospital?” Ambrose snapped. “I can only do one of those things in our limited time, so choose.”

Kit clenched his teeth, glaring forwards at the car in front of them. “Fine. Tell me.”

“Mentor is my father. As you know, he only rose to prominence within our lifetimes, though you may be too young to remember. Before him, heroes and villains weren’t really a thing. There were a couple dotted here and there, but mostly they were vigilantes. The good guys and the bad guys.”

“Yeah. I remember learning about that in the academy.”

“Right. So after my father rose in public opinion and word of mouth, well the government started stepping in and trying to regulate it. Which they did and the rest is history, but he wasn’t the same heroic good man when he came home.”

Kit swallowed, tightening his fingers into fists. He didn’t want to hear this, he realised. He really wanted Ambrose to shut up and not tell him anymore, but he asked for this, didn’t he? To know the side of Mentor that Ambrose knew?

“He wasn’t abusive,” Ambrose said softly and Kit released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Not physically, anyway. When he discovered that I was born with powers he sought to train me, to make me in his image. A family of Superheroes. My Mom, she didn’t want that for me. She saw the toll it took on him to be the city’s saviour everyday, and that’s when they started fighting.”

Kit sat rigid in his seat, staring forward. He couldn’t imagine Mentor fig— well, no. He could, actually. How many times had Kit walked in on Mentor and Mr Silver arguing? Or Superhero trying to tell Mentor that the next step was a bad idea, that it was too risky.

“I trained hard. When he wanted me to push myself, I pushed myself. When he wanted me to commit 100%, I did 200%. It was never enough for him. None of it was. He wanted a son and a wife who adored him, who worshipped the ground he walked on, and instead he had a family. His ego was a problem.”

Kit cringed at that. Even he knew that Mentor wanted people to adore him, no matter who or why. He wanted to be the city’s saviour, the man on everyone’s tongue and in their thoughts.

Kit let out a breath of a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess… that’s why he adopted me, isn’t it?” Kit asked, his voice hollow. Ambrose didn’t answer, and that was answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? How could he not have seen that to Mentor, Kit was just some charity project he knew would always support him. Worship the ground he walked on, defend him even when Kit knew he was in the wrong.

Ambrose opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, setting his lips into a thin line.

“Mallory…”

“No. It’s okay,” Kit replied, letting out a long breath. “It’s fine, go on.”

Ambrose hesitated, fingers lifting from the steering wheel, before curling around them again. They passed the memorial garden in silence, taking the diversion around the square towards the hospital. They weren’t far away now.

“He started the Hero academy when I was twelve. A school for children with powers to develop their abilities to become heroes. I saw it for what it was though, incentive and resentment. He failed to teach me to control my abilities, and found a fault in me that I couldn’t rectify. My ability wasn’t flashy enough, or showy enough for him, for the great Mentor.”

“He wanted a child who would make the world stop and look at them. Someone who was as fast as him, as strong, but not stronger. In his eyes, I may as well have been born with strong charisma because you couldn’t see the effect of what I could do, only experience it.”

Kit looked down at his wrist, at the power dampeners locked around it. Lightning was flashy. Lightning gave Kit strength and strong reflexes, he was fast, he was flashy. He trained hard, to the point of exhaustion everyday in the Hero Academy. Not caring if he had no friends. Not caring if he passed out from pushing himself too hard. He just had to be the best. It was all he had. It was all he could do.

It wasn’t until he was beating people three years above him that Mentor started to pay him any attention. It felt good at the time. It felt like somebody finally recognised him for what he was.

Mentor made him feel seen. He saw that Kit had put his everything into training, because everything in him was all he had to give.

He didn’t have a family to worry about him getting hurt.

He didn’t have friends that would mourn him if he died in action.

All he had was being a hero.

Of course Mentor would latch onto that. Of course he would pick up on the fact that Kit was desperately trying to prove himself. Of course he would take pity on the orphan and bring him home like a trophy. Show him off to the world.

But that… that wasn’t the Mentor that Kit knew.

He brought him home, but it was after Kit denied him so many times. Told him to piss off, and asked if he was a pervert that prayed on boys his age. Kit had grown up on the streets, he knew what happened to skinny kids like him. One day they’re there, and the next, you never see them again.

Mentor was patient, and kind. He didn’t push Kit after Kit said no, told him he had everything he needed in the academy.

“Then my Mother got sick, and well…” Ambrose said, trailing off, pulling Kit from his memory and back into the car. “After she died it was like he… he didn’t even care. All he cared about was building the city up, saving everyone from possible Villains that lurked in the night. He didn’t sit with her in the hospital because he knew he couldn’t rescue her. He wasn’t there when she—”

Kit was quiet beside Ambrose, head tilted down. He knew what loss was like. He knew the absence a parent can leave behind, but losing someone who meant that? Kit didn’t know how to relate to that. When Omen destroyed Mentor’s mind, it wasn’t the same as if he died because Kit could still go and see him. Still talk to him, even if the Mentor he remembered was dead.

“I’m sorry,” Kit said softly. Ambrose cleared his throat, turning his head so Kit couldn’t see his face.

“Yeah,” he agreed, going rigid. “Me too.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn’t far. Five minutes in the car, and two minutes to park.

“Are you…?” Kit began, then cut himself off when he met Ambrose’s black eyes. What was he going to say? Are you Okay? Alright with going into see the unfeeling man who wasn’t a good father? The man you cursed for being…

Ambrose shook his head, no. “Of course I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Kit said with an awkward shrug. They got out of the car, closing the door in unison. Kit thought nothing of it.

It was borderline awkward in the lift. Ambrose kind of just, stood there like a totem pole. His hands behind his back, standing straight up like a serial killer.

“Would you relax?” Kit said, rolling his neck. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m fine,” Ambrose said slowly, voice cold. Kit shrugged and said: “fine.”

He ahead and almost cried in joy when the doors opened to the ground floor. He stopped at the reception desk. Ambrose was walking and stopped when Kit stopped, two steps ahead and glancing back to see what Kit was doing.

He joined him a moment later, standing beside him and glowering at Heather when she turned and beamed at Kit.

“Hi Heather.”

“Hey, Kit. You goin’ up to—” her big blue eyes trailed to Ambrose beside him, who looked as if he was under a storm cloud, or extremely constipated. “Oh. Hi. Is this your brother?”

Kit’s eyes blew wide, but Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Older. We’d like to see—”

“I didn’t know you had a brother, Kit. Of course, darlin’s, go ahead. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Ambrose nodded stiffly and stepped back. Kit blinked, shaking his head, and smiled at Heather. “Oh, actually. Was there anything strange with him? Any new visitors or—”

“I’m sorry, hun. I’m just the receptionist for the main desk. You’ll have to ask the nurses up there.”

Kit nodded, standing up. “Thank you, Heather.”

“Anytime. And nice meeting you.”

Ambrose nodded at her. “You too.”

Kit clapped him on the back, a wide grin on his face. “Let’s go, bro.”

Ambrose made a noise and Kit had to stifle a laugh until they were in the stairwell. “What was that!” He barked, laughter bubbling up his throat.

“I— panicked.” [***RE-DRAFT STARTS HERE***]

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Kit teased. He was turning to walk up the next set of stairs when Ambrose slammed his forearm against Kit’s throat, shoving him back into the corner of the stairwell, pinning him there.

Ambrose’s nostrils flared, his eyes blazing with cold fury down at Kit. “Of course I’m nervous, you fucking child. Tch. Don’t you ever switch off?”

Kit pushed Ambrose’s arm off him, and to his surprise, Ambrose let him, running a hand through his hair and letting out a breath.

The realisation only dawned on Kit, his mouth opening into a small ‘o’.

“You’ve never been to see him.”

Ambrose straightened. The villain returning as he stared down his nose at Kit, a sardonic smile on his lips. “And why should I? He didn’t give my mother that courtesy.”

Kit put his hands up, showing Ambrose he meant nothing by it. “Hey. It’s your decision. Not mine. He’s your dad, not—” the words choked up before he could say them. Ambrose didn’t pry. He knew what Kit was going to say.

Ambrose stared for a moment longer before glancing up the stairs and nodding stiffly.

“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat and started walking up again. “What floor is it?”

“The fifth,” he replied, starting up the stairs beside Ambrose. “Top floor. They don’t want anyone stumbling amongst the crazies.”

“Probably for the best,” Ambrose muttered. Kit had meant it as a joke, but, he didn’t disagree with Ambrose as they climbed the stairs. Thankful that their footsteps filled the silence he couldn’t in the lift. They knew something had happened when they got to the fifth floor.

Kit stepped in first, Ambrose craning his neck around the door into the hall. Kit breathed a sigh of relief. No police tape, no police, no anything. That meant there was nothing to worry about.

Kit smiled at Ambrose and slapped him on the back, walking towards the door to the locked ward. “See! You were irrational. Overthinking everything. Nothing’s insidious about Mentor. He was here the whole time.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because if he did somehow magically vanish, there would be police and Superheroes and politicians here to interrogate him about what happened.”

“And if they just moved him down to the station to do that?” Ambrose asked, raising his brows. Kit’s smile dimmed a little, but it remained on his face.

“Too much risk. Trust me. Everything will be fine.”

The door buzzed open after Kit waved to the camera and the pair stepped through. Kit walked his usual path to Mentor’s room, and only realised halfway there that Ambrose wasn’t following him anymore. He paused, looking over his shoulder for the villain, before turning after laying eyes on him.

Ambrose stood in the middle of the hall, his eyes blazing and his little finger twitching by his side. A muscle in his jaw clenched and tightened when he met Kit’s questioning eyes.

He swallowed. “This was a mistake.”

“No,” Kit said, coming to stand beside the Villain. “It wasn’t. He’s out of it most of the time anyways, Rosey. He probably won’t even recognise you.”

Black eyes flashed like two burning coals. “He’ll recognise me.”

Kit didn’t tell him that Mentor didn’t recognise Kit for months after his accident. Then again, he didn’t have to. Something smoothed out in Ambrose’s face as Kit remembered his first meeting with a stark raving mad Mentor, who screamed at Kit to get out and leave him be. Kit thought for a minute that Ambrose could see the memory, but quickly remembered that the ward was built of the same power dampening material as the supers-prison and power dampeners.

Ambrose swallowed. “Let’s get this over with,” he said through clenched teeth. This time Kit led the way beside Ambrose, and let Ambrose walk into the room first. Ambrose didn’t falter as he stepped through the door, black eyes settling on his father for the first time since he drove him insane.

Kit followed him in, leaning against the wall beside the door. Mentor was sitting in an armchair, gazing out the window when they arrived. He turned his head and locked eyes with Ambrose and didn’t even glance over at Kit.

The tension was palpable in the air, tied like a three-way noose over their throats as nobody dared breathe in the room.

“Oskar,” Mentor said softly. Kit’s eyes blew wide, glancing at Ambrose who stiffened at the mention of his name. Mentor recognised him? He— remembered Ambrose?

“Hello Father.”

Mentor grunted a huff of a laugh. Almost like a derisive scoff, but Kit had never heard Mentor make a sound like that. A sound so like— well, Ambrose. Kit didn’t dare move, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Mentor didn’t notice, or if he did, didn’t care, that was Kit was in the room too.

“Is that all you can say to me, boy?” Mentor demanded, his voice hard, like gravel grating against gravel.

Ambrose shrugged, but Kit noticed the tightness to his usual casual gesture. “I can say a whole lot more, but word on the street is you have trouble remembering things lately, old man.”

Mentor’s eyes were cutting. “I remember the important stuff.”

The words came like a sharp slap to Kit’s face, almost staggering him out of the room, but Kit didn’t move. He just stared, eyes burning at the man that helped shape him into who he was today. But this man he was staring at may as well have been an alien. This wasn’t Mentor. This was the cold father that Ambrose told Kit about. The man who looked like Mentor, but was a monster beneath skin.

“What are you doing here?” Mentor spat. “Have you come to take more from me, hmm? The breath from my lungs.”

“Well it would be a wasted trip if I didn’t take something from you,” Ambrose replied with the cold smile that Kit was so used to seeing.

What he wasn’t used to seeing was Ambrose flinching. Kit pressed off the wall, eyes wide as a cold, dark chuckle filled the room. An empty laugh that caused shivers to run down his spine and freeze him in place.

“You’re still good at talking, Oskar.” Black eyes met Kit’s across the room, aware that Kit had just seen him flinch at Mentor’s raised hand and it was like the world slowed down around him, his heartbeat rushing in his ears.

Then it was as if a switch flipped of indifference. Ambrose straightened, black eyes smiling as he faced his father again. He slipped one hand into his trouser pocket, shifting his weight to lean on one leg and shot Mentor a cold smile.

“You’re still good at being a piece of shit, only, now you’ve exposed yourself to a witness.”

Mentor’s eyes narrowed and he got to his feet, turning his body to face Ambrose. He had only just turned when his eyes found Kit’s frozen blue ones staring as if he were a deer in headlights.

Mentor’s expression shifted into something softer, something kind. “Kit my boy—”

Kit’s eyes burned, his nostrils flaring. “Don’t.”

“This is-” Mentor began, gesturing between himself and Ambrose. “Family issues. They go back a long while.”

“I don’t care about your explanation,” Kit told him, shaking his head.

Mentor’s hard eyes looked between Kit and Ambrose, scrutinising. “What are you even doing together? Aren’t you a strange pair.”

“Not at all,” Kit said before Ambrose could even open his mouth. Kit stood talk, feeling Ambrose’s black eyes slide over to him as he commanded the space. “He’s helping me on a case. A new Supervillain.”

Mentor scoffed, folding his arms over his toned chest. “Have you considered him?” He asked, nodding his head to Ambrose.

“I have,” Kit ground out through clenched teeth. “But it turns out this new Supervillain has telekinesis. You wouldn’t happen to have an alibi for last night, would you?”

Mentor’s mouth fell open. Even Ambrose raised a brow at the accusation in Kit’s hard voice. He had never seen him so angry. It was very entertaining to watch, especially when it was directed at his father.

“I was here,” Mentor said, spreading his hands in a helpless shrugging gesture. “Obviously.”

“Can anyone corroborate that story?” Kit demanded, spitting venom at his old Hero and Mentor. Mentor glanced between Ambrose and Kit, his expression tightening as some understanding flashed across his face.

He rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand, kneading it into the soft flesh, letting out a disbelieving huff. “I can’t believe this. You’re seriously trusting this man over me, Kit? You're like a son to me.”

“Clearly I wasn’t,” Kit practically yelled, but he didn’t shout. His voice was surprisingly level despite everything. “Or you would have told me you had an actual son.”

Mentor’s gaze was cutting. “Surely you know what he did to me,” Mentor said, his voice a quiet fury. “What he did to our family, to this city! He—”

“Is Omen,” Kit finished, his eyes flashing. Mentor took a step back as if he’d been hit. Kit didn’t stop there though. “Yeah. I know. And I know he’s not a liar. So do you have an alibi or not?”

Ambrose was quite happy to let Kit take lead on this interrogation. It was true, Ambrose wasn’t a liar. If he said he’d torture you, he would. If he told you he liked you, he did. If he said he was Omen, he was. Something Ambrose didn’t think Kit picked up on, but was happy by the turn of events all the same.

Mentor was halfway through stuttering out a reply when a Doctor walked into the room, a clipboard in hand and already speaking. “Mentor, how are we tod—” Doctor, sensing the tension looked up and smiled at his obvious intrusion. He put the clipboard under his arm and stood taller. “Ah. Sorry, Mentor. I didn’t know you had visitors. Ah, hello Kit.”

“Doctor,” Kit replied not taking his eyes off of Mentor. “Can you confirm Mentor was here last night?”

Doctor’s eyes went around the room before bouncing back to Kit. “Uh, yes. I mean, CCTV and the hospital logs can probably. I wasn’t on personally, but as Mentor’s doctor today I can tell you there was no anomalies last night.”

“Great. Thank you,” Kit said, nodding at Ambrose. “That’s all we needed to know, we’re leaving.”

“No, wait—” Mentor protested, but Ambrose was already talking to the Doctor and walking back out the door. Kit turned to do the same when a hand was on his wrist, stopping him from leaving. Kit glanced back over his shoulder to see Mentor clinging to him like a desperate, old man.

“Kit…” he said with shining eyes. “M’boy. Please, let me explain.”

“You lied to me,” Kit hissed, finally letting the hurt shine through his features. “You told me, you— you made me feel special.”

“You are special, Kit, and not just to me.”

“Was I only special to you because I was strong?” Kit asked. Mentor hesitated. Kit pulled his arm from Mentor’s grasp. “You never saw me as a son. You saw me as a tool that you could mould and use to further your great image. Superhero. Saviour. Good charitable man,” Kit spat, tears springing suddenly to his eyes. “He even rescues orphans, the übermensch. Mentor: The great man.”

“Kit—”

“You were everything to me,” Kit said, his bottom lip trembling. “My only normal in the world. My family. My father. I worshipped you, and you used me!”

“Kit, please. Let me explain.” Mentor said again, pawing at Kit’s jacket. Kit recoiled, shrugging his hands from his shoulders.

“You have two minutes before I’m walking out that door.”

“In the beginning, yes, I wanted to be close to you because I saw your potential. Nobody else in that academy ever came close to you. You were extraordinary. I wanted a sidekick when I walked through those doors on the day of your exams, and instead I found a second chance.”

Tears streamed continuously from Kit’s red rimmed eyes as he listened, occasionally wiping them on the cuff of his sleeve.

“I found a son in you, and from that day onwards I decided that I wanted to help you. To give you the start in life that you deserved, not the one you were given. I patrolled the Rookery looking for you every night because one of the other kids told me you slept rough on the streets. I wanted to offer you kindness, and you had such hard eyes. It was weeks before I ever saw you smile, and when I did, m’boy, I swear the heavens themselves opened.”

Kit sniffed, his breath catching in his throat, taking in fretful breaths once he saw the glisten in Mentor’s eyes, and the tears welling up behind them.

“I never wanted to use you as some piece of equipment to further my image. I wanted to make sure you had bread, and safe water to drink. I wanted to give you a home.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you had a son?” Kit asked, barely above a whisper. “Why… why- why didn’t you tell me you had a family? I would’ve understood.”

Mentor shook his head. “I had already left them at that time, Kit, and I was too ashamed to tell you. To tell you that I fucked up my last family. How could I tell you that? A child yourself when I was trying to gain your trust so I could help you, and the way you looked at me…”

The pair of them stared at each other, tears streaming down their faces the longer they spoke. “You saw something in me that I hadn’t seen in years, and it made me feel special, Kit. It made me want to be the better man you thought I was. To change, for the better, for you. For us. I thought it was my second chance when I met you, and I can tell you now for certain, it was.”

Kit looked away, afraid he might collapse if had to listen to any more of this. Mentor touched a hand to his cheek, thumbing away the tears, drawing Kit’s attention back to Mentor.

“Just please,” he blubbered. “Please say you don’t hate me. I will fall to my knees and beg for your forgiveness, Kit. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please.”

Kit didn’t say anything. He just stepped in and hugged his old man, wrapping his arms tight around him and holding him up when Mentor sobbed harder into Kit’s jumper.

“I’m sorry,” Mentor cried into Kit’s jumper, muffling the sound. “I’m so sorry. I love you, I’m so sorry.”

Kit held him tighter, trying to compose himself but there was nothing to be done except wait it out. Ambrose stood outside the door, leaning against the wall to his father’s room, downcast eyes staring unseeing at the clinically clean floor in front of him.

Kit stepped out after a few minutes, his tears dried but the red rimmed eyes gave him away. Ambrose stood, face impassive as he took a deep breath. “You good to go?” He asked.

Kit nodded dumbly. They walked to the exit of the ward, but Doctor shouted from down the hall and the pair turned. “Oh good, I caught you before you left. Here. I’ll walk you out.”

Doctor quickly caught up to them, half-jogging towards them with a self-deprecating smile. “Sorry. Shall we talk outside?”

Kit glanced at Ambrose before nodding. Doctor fell into step with them, flashing his keycard on the control panel and the doors to the locked ward opened with a beep. He pushed through them and held it open for Kit and Ambrose to walk out. They stood just outside the ward, Kit tilting his head at Doctor.

Doctor smiled at the pair, a handsome smile. He was a little older than Ambrose, his eyes crinkled at the edges when his smiled. His tan skin contrasted against Ambrose’s paleness to a stark degree that Kit would’ve laughed if he didn’t feel so drained.

Kind green eyes found Kit’s. “I double-checked the log’s after you asked about Mentor’s whereabouts last night,” he said. “He was here all night, I can confirm with 100% certainty.”

“Okay, thank you Doctor.” Kit said nodding.

A copycat? Ambrose said in Kit’s mind. Kit glanced at him, but Ambrose was still looking at Doctor.

Maybe. Or maybe another telekinetic… Kit thought, pushing it towards Ambrose.

“Well,” Doctor said, clapping his hands together. “I hope that is everything you need?”

“Yes, Doctor, thank you for confirming the alibi,” Kit said. Kit reached his hand out which Doctor took and shook it. Doctor turned to Ambrose as well, offering his hand which Doctor took with a smile.

“Nice meeting you.”

“Thank you Doctor,” Ambrose said coolly before withdrawing his hand and stepping away. The pair walked down the stairs, hearing the buzzer of the ward door open and close again.

“What now?” Ambrose asked. Kit ran his hands through his hair, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t know. I need to get my phone from my apartment, just to see if anyone’s been trying to call.”

“Right. Of course.” Ambrose said as they walked to the car. Sensing the stiffness in Ambrose’s body language, Kit kept quiet, not wanting to poke the bear, but feeling too bad to just remain silent and not say anything.

They got into the Wraith in silence. It was only when Ambrose turned the key in the ignition that he broke the silence. “It’s not your fault, Kit.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Ambrose turned his head to look Kit head on. The expression on his face would’ve floored Kit had he been standing up.

Ambrose’s eyes were like two rainbows, his eyebrows drawn low over them, his lips were curled up on his face, exposing his smile lines that usually looked so annoyed.

Was Ambrose smiling?

When Kit wasn’t even covered in blood or bruises or struggling to breathe?

“Really, Kit. It’s okay. I don’t have any ill will towards you. Just think of it like, we both had one good parent and leave it there. Okay?”

Kit nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. Ambrose’s face went back to neutral and Kit felt like he could breathe.

Then his eyes narrowed as they pulled out of the parking lot. “What?”

“I just—”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I don’t think you should smile, Rosey. It doesn’t suit you.”

Ambrose almost hit the roof. “What?! My smile is charming.”

“I feared for my life. It is mortally terrifying. Do you smile at babies like that?”

“Babies love me,” Ambrose hissed.

Kit laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Actually can you drop me off at a therapist before we go back to my—”

“Oh yeah yeah,” Ambrose grumbled, turning the indicator on and taking off onto the main road. “Laugh it up.”

Kit did, and he felt good after it. The laugh smoothed everything out in his chest, unwinding the tension that weighed heavy on it and for a little, fleeting moment, he felt lighter than he had in a while. Ambrose turned the radio on.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer r @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie

[cinna-rose]

Here's more to this idea I had earlier-

Imagine that Baxter goes back to Golden Grove - and decides to bring a romanced!MC with him. They meet with Qiu and decide to catch up and talk about their lives, introductions, etc.

"It's nice to see one of Baxter's old friends here," MC smiled, "Even though I knew him for a shorter time, it's good to know there are more people that know about his monochrome hair…"

As soon as the words left MC's mouth, Baxter stiffened and slowly turned to them. Meanwhile, Qiu had a confused expression. "What monochrome hair?" Qiu asked, confused and curious to know what MC was talking about.

After a second to process Qiu's confusion - MC realizes that Baxter's old friends didn't see him with his monochrome hair.

So, the MC has two choices: they can keep quiet about it or try to tease Baxter through his old appearance in front of one of his old friends.

If they go the teasing route, I can imagine the MC having a photo of Baxter with the monochrome hair and trying to show Qiu. And Baxter trying to stop MC by hiding the photo from Qiu's eyes out of embarrassment.

[rafessecret]

ward walking in on rafe (or the other way round) rewatching the video reader saved jacking off to it and having this sick moment of realisation that he’s not the only one pining after his daughter sparking subtle competition between the two over it, and reader is none the wiser (or is she)

⋆˚࿔ doll¡ reader && rafe cameron with ward cameron

JEALOUSY.

Ward wasn’t looking for anything. Just needed a file. A pen. Maybe a bit of silence after the long night, when the air still tasted like whisky and his bones ached from pacing. But when he pushed open the office door, it creaked just enough for the scene to hit him all at once—

Rafe.

In his chair. Legs spread wide, jeans shoved low on his hips. One hand fisted around his cock, the other gripping the edge of the desk like it anchored him. Head tilted back, lips parted, eyes glazed and glued to the monitor. Your moans filling the room—raw, needy, a little breathy at the end like when you’re right there, almost crying from how full you feel.

The video. The one you thought you deleted. The one Ward had saved. Had watched in the dark more times than he could count, shame curled around his spine like smoke as he jerked off to it night after night. You, mouth open and gasping, taking Rafe like you were made for it. But now it was Rafe watching. And touching himself.

Ward didn’t say a word. He just stood there, in the halo of shadow, frozen. Watching the slow pump of Rafe’s hand. The way his abs flexed each time your moan peaked. The twitch of his cock, glistening at the tip. And worst of all—the look on Rafe’s face. Obsession. Lust. Something that looked like… love.

It was the same look Ward had. The same one he wore every night when he watched you. And something sour—something ancient and male—burnt in his gut. A slow, curling fury that twisted into something darker. Possessive. He left without a sound. But it lingered. That image: Rafe, shameless and hungry, jerking off to his little girl. Their girl. And now? Now it was war. Not loud. Not obvious. But every breath since tasted like challenge. Like claim. Like vengeance. And you—soft and clueless—just kept smiling, all sticky lip gloss and sweet sighs, like you didn’t already know you’d split them both down the middle.

(Or maybe you did.)

The next video Rafe films is slower. More drawn out. Filthier.

You’re on your back, legs spread wide across his lap, riding him with that lazy, fucked-out rhythm he loves—like you’re floating, too far gone, just using his cock to chase your own orgasm. The camera catches everything. The wet squelch every time you sink down. The glossy sheen of slick coating your inner thighs. The bulge in your stomach every time you bottom out.

Rafe’s hands are barely guiding your hips now—more like holding on, thumbs digging into the soft flesh just above your ass. You’re moaning with every bounce, head tipped back, drool clinging to the corner of your mouth. Your tits jiggle with each thrust, nipples red and sore from where he bit them earlier.

❝Tell him whose cock you love more,❞ Rafe whispers, brushing sweat-slick hair from your face, voice thick with pride and lust. You’re crying again. Big, glossy tears clinging to your lashes. And you say it—his name—soft and slutty and reverent. ❝Rafe… Rafe… Rafe…❞ Breathless, pathetic. He loops that part in the final cut. Just you, wrecked and bouncing on his dick, chanting his name like it’s gospel.

Ward watches it. More than once. The look on Rafe’s face pisses him off—that smug, possessive glint in his eye like he’s already won. So, the next time Ward has you, he takes it out on you. He wraps his hand around your throat mid-moan, just as you’re clenching around him, nails scratching at the sheets.

Harder than usual. Your eyes go wide, mouth parting in a silent cry. He holds you there, just long enough to make your vision go fuzzy. You twitch beneath him, hips still lifting—needy, even as your brain gets hazy from the lack of oxygen. When he finally lets go, you gasp like you’ve never breathed before, your mouth all wet and lips swollen.

❝You like that?❞ he growls, low and gravel-rough, leaning in so close your noses brush. ❝Bet that pretty little boy wouldn’t dare choke you like this.❞ He fucks you hard that night—rougher, meaner. His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back as he pounds into you, spit and tears soaking the pillow beneath you. He leaves proof—dark bruises, finger-shaped prints painting your throat, your hips, your thighs. You’re wrecked by the end of it. Barely able to speak, cunt fluttering and dripping onto the sheets.

When Rafe sees the marks, his jaw tightens. But he doesn’t get angry. He competes. Next time he has you, he’s on his knees—dragging your panties down with his teeth, breath hot against your soaked folds. He doesn’t speak or tease; he just pushes your thighs open until your pussy’s wide, swollen, and glistening for him. You’re so wet it drips, slick gliding down the curve of your ass, and Rafe groans like it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

Then his tongue is on you. Ruthless. Messy. Loud. He buries his face in your cunt and doesn’t come up for air. Slurps at you like he’s starving, nose bumping your clit, tongue licking into your fluttering hole, and when he starts to suck—hard, wet, insistent—you scream. Full-bodied, nails clawing his scalp, sobbing through the pleasure with your thighs trembling around his head. ❝Please,❞ you cry. ❝Fuck, Rafe—don’t stop. No, wait—too much—❞

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow. Pulls back just long enough to murmur, ❝Gotta remind you who eats you better, right?❞ before dragging his teeth down to your thigh, sucking hard enough to bruise. ❝Daddy’s going to see these.❞ Another hickey. Then another. All of them dark and angry, placed just shy of your pussy lips—so close that Ward won’t miss them next time he spreads you open.

And the camera catches all of it. The slick sounds of Rafe’s mouth, the glisten of your cunt as you tremble, the flutter of your hole every time his tongue slides over it. ❝Mine,❞ he growls, almost animalistic, eyes wild. ❝You’re so fucking’ mine.❞

He fucks you next in the upstairs shower, just before dinner.

It’s brutal—raw need and pure possessiveness. Your leg’s hiked high on the tile, body bent forward under the hot spray, steam curling around your skin as he pounds into you from behind. You cry out, fingers scrabbling at the fogged-up glass, face pressed against the cool tile as water pours down your back. ❝Rafe—❞ you whimper, voice shaking. ❝God, feels so—fuck!❞

His grip on your hips is bruising, knuckles white. You’re stuffed full, every thrust a wet slap, each one deeper than the last, his cock hitting that spot that makes your legs threaten to give. He finishes first. Buried to the hilt, jerking against you with a guttural moan as he cums deep. You feel it—hot and thick and endless, filling your cunt until it leaks out around him. But he doesn’t let you come.

Just pulls out with a hiss, watching his cum ooze down your thigh. Then he tugs your little dress back down over your ruined body, smoothing it over your sticky thighs like he’s proud of what he’s done. ❝Go say hi to Daddy.❞

You do. Heart racing, pussy sore, lips still swollen. Ward hugs you too long. His hands linger on your waist, his nose brushes your neck—and he smells it. Sex. Musk. Rafe. His jaw ticks, but he lets you go. Barely. Later, he finds your panties in the laundry—still soaked. Rafe’s cum still dripping down your thighs. He bends you over the dryer before you can say a word. His hand smacks your ass, hard. ❝You want to walk around smelling like him?❞ he snarls, already pushing his cock inside. ❝Fine. But you go to sleep leaking me.❞

He fucks you until your legs collapse beneath you. Until your cries echo off the cold metal, until you’re begging, babbling, fucked-out and dripping. And when he finally pulls out, he watches it leak down your thighs—his cum mixing with Rafe’s. He smirks. ❝Such a messy fuckin’ girl.❞ And you? None the wiser. Just happy. As long as you’re stuffed.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : thanks for the req, anon! not sure if this is exactly what you wanted but i hope it scratches the itch a little i struggled keeping this one even a tiny bit realistic lol and ward just… feels so creepy to write sometimes but anyway. enjoy the mess <3

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf @folksriddle

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[justalittlelilac]

Smug Wine

If you hadn't known Baxter Ward any better, you'd think he had brushed off your seduction. His lidded, dark eyes and smirk at you from across the restaurant table gave nothing away to the untrained eye. The clasped hands in front of his chin as if you were both in a meeting didn't fool you either.

It was the way his nostrils imperceptivly flared with a quick inhale of breath. The twitch of a relaxed brow. The slight straightening of his spine that gave you the satisfaction you were looking for. Your ego flared even hotter as you observed the smallest change of pale skin transitioning to pink at the top of his ears.

Swirling the wine in your glass you took a languid sip of the sweet liquid, eyeing him casually over the rim. It was a favorite game of the both you. Saying the most insinuatingly devious things, all while keeping a nonchalant demeanor. Teasing all the while sounding as if you were simply asking about the weather.

There wasn't necessarily a winner or prize aside from the pride of getting under the other's skin. For you personally, it was the prize of Baxter Ward not showing it, but you knew to expect your delightful comeuppance from him when you got home for riling him up somewhere he could do nothing about it.

Baxter often won these little games you played, his cool, calm, and collected façade made it so. Though, the longer you were together, the more you gained on him. You were learning what made him tick, what got a reaction out of him, what he liked. So, it was when he had finished the last dregs of his own wine and asked for the check, with his eyes trained on you, that you knew you had won this round and it was time to return to your shared abode for a completely different parry.

[inndelibles]

Okay okay, walk with me, talk with me...

I know it's not his usual style, but imagine for a moment:

Baxter in this Howl outfit. He also wears a ring with an amethyst stone on it.

He's confident enough to stop dying his hair and go back to his natural dusty gray. Rather than short with swooping bangs, he grows it out just a tiny bit and lets it flow more naturally a la his hair from Now and Forever (this is how I always imagine him 2-3 years after his epilogue).

Slight blush on his nose and cheeks from chilly wind by the ocean.

Dimples when he smiles. This is not up for debate, he told me so himself.

Standing at the edge of the ocean barefoot, water reaching just up to his ankles, hair gently blowing in the wind, watching the sunset like it's the most magical thing in the world. No hiding the dimples in that expression.

The setting sun gives his eyes an almost amber glow.

DO YOU SEE THE VISION

[meowzilla93]

okies!

so we spoke about her love language earlier in the week! something very particular about August, she does have one little thing she does to show her affection to those around her

booping you

cheek, chin, ribs, arm, forehead, anywhere she can reach to basically poke you, thats he oddly showing her affection!

Baxter is the only one she bops on the nose! to her, its such a twee and precious nose and she simply cannot help herself!!

(feat commissions from @minthe-drawings of August penchant to 'boop!' Baxter in step 3 and 4!)

Step 3 Babies!! (Baxter is so endeared by it because he has never experience this before!!)

Step 4 Darlings!! (August likes to be cheeky, and has conditioned Baxter to expect a kiss when she boops him, and here he is gonna get what he is promised!)

URGH seeing them side by side is the cutest thing ever and seeing how they change but their love is precious and sweet and and

i love them so much your honour!

[keenvictory]

i need you to know that seeing loser and baxter in the same sentence almost made me pass out amen

Baxter is one of the saddest, wettest, silliest little losers I have ever seen and I love him all the more for it.

short NSFW drabble under cut <3!

I truly deeply believe he would be the neediest loser in the bedroom too, all that elegant composure melting away underneath your warm hands. It's a game almost, to see how unashamedly desperate for your touch you can make him.

Teasing him until he makes the most undignified noises, whining pathetically for you, his hips bucking into your hand as you pump his poor, tender cock.

And he just can't keep his mouth shut either, rambling about how good it feels, how gorgeous you are, how much he wants you, how much he loves you in between pants and breathy moans.

But there are much better uses for his pretty mouth and he is eager to serve. His orgasm is all the sweeter for having earned it. But even when he's wholly focus on pleasing you with his lips and tongue, he can't stop himself from moaning against you, one of his hands straying to stroke himself.

He's selfish in that way. Needy little thing.

[toffee4you]

Selfies

Content: Silver mentioned at the end. In kind of an obsessed way IDK PUT ME DOWN...

Sfw.

Little drabble because I HAD to get this idea out of my head.

How can I make this about Silver?

...

Ever since coming to Night Raven College, you've had a pile of seemingly endless work cut out for you. However, you've also noticed... There really wasn't much to do when you finally did take breaks.

By chance, Cater had caught you sitting on a bench in the botanical garden, seemingly bored out of your mind. Carefree as always, he plopped down next to you in an almost exaggerated movement, lifting his phone with an arm around your shoulders before you could react.

"Say 'cheese'~!"

He chirped, the camera shutter sounding. It didn't take more than a minute for him to filter and post your selfie straight to his Magicam page. And that's how you joined his Magicam obsession, always taking selfies together whenever he was present. It was actually fun seeing his likes and followers grow, or how people would take the time to comment compliments about you. Of course, you felt he might've been deleting anything negative too, but it wasn't any big deal.

Though, there was one day... Cater approached you, looking down at his phone the entire time until he was just a few steps away. He clearly had a baffled look on his face, but he snapped back to his cheery countenance just as quickly.

"Hey~! I just thought you'd want to see this!"

The junior tilted his phone towards you, showing his notification page on Magicam:

♡ @_silver1234 liked your post

♡ @_silver1234 liked your post

♡ @_silver1234 liked your post

♡ @_silver1234 liked your post

♡ @_silver1234 liked your post

...

∩+ @_silver1234 followed your account

"I'm pretty stoked that such a cammable person vibes with my account! But... It seems he only gave likes to the photos I took with you."

Cater scratched his cheek with a nervous, or almost exasperated, chuckle. Perhaps someone should've told Silver not to make his account so glaringly obvious...