ᯓ★ in which your boyfriend's younger brother spills some tea and you can't tell if he's deadass or not.
⋆｡‧˚ ahn keonho x platonic!reader
☆ warnings: keonho is kind of an oddball, james doesn't really appear much but he's still your boyfriend, profanity, mentions of sharks and other marine life, mentions of alcohol and partying
The sound of the bass was muffled as it thumped in the background, string lights and LEDs shimmering over the pool's water surface ripples.
You had your feet in the water, watching the other party goers splash at each other in the deep end of the pool.
Next to you was your boyfriend's little brother, Keonho.
Weird kid.
But not bad weird, just odd and endearing.
You'd never spent any more than five minutes alone to know him well, but you've been around him enough to know what kind of person he was. And James had shared a handful of stories involving him.
He didn't really acknowledge your presence, he only greeted you when the party started and went on with his business.
You saw him swimming back and forth in the pool earlier when it was empty, and when the party intensified, he retreated to the empty spot near you because the water had gotten too crowded.
"So, I heard you're in your school's swimming team. You speak fish?" You started, awkward and not sure how to strike up a conversation with a kid.
"Yes." He deadpanned.
You weren't sure if he was replying 'yes' to being in the swimming team, or that he spoke fish, or both.
"Yes what?" You asked.
"Yes yes." He nodded with a small smile.
You stared at him, expecting him to elaborate further. But he didn't, he just stared back at you.
You cleared your throat and looked around, feeling a bit embarrassed by how terrible you were at conversing with teenagers.
"Like, jellyfish or tuna... Or do all fishes speak the same language?" You prompted, entertaining his oddness.
"No, that's offensive. There's different types of fish species and they all communicate in their own unique ways." He said, matter-of-factly.
"Oh, sorry. My bad." You whispered sheepishly.
"But this one time, a lemon shark convinced me that there was a wreckage nearby. Like any normal person, I followed it." He said with a straight face.
You stared at him.
You blinked.
He blinked.
"Actually?" You laughed, finding his delivery hilarious.
But he was deadass. He didn't smile or even chuckle. He truly believed this happened.
"I swam for thirty minutes straight that day, along the way we witnessed an octopus wedding." He started leaning towards you, suddenly serious and into his story.
"Bro, what are you talking about? Octopus wedding? To another octopus or was it a multiracial... multifishial thing?"
"Anyway, the shark was lying the whole time because there was no ship wreck when we got there. It was luring me there to show off a bunch of sea shells." He shrugged, as if he genuinely believed there was a ship wreck there.
"A shark? And it didn't eat you?" You asked in disbelief.
"No, lemon sharks are nice." He said politely.
"So you're telling me a whole ass shark talked to you? Told you that a ship crashed and took you to see a bunch of seashells? Along the way, you encountered an octopus wedding?" You recounted.
"Oh, I also saw a familiar face. A jellyfish." He wiggled his eyebrows.
"How could you tell it was a familiar face?"
"Hey, that's offensive. Strike two." He warned you.
"Right, sorry. What happened to the jellyfish?"
"He works at a Chinese restaurant uptown. The tank. To be eaten."
"Damn."
You felt James's arm snake around your shoulder as he settled beside you, handing you a can of Pepsi.
"There's no Coke." He shrugged.
"James, I don't like Pepsi..." You scowled.
"Sorry." He offered an apologetic smile. "Is Keonho telling you about the religious jellyfish?"
Your head snapped back to Keonho, "It was religious this whole time?"
"Different jellyfish. Common misconception, jellyfish don't all look the same. It's propaganda." He shook his head.
"This happens often?" You asked, popping your can open.
"Since he was ten." James nodded.
"How do we know if you're lying?" You prompted.
"Just trust me. It's happened." Keonho reassured you, placing a hand on your shoulder.
Before you could even say anything, he dove back into the pool with a big splash. The crowd across erupted in a chorus of cheers when someone won a game of beer pong.
note: i actually wrote this whole thing in one sitting after talking to my little brother's friend. he's thirteen and has this cute way he delivers his words that reminded me of keonho. also, i really like sea animals and the sea so this was fun to make lol ⭑.ᐟ
ᯓ★ in which martin thinks you're lowkey kinda pretty. only lowkey, though.
⋆｡‧˚martin edwards x fem! reader
☆ warnings: there aren't any, it's actually quite short. might be cringe idk lol
You saw his shadow before you could even hear his footsteps.
Crouched over in a very awkward position, fingers working quickly—trying to tie your shoe laces as tight as possible, because they kept getting undone every few steps.
You felt his imposing height tower over you, blocking you from the warm sunlight, serving as a temporary shade post.
"I got caught up with something..." Martin said breathlessly, he took a moment to catch his breath after running from his school just to walk you home.
You didn't respond, you finished tying your laces and stood up, turning around to face him.
He hunched over with his hands on his knees, hair dishevelled, glistening beads of sweat on his forehead, school tie now hanging lose around his neck, and his white shirt's first three buttons were now undone.
And of course, he had his wired earphones—connected to his iPod mini in his pocket—swinging in front of his face.
He looked like he'd just run a marathon. Which he sorta did.
"Don't you live by the beach?" You asked, your tone and expression neutral.
Martin looked up for a moment. And, man, you looked so ethereal right now.
The sun hit you just right, your eyes were slightly squinted, trying to protect them from the harsh rays of the sunlight. Your eyes weren't a special colour or anything, but Martin swore you were the first person to make them look this good.
Unfortunately, your lips were a bit dry today. Usually, you had this lip gloss that smelled like cherry. Or whatever, it smelled nice and that's all Martin cared about.
He stood up straight and scratched his head awkwardly, looking around the street as if someone would answer the question for him.
Martin just froze.
Because, yes. He did live by the beach.
The route he was currently taking is literally the opposite.
This idiot had been walking an extra forty minutes everyday just to spend twenty minutes with you. Even if you just walked together in silence.
For months—almost a year—you just assumed you both happened to leave around the same time. Martin was always there after school, always showing up halfway through your walk home, always finding some excuse to tag along. He knew which convenience store you stopped at, which roads you preferred, and which shortcuts you took.
He just knew. Coincidentally.
When he didn't respond, you decided not to dwell on it.
You turned around and started walking again, your usual route home, one foot in front of the other like muscle memory. And then you felt his presence beside you, matching your stride.
After a few minutes of silence, Martin glanced at you.
And before he could even stop himself: "You know, you're lowkey pretty."
You tripped over the curb.
Martin didn't say anything after. He just stood there, mortified, because the words came out before he could stop them.
Then it all made sense. The weirdly long walks, the way he always waited for you, the way he'd remember things you mentioned once months ago, the way he knew your class schedule better than some of your classmates.
"Martin, that's really sweet." You said, a little colder than you intended.
He winced, nervously biting his lip as he thought of what to say next. "Maybe you don't feel the same. Not right now."
"Martin, you're still very young. People change, feelings change. Five years from now, you'll probably meet someone really nice and forget all about this crush." You said softly, your gaze searching for his.
But he wouldn't look at you. He seemed frustrated, understandably so. But Martin was stubborn.
"And what if I don't?" He insisted, he didn't care. He couldn't understand. You weren't even that much older, three years wasn't a big deal.
"Then ask me again in five years." You shrugged, adjusting your university tote bag strap on your shoulder.
It wasn't a promise, or a rejection. Just a maybe. And he felt like he'd been given the biggest hope of his life.
And the thing is, you don't say no because you disliked him. If anything, you found him charming. You understood something Martin didn't understand yet—that five years is a long time when you're young.
It wasn't impossible—that's all Martin understood.
So when you reached the point where you usually separated, you headed towards your apartment, Martin headed towards the bus stop he should've taken an hour ago.
You waved goodbye.
Martin just stood there, waving back, smiling like an idiot because he'd just received the most encouraging rejection of all time.
He pulled out his phone from his other pocket, creating a calendar reminder.
Moka's hand was soft and warm around yours, slender, but not long fingers interlinked with yours, your footfalls echoing in synchronisation on the pavement.
The sun was out today, bright and warm, not piercing or too hot, just the right amount of sun for a spring afternoon. Your other hand held your phone, eyes darting from the screen, to Moka's face, to the shops passing by, then back to the screen.
You were both looking for a cute café that was really popular on social media, you're not really one to follow trends—neither is Moka, but you felt like using this opportunity to go on a little date together. Moka was going on and on about a vintage digital camera she was trying to get her hands on, moaning and groaning about how unreasonably expensive it was on reselling sites.
She really loved photography, she didn't go anywhere without her light blue digital camera, that her mother had passed down to her. All her picture had a very retro feel to them, like a distant memory you only remember parts of, her pictures felt like the last five seconds of a dream.
After a few minutes of walking, you finally came to a stop, Moka's rant about inflation and the economy coming to a halt. You'd found the café, and it was as aesthetically pleasing as it did in the pictures.
You heard a faint click sound on your right, you turned your head to see Moka with her trusty camera angled upwards, taking photos of the restaurant's name, then a few more of the outside and surroundings. The bell above the glass and wooden door rang as you opened it, standing aside to let Moka in first.
"Looks like a picture out of Pinterest," she mumbled, taking in the place. You nodded in agreement—of course it did, you couldn't deny. The interior had a lot of blues, whites and nudish browns, it genuinely felt like it came out of a fairytale. There were a couple of people occupying the tables, some studying, some alone and some on dates—you'd assume. Moka was already by the counter, skimming through the menu on the screens above the cashier, you quickly went to her side, letting her order for the both of you—something recommended online.
After placing your orders and leaving your names, you both found a seat by a table for four. Before you could even settle properly in your seat, you heard another click.
"Can you not shove that thing in my face?" You groaned, gently pushing the camera away from your face.
"What do you mean? I'm making memories, we have to cherish every moment together." Moka shrugged, taking another picture of your scowling face.
You rolled your eyes and sighed, resting your chin in your palm, looking out the window, each passer-by different than the other. You saw a two girls passing by, wearing school uniforms, giggling together as they walked past, their arms linked with each other. You couldn't help but smile.
"What are you daydreaming about this time?" Moka asked, poking your cheek.
"Nothing, just saw two girls who reminded me of us." You said softly, your hand finding Moka's across the table.
Moka smiled, so wide that her eyes quite literally disappeared.
Gosh, you loved her smile.
"Y'know, I think about us often as well," she started, her hand tightening around yours. "I've been thinking, don't you think it's time we move in together? I'd really love it if we lived together so I could be near you as often as possible."
Your heartbeat slowed down. You'd never thought she'd ask, even after having been together for almost three years, Moka still made you nervous. Her asking you to move in with her was the biggest step in your relationship since establishing where you stood with each other. You could already imagine all the possibilities, all those slow and gentle mornings with her, lazy afternoons indoors, late night horror movie sessions—maybe other sessions as well.
"I think that's a great idea, Moka." You nodded, a small smile making its way up your face.
"What's with that face?" Moka asked suspiciously, her eyes squinted a little bit.
"Nothing, really. I'm just so happy, like, actually. I feel like moving in together is probably the second best decision we've ever made as a couple." You said, genuinely excited about this next step.
"The first being our joint Netflix account?" Moka asked, scratching her head in genuine curiosity.
"Obviously," you agreed. "The pricing is literally criminal."
"Martha? Order for Martha? Two blueberry and white chocolate ice lattes for Martha?" The cashier called out, eyes searching for the customer between the faces inside the café.
Moka rolled her eyes and got up, the chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. She trudged to the counter, giving the cashier a small smile before making her way back to your seat.
"They didn't even try to spell it right. Martha? Really?" Moka huffed, shaking the plastic cup, swirling the ice around to mix the drink properly.
"For real. How do you get Martha from Moka?" You added, mixing your own drink.
"Am I allowed to say it's lowkey micro aggressive?" She suggested, her lips hovering over her straw.
"No, Moka, you're not allowed." You whispered, ducking your head, hoping nobody heard Moka's uncalled for accusation.
"No, seriously. They could have at least written Mocha or something. I wouldn't blame them. But Martha?" She shook her head, a little displeased with the situation.
"I'm pretty sure it's a marketing strategy," you said, mirroring Moka's actions and took a sip of your own drink. "It's so people post about it and others come to see how they'd spell their names."
Moka closed her eyes and sighed, letting the blue caffeinated beverage wash over her body.
She hummed once... twice, then nodded."Yep, it's worth the walk and money." She finally said.
And you couldn't agree more. You'd never had a blueberry and white chocolate flavoured ice latte, you usually stuck to caramel and vanilla. Very basic, but it was a consistent routine.
"It really lives up to the hype," you added, taking another sip, longer this time."They need to work on their spelling, though..." Moka mumbled, still annoyed that they got her name wrong.
"Put your cup and phone right next to mine in the centre." She instructed, already reaching for her handbag.
You already knew the drill, she wanted to take a picture—pictures, with her trusty camera. A soft click echoed along with a quick flash in the rather quiet café seating area. Her eyebrows were furrowed in deep concentration, while her lips were pursed in a focused pout, the camera right by her right eye. After taking a few pictures, Moka gives you a nod of approval to go ahead and take your drink.
Despite the unfortunate misspelling of Moka's name, you were definitely going to be coming back.
note: i kinda missed moka and i wrote this but i was too lazy to proofread so it was just in my drafts for a long time. but, she's back now, no wins for it's me but it's ok, moka is what matters most anyway. also, happy pride month lol!
