#but i never thought he would be THAT awful

[shomatoriashi]

02/11/25; 01:15pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ how they celebrate valentine’s day with you ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

notes: slight crack with rafayel's 😂

you were in the middle of reading your novel, believing that sylus was too busy to celebrate valentine's day with you as you were left to your own devices. despite the prior disappointment you felt at the thought of being unable to spend such a lovely holiday with him, in the end, you chose to be a good lover and simply spoil yourself for the day instead. you never brought it up or even asked, hence why you were currently surrounded by your favorite snacks, simply relaxing in bed while flipping though the pages of your book.

the start of your night was utterly normal, peaceful even when you found yourself surrounded by darkness just seconds later.

"what the hell?" you sit up in bed, dropping your novel on the ground as you blindly searched for the lamp settled on the nightstand. however, you were unable to move, feeling a pair of hands wrapping around your form coupled along with a series of laughters.

"luke, kieran, unhand me right now!" you bark at the twins, feeling them carry you away from your bed with ease.

"no can do, miss queen! boss man gave us strict orders to bring you to him!"

the twins continue carry you away, seemingly able to navigate through sylus's mansion even without the need for any lights. you try to wiggle out of their hold, yet end up letting out a grunt when you felt your ass landing against a plush cushion. the twins had dropped you off somewhere, making you glare into the darkness, ready to chew out the troublesome pair-

only to have your eyes widen with shock when the lights came back on. your eyes stung for a brief moment before allowing you to finally see the surprise sylus had planned for you. you were settled on the dining table, and seated across from you was sylus himself, lifting up a glass full of red wine in a toast. "hello sweetie, how nice of you to finally join me."

your mouth opens, yet the words become lost the moment you were able to actually look at the table. as far as your eyes can see, you saw various dishes across the table, finally taking in the scents of your favorite foods and various heart shaped confectionaries for dessert. tears dot your vision, making you wipe them away with the back of your hand, "i thought you had forgotten. i-"

hearing your sniffles and seeing your tears causes sylus to put down his wine glass, standing back to his full height as he took quick strides towards you. taking you within his embrace, he lets out gentle coos of your name, setting you on his lap while holding you against him.

"as if i would ever forget to celebrate our love, little dove."

filled to the brim with utter adoration for him, you cling to the front of his suit, allowing sylus to lean down and capture your lips in a sweet kiss, reminding you of just how pure and deep his love ran for you.

when zayne asked what you would like to do for valentine's day, your mind immediately went to the art museum you had wanted to visit since its opening a few months ago.

never one to deny you of any of your wants and needs, zayne takes you to the museum while walking around with you. he basks in the joy and awe with each painting and sculpture you pass by. and despite how you were the one who had purchased the box of macarons to share-

zayne was the one left holding it, since you were so engrossed at being at this museum.

yet the turning point came when you stood in front of an oil painting that seems to take up the whole section of the museum. your eyes were glued to the watercolors that painted the scenery of the deep ocean along with what appeared to be mermaids swimming in and out of an underwater city.

"wow, this is amazing. i heard rafayel was a genius in his own right, but this- his art, so breathtaking, almost like a fairytale..."

the way your eyes shimmer with admiration for the artist causes a surge of something dark and almost possessive to course through zayne's veins. the sudden sensation makes him grip at the box of macarons in a tighter manner, nearly crushing the cookies as a frown paints his expression. you were still ogling the painting when zayne decides to place the box of macarons on a nearby bench, coming closer to you as he wraps his arms around your front.

"what- zayne?"

he buries his face within your hair, "i didn't think i'd be able to feel jealous over a painting."

your eyes go wide, ready to ask what he meant when your lover suddenly leans down to press a kiss against your lips, swallowing the rest of your words. you let out a soft moan in response, shyly kissing him back while feeling zayne delving his fingers into your hair.

with you being so focused on his kiss, you were unaware of zayne's smile and his feelings of victory at being able to win your attention back from that man's painting.

you shared the love of stargazing with xavier, so when he invites you out on a picnic beneath the stars for your valentine's day date-

you said yes to his offer immediately.

you had prepared for this picnic throughout the day, making several sandwiches along with a charcuterie board to share along with some sparkling wine. xavier offers to carry the heavy basket filled with food as you held on to the blanket.

your ballet flats meets with the plushness of the emerald green grass, eyes already scanning the skies as you were basking in the sight of the twinkling stars settled millions of miles above you. xavier looks back at you, seeing the way you stopped as a kind smile graces his features.

taking a hold of your arm, xavier leads you towards the middle of the field, helping you spread out the blanket fully before settling on top of it with you. your boyfriend spreads out your meal, setting up the charcuterie board while offering you a sandwich as well.

taking tentative bites of your food, you rest your head against xavier's shoulder, simply basking in the moment with him. your eyes were glued to the galaxy above you, listening to xavier's voice as he pointed out the constellations and traced at the stars with his fingertips.

feeling warm and oh so happy with him, you look away from the skies and gently call out his name.

"yes?" you meet his gaze, seeing the love he had for you shining in them when you lean closer to the philos prince. "i love you, thank you for this."

instead of answering you with words, xavier leans forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, slotting his lips against yours while silently conveying i love you, too.

for valentine's day, rafayel treats you to a nice lunch before taking you to the aquarium. while walking around the gorgeous area, you felt your mouth watering at the sight of the ice cream shop settled near the entrance. after purchasing your tickets, rafayel slides his wallet back into his pant pockets when he meets your puppy dog expression.

he sighs, "okay princess, spill, what is it that you want?"

"an ice cream cone sounds really nice right now." you tell your boyfriend with a pout, pointing at the ice cream stand.

he feigns a sigh, yet walks with you to the stand anyways, allowing you to purchase your favorite flavor before ruffling your hair. you were giggling now, taking eager licks of your ice cream while offering some to your lover.

rafayel pouts, but leans down to take a huge bite out of the soft serve ice cream, making you laugh, "oh my god, that was a bite from a shovel!"

"no it wasn't!" he retorts while playfully pulling on your cheek, only to stiffen just moments later. he lets go of your face, and you give your boyfriend a confused expression while rubbing at your cheek, "huh? rafe, what is it?"

his frown seems to deepen, lips forming a pout as he marched deeper into the aquarium. your eyes go wide, following him all while calling out his name. your search for him leads you to an area where the coral reefs were on display-

and your boyfriend was actively glaring at this angelfish that had startling sapphire blue scales. you continue to take tentative licks of your ice cream, wanting to observe what would happen next-

only to see the angelfish's mouth open and close several times with bubbles forming within the waters.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!" rafayel's voice echoes throughout the aquarium as his hands form into fists, pounding into the glass as the angelfish continued blowing bubbles at him.

"r-rafeyel, calm down, what happened?" you try your best to diffuse the situation, yet his pout deepens while pointing an accusing finger at the angelfish, "h-he just called me a limp noodle and said that i wasn't good enough for you!"

before rafayel could demand that one of the workers allow him inside of the waters, you pull your overly dramatic boyfriend away from the scene, feeling a bead of sweat run down your cheek as you thought of ways to help with calming the lemurian down.

"oh my god, i'm in heaven right now!" you tell your boyfriend of two years while cutting into the fluffy strawberry shortcake, placing the delicious morsel within your mouth all while letting out a moan of pleasure.

caleb simply chuckles at your words, tending to his own cup of coffee. he never once removes his gaze away from you, smiling like a lovesick fool, "whatever makes you happy, baby."

resting his cheek against the palm of his hand, the farspace colonel was glad he was able to take some time off for this special day. knowing that you were a true romantic at heart, there was no way in hell he would ever miss out on celebrating valentine's day with you.

so, he buys you all of your favorite treats, allowing the various plates filled with a variety of different cakes and chocolates to surround you. he admires the look of happiness on your face, basking in the way you ate each pastry in such a meticulous manner, as if wishing to savor every bit of it.

in the midst of caleb admiring you, he notices the whipped cream settled on top of your lips, feeling a devilish grin forming against his features. he says your name, breaking your attention away from your cake. "hm?" you face him just then, allowing caleb to lean forward to capture your lips in a chaste kiss as his tongue swipes away at the cream. caleb relishes in the way you were trembling before sitting back down in his seat, picking up his cup of coffee while taking a casual sip.

noticing the heat settled on your cheeks and the way your expression turned sheepish, he had to bite back the urge to chuckle at you while ruffling at your hair.

i could get used to this soft happiness. caleb thinks to himself, focusing his attention once more on your achingly cute features and how you were too shy to meet his gaze.

end notes: i feel like all of us wanted infold to drop a fluffy banner, but was a little disappointed / shocked when it didn't happen and got something feral instead 😭🙌🏻 so have this fluffy drabble instead to fill your needs for a fluffy valentine's day with our lads boys 🥰

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[reidsbookclub]

An Accidental Marriage

Spencer Reid x fem! reader fluffy fluffy fluffy

Spencer Reid never thought he'd start his morning by nearly choking to death on his beloved coffee. But, then again, he also never thought he’d get accidentally married and find out about it at the same time the rest of the 6th floor at the FBI.

Yet here he was—standing in the BAU’s bullpen, coughing and sputtering as the one person he never expected to see in Virginia stormed into the room and screamed:

"DID YOU KNOW THE MARRIAGE WAS REAL?!"

Everyone seemed to freeze. The usual hum of the FBI’s elite profiling unit went completely silent as every single agent turned to stare at the scene unfolding before them.

Emily Prentiss slowly set down her mug. Luke Alvez raised an eyebrow. Tara Lewis and JJ exchanged glances. Penelope Garcia, the BAU’s self appointed gossip queen, visibly perked up like a cat spotting a canary. And Spencer? Spencer was still choking.

“Marriage?” JJ echoed, tilting her head. “Spence, is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

His childhood best friend—you—stood in front of him, arms crossed, expression half exasperated, half completely bewildered. What were you doing in Virginia? You wen't supposed to finalize your move until next month. Did he get the months wrong? He never got the months wrong but then again thinking about you always did something to his brain, he thought.

“I went to get my license updated, Spencer. My license. And do you know what I found out?” You didn’t wait for him to answer, waving an official-looking paper in front of his face. “I have been legally married for ten years and nobody thought to tell me?”

Spencer finally managed to recover, rubbing his throat before he pushed his glasses up his nose, his mind whirring. “Wait, wait, wait—how is that even possible?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Crash maybe it’s because we signed a legal document at that stupid fair years ago thinking it was a joke when it was actually real!” The moment you called him Crash, the way you had since you were kids (a nickname born from his clumsy nature and his inability to stay upright for long), something clicked in his brain.

The fair. The marriage booth.

The backup plan.

“Oh my God,” Spencer whispered.

“Oh my God is right!” you cried

Penelope practically vibrated in her seat. “Wait, wait, wait—did I just hear correctly? My favorite boy genius has been secretly married for ten years and didn’t know it?! This is better than any rom-com I’ve ever seen!”

Luke smirked. “And you never thought to check?”

“Why would I check? It's Spencer!” Penelope cried

Rossi, who had been listening with an amused expression, leaned back in his chair. “Alright, kids, humor the old man. Start from the beginning.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, and plopped into the nearest chair. Spencer sat beside you, running a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” you started. “Spencer and I grew up together in Vegas. We were best friends. Like, inseparable. Hi, by the way names Y/N and I probably know a lot about all of you.” Spencer nodded. “We met when we were six years old. Statistically, most childhood friendships don’t last into adulthood, but we were an anomaly.”

Emily waved a hand. “Cute, but get to the part where you got married.”

You rolled your eyes, not liking that people didn't like Spencers facts. “When we were kids, we made a pact. If we weren’t married by forty, we’d marry each other. You know, as a backup plan.”

JJ let out a small aw before covering her mouth.

“Then,” Spencer continued, “when we were twenty, we ran into each other while I was visiting my mom in Vegas, Y/N was supposed to be visiting her sister in California but missed her plane. There was a fair at the local community college, and we thought it would be fun to relive our childhood for a day and spend the whole day together like we used to.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “And that’s when we saw it. The stupid marriage booth.”

Luke frowned. “Marriage booth?”

Spencer nodded. “It was part of the fair attractions. A fake wedding setup where couples could take pictures, sign a certificate, and get one of those novelty ‘marriage’ papers. We thought it was funny—like a way to get a head start on our backup plan.”

“Turns out,” you grumbled, “since we were in Vegas, it wasn’t fake at all.” The room went silent. And then Penelope excitedly screamed.

“Oh. My. God.” Penelope clutched her chest like she was about to faint. “That is the most romantic accidental love story I have ever heard.”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not romantic! It was a mistake.”

“I don’t know, kid,” Rossi said with a smirk. “Sounds a lot like fate to me.”

You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “That’s exactly what the lady at the DMV said when she showed me the proof!”

Tara leaned forward. “And now what?”

You glanced at Spencer. “I guess we get it annulled.”

For some reason, the thought sent an odd pang through Spencer’s chest. Annulled? Why did the thought of getting it annulled make him want to through up?

Emily leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “Or—” she drawled, eyes gleaming mischievously, “you could just stay married.”

“What?” you and Spencer said in unison.

Tara shrugged. “You were childhood best friends. You made a pact to marry each other if you didn’t find anyone else. Maybe this was fate stepping in early.”

“Fate,” Spencer repeated blankly.

“Oh, you cannot annul this,” Penelope gasped. “This is the most romantic accidental love story ever. Think of the story you’ll have for your grandchildren!”

Just as you were beginning to protest, agent Grant Anderson strolled into the bullpen, carrying a stack of case files. His gaze landed on you, and a charming smile spread across his face.

“Well, hello,” he said smoothly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You blinked at him. “Uh, no, I guess we haven’t.”

Anderson’s smile widened. “You must be new. Are you visiting, or is this a permanent thing?”

Spencer, who had been silent for a moment too long, suddenly stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. His jaw clenched, his normally gentle brown eyes darkening with something sharp and territorial. His hand curled around your wrist, firm but not forceful, and then—“My wife,” he said.

And before you could react, before you could process what he just said Spencer Reid—your childhood best friend, the genius who was accidentally your husband, the man you have been in love with since you knew what love was—grabbed your face and kissed you.

The bullpen erupted in cheers. Penelope squealed. JJ gasped. Emily shouted, “Go Reid!” Rossi laughed like this was the best thing he'd seen in years.

Anderson took a step back, holding up his hands. “Well. That answers that question.” When Spencer finally pulled away, you could only stare at him, breathless, heart pounding, lips tingling. “What—what was that?!” you managed. Spencer swallowed, adjusting his tie. “A leap,” he said simply. You blinked. And then, before you could stop yourself, you kissed him back. Tagging some friends because for some reason I can't find my taglist

@samuel-de-champagne-problems @boldlyvoid @milla984 @reidsaurora @reiding-and-writing

[rottenk1sses]

thinking of corrupting innocent art, maybe he grew up religious and his chastity ring is his most prized possession, but he can't say no to your advances, doesn't say yes either— but he never stays away for too long, anyway comes crawling back wordlessly like a puppy w his tail between his legs

cw : corruption, coercion/elements of dubcon (18+)

pastor’s son!art donaldson who stays in his hometown instead of going off to college; opting to help his father with the church as the months tick by, only fueled by a sense of duty and maybe a bit of religious guilt..

you knew the very instant you set eyes on him that you had to have him.

he always looked like an angel when he was stood behind his dad during services—the yellowed overhead light shining suspiciously brighter on him alone; his neatly groomed golden curls bouncing in front of his forehead with every obedient and devout nod of his head to the words of the verses. pretty, you had thought, pure.

the first time you ever tried to seduce him, the church had already emptied out to give you the perfect opportunity to slide into a pew and call him over to ‘talk’. of course, he was more than happy to do so. he talked with everyone, it was like a second nature to provide comfort to others.

he found you really attractive when he finally got a good look at you, sexy even. but the idea of perceiving you that way had curdled a gross feeling in his gut. it wasn’t right—it wasn’t him—and he knew that. but he still chose to sit down next to you that particular evening and indulge that disturbing part of himself. could it really be so wrong to appreciate one of god's fellow creations?

he knew deep down that god would be ashamed.

you had chatted him up for less than ten minutes (making up a sad story about how awful your life was going) before your hand was sneaking over his thigh, sliding over the dark fabric of his church slacks. he'd frozen completely stiff at the feeling, like he was scared of how he felt about the touch and petrified of the consequences.

art chuckled nervously and looked to your eyes, almost pleading.

“uhm,” he breathed out shakily, pushing your touch gently from his body, refusing your advances, “i don’t, uh.. im not—..”

he hoped that his lack of an actual explanation would be a good-enough one in of itself, but you pushed back anyway despite his protests. draping your leg over his, stroking his blond hair, leaning in to kiss his flushed neck. he was trembling all over. now god was really going to strike him dead.

“shhh,” you whispered, “just let me make you feel good, okay? that would really help me feel better…”

he wanted to say no. he wanted to shoot up from his seat and run away like a scared little pup, protecting the sanctity of his body and mind from whatever sin you were corrupted with, but he didn’t. a deeper, sicker part of him couldn’t. he was disgusted with himself.

an anxiousness started to brew just under his skin, and he felt it filtering through his blood like a petrifying poison. like a mess of flies buzzing around a decaying body that was buried deep in the midst of his morality. he couldn’t move; he couldn’t fight back.

but oh.. it.. it felt good..? and he did want to help you..

he was almost surprised by how quick he'd gotten an erection. it strained up against his zipper before you even got a chance to grope him properly.

and then you did.

and then he felt that awful, putrid, incredible feeling bubbling up from his pelvis; a feeling that he had only allowed himself to indulge in when he was at home, in the dead of night, tucked into the messy covers and rocking his hips into his mattress to chase the temptation.

an innocent loophole.

after all, he’d never physically touched himself there in a sexual manner, let alone with the hand of his that held a finger banded in silver—a symbol of his purity—so it would be alright in the end, right? he had only ever done it to scratch an itch. a forbidden itch, sure, but god wouldn’t want him to suffer like that. a quick bit of relief, and then it was over and done with. always.

but in that particular moment, when he was feeling someone’s touch over his pants for the very first time, he had decided that he wasn’t sure he wanted to indulge. maybe it really was as wrong as he knew it to be. he shook his head.

“wait—“ he gasped, squirming on the wooden pew as his head tipped back slightly, his trembling fingers squeezing the edge of the surface under him, “wait, wait, i— oh—oh-!”

he was letting out noises then that made him sound like an innocent fawn, wailing out in a mix of confusion and pleasure and shame and fear as he felt his cock spasm and flood his underwear with an overwhelming warmth. despite his verbal hesitation, he had pushed his hips up hard into your touch as he orgasmed—grinding against it as the shocks of release stung the finger that wore the ring of silver. he could almost feel the metal burning into his skin amidst all of the overstimulating ecstasy that caused his thighs to quake. guilt radiated through all of his bones; seeping into his marrow.

he had sinned, fully and wholly. he was a sinner.

your touch dirtied him. infected him.

you had made him this way.

he was supposed to be good; a good person, a good son, a good follower.

but you had ruined it. all of it.

he’d never been prone to anger, but right then he had wanted to shout. he wanted to shove you away, get down on his knees, and begin repenting. mumbling pleas and apologies with his hands clasped together and his head hung, bowed in penance. his body weighed down by the heavy stone of his own culpability in the situation; the realization that he hadn’t done enough to refuse your attention.

but, in the end, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny his body the gratification of being so close to you. he was no longer worthy of god’s forgiveness anyways, so he turned his head and looked to your eyes, tears pooling in his own. they dripped down his flushed cheeks as he pulled ragged, greedy gasps of air into his lungs. his chest rattled as he cried. the feeling of the slimy wetness soaking into his underwear had only made the sting of reality more pitiful.

if he had looked like an angel before all of this, he surely was a fallen one now.

“…th-thank you, i'm sorry…” he sobbed softly, “i’m sorry.”

he didn't quite know who he was apologizing to.

it had only felt right.

[illbegottenfaith]

kiss me better, love

as the two of you stumble into bed after a Valentine's dinner date, theo realises it's not fair how much he loves you (theo nott x reader)

a/n - valentines fic #2 !!!! thought of this idea in a class literally 5 hours ago and idk if its the sleep deprivation but this is sooo self-indulgent writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet frfr 😭 all I have to say is if this isnt me and my future partner I dont want him I send him BACK

tropes/warnings - physical touch as a love language, angry theo but also soft theo 🥰🥰 no (read: minimal) proof reading we die like men etc etc

word count - 1.5k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @ebriton @thaliashifts @friedfreyfries @allie-sturns

The door shuts behind you both, plunging the room into near-darkness. You barely take a step before bumping into Theo, your knee knocking against his thigh, your hands flying to his shoulders as you stumble.

"Merlin,” he mutters, steadying you with a grip at your waist. “Can you - ”

“You're the one barging into me,” you shoot back, tucking a lock behind your ear as you tighten your grip on Theo’s shoulder, making him wince.

“Anyway, like I was saying, it hasn’t even been a week since Missy - ”

Theo exhales sharply, blindly reaching for the zipper at your back. “Is this something I really need to be hearing right now?” he asks somewhat waspishly.

“Yes.” You barely register his tone, still preoccupied. “So I walk into Charms in Tuesday, expecting to find Josh understandably distraught and/or in mourning. But who do I see him chatting up instead?"

"Hair."

You gather your hair up in one hand to hold it up and go right on talking. You barely notice Theo's largely ineffective attempts at pushing your sleeves off your shoulders.

"Pansy Parkinson! Pansy flipping Parkinson. What, does he think he's a free man now or something? Melissa's halfway across the world, she's not dead."

"Mhm."

You sigh exaggeratedly at his lackluster responses.

“Well? Don't you have to anything to add?"

“Yeah - hold still.” You This is just ridiculous, Theo was thinking. What kind of dress needed buttons and a zip?

You huff, switching your hair to your other hand. “Honestly, Theo, have you listened to a single thing I’ve been saying the past hour?”

Theo groans, still fumbling at your lower back. He had figured out the buttons were decorative, bless him, but your dress was on the more delicate side, and if he ripped it, he'd never hear the end of it. “Uh, yeah, that Abernathy guy...he’s two-timing Melissa?"

“He is not,” you say, peering over your shoulder to see what was taking Theo so long. Seriously, what was going on back there? It doesn't help, though, not when you can barely make him out in the dark. “not yet at least. He might. And if he's going to, well, isn't it better she finds out now rather than ten years down the road? Or am I an awful friend for thinking that?"

"Thinking what?" Theo asks distractedly.

"Willing my best friend's boyfriend into cheating on her."

Before he can formulate a response, your stubborn zipper finally decides to cooperate and moves down an inch - snagging at his finger. A sharp hiss cuts through the dark, followed by some emphatic, muttered swearing.

You pause.

“…what was that?”

Theo slips his injured finger out of his mouth briefly, his voice strained as he struggles to keep the pain out of his tone. “Nothing.”

You shift slightly, trying to catch his expression in the dark, but he’s suspiciously still now, his hands nowhere on you anymore.

“Theo.”

“I’m fine.”

Your brow furrows. Then, his suddenly subdued demeanour and oddly neutral tone clicks in your head.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

There’s an immediate rustle, followed by Theo’s very delayed attempt at nonchalance.

“…no.”

Oh, you could throttle him. “Was it the zip again?”

“You keep saying that like I do it intentionally - I never mean to-”

“And now you're trying to suck the pain away like a child?”

“Would you rather I bleed all over your dress?”

“I’d rather you watch what you’re doing so you don’t get maimed by a bloody zip in the first place!”

Theo exhales sharply, his frustration palpable. “I keep telling you - I don't-”

“You never mean to, but here we are.” You cross your arms. “Third time in two weeks, Theo. This is getting ridiculous. Should I hire a nurse for our dates? A medic? Do you need to start taking my clothes off under medical supervision? Is that what we've come to?"

Theo glares at you (or the shadowy figure he was mostly sure was you), trying to pull his attention away from the stinging pain. “Oh, don’t start - ”

“You don’t think before you do things.”

Theo groans. “I think plenty.”

“No, you rush plenty. Really, it’s a miracle you still have all your limbs -”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“First, you burn yourself on my curling iron -”

“Okay, one, you shouldn't be leaving your things out like that.”

“Then you cut yourself opening a tin of biscuits -”

Theo tips his head back in exasperation. “You sh - you literally shoved it at me!”

“ - and now my zipper is out to get you?” You throw your hands up. “What are you telling me, Teddy? That every item I own has a personal vendetta against you?”

"Mattheo agrees with me, you know," you continue smugly, in a so-there kind of tone. "He told me about that time you nearly broke your neck falling down that flight of stairs on the way to Transfiguration, which wouldn't have happened if you weren't - "

"Rushing, I know." Theo steps back as if to escape. “Merlin, you are insufferable - ”

“And you are reckless.”

“I don't need you to lecture me.”

“You’d be fine if you just listened to m - show me your finger.”

A brief struggle ensues.

You lunge; he sidesteps. You fumble blindly for his hand; he twists out of reach.

“For fuck’s sake -”

“Stop being so difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, you’re being a menace.”

“At least I don't get mauled by zippers.”

“I'm telling you, that zipper has it out for me."

“Well, maybe if you weren’t always in such a bloody rus - ”

“Enough with the rushing!”

“I can't help it if you never learn - ”

“I do learn,” he snaps, stepping back further - only for you to grab onto his wrist and pull.

There’s a shuffle, a scuffle as Theo stumbles back into the dresser with a thud.

“Oi - ”

“Oh, stop squirming, you big baby.”

“You stop grabbing- ”

“Theodore, you are injured. Act like it.”

“I am n- ”

“Then give me your hand.”

A long, heavy pause. Then -

“No.”

You groan, exasperated. “Merlin, you are the most - ”

“And you are relentless - ”

But at last, in an impressive show of determination, you manage to latch onto his wrist, wrenching his hand towards you before he can twist away again. Theo groans in frustration, but you’ve already found the wound—his fingertip, warm and damp against yours.

“Oh, for - ” You tighten your grip as he tries to pull away. “You are bleeding!”

Theo tenses, his entire body bristling. “It’s nothing.”

“On my zipper,” you say incredulously. “Again.”

He exhales sharply as if this is somehow your fault. “You don’t need to make a whole production of it - ”

“I told you to be careful - ”

“And I was - ”

“Clearly not enough!”

Theo groans, tipping his head back against the dresser. “I’m buying you a tear-away dress next Valentine’s.”

You bite back a smirk. “I’d like to see you figure that one out.”

He mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but you’re already bringing his hand up, brushing your lips over the wound.

He stills.

The fight, the irritation, the tension - all of it dissolves instantly under your touch.

You press another kiss there, softer this time. Through a sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains, he sees your face - your impish expression, your eyes, alight with amusement and plain adoration. You watch his face too - his furrowed brows relaxing, the slight part of his lips, his sharp features softened by something indiscernible.

His eyes flick to yours.

And Merlin, it’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not fair how you can drive him to the brink of insanity one second and then look at him like that the next, like you could never get your fill. It's enough to make him think you're worth all the trouble you put him through. It's enough to make him want to slow down. Merlin knows the last thing he wants is to rush through his days with you.

“…better?” you murmur against his skin after a moment.

Theo exhales, rolling his eyes as though he isn’t already relenting. "It's a start," he says grudgingly.

Your smile widens as you bring his hand up again, pressing another kiss there, then another, then another.

Theo groans, tipping his head back again, his frustration dwindling with every sympathetic brush of your lips.

“You like this,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, but his voice has softened, his body relaxing into yours.

You grin, pressing a kiss to his wrist. Then his palm.

Theo groans again, for reasons unrelated to his earlier irritation, his fingers curling at your waist.

You laugh softly. “Want me to kiss you better everywhere?”

Theo smiles weakly, pulling you closer. “That's the best idea you've had all night."

[softtdaisy]

oooh or 14 and hotch :3

ultraviolence / aaron hotchner

summary. aaron had a hard time dealing with your relationship, his feelings for you and seeing you put yourself in danger constantly as your boss. until it explodes.

words count. 2 477

prompt. “I’ve had worse.”“And that’s why I’m angry.” from here

what to expect. is it angst? yes again. reader gets hurt so mention of blood and bruises, very brief mention of abuse and torture. aaron is sad and deserves a hug

a/n. thank you again for your request sweetie, I love writing stories from your idea 🥹 I really love this story I could write more about these two so I really hope you will love it too!! 🫶

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

This case was absolutely awful. 

The team left for Los Angeles on Sunday night after a new victim was discovered. It was the fifth in less than two weeks, and the police finally decided to call the FBI for help. Little did you know how horrifying the situation was.

You got the call at Aaron’s place. 

Nobody knew that you were seeing each other. It might not be appreciated for your boss to find comfort in one of his team member's arms. At least, not by the people above him. 

Because unbeknownst to you and Aaron, the team was making bets about when you two would conclude, to which Emily assured it was already done. And about when you would make it official, to which Derek said it would probably never happen considering Hotch needs to keep his private life…well, private.

His phone ring woke you up from a very nice dream that had just begun. After spending the evening together, you and Aaron started spending the night together too. You’ve been in bed for less than an hour when you heard the ring and felt his arm around your waist moving to grab the phone. There was something reassuring in the way he was keeping you against him, with his other arms around you and one of his legs on top of yours to prevent you from moving. He put one last kiss on your hair before answering. 

“Hotchner,” he said with a raspy voice that was caused by you. And it only made you want to start again to hear your name with this voice. Your hand even got lost on the hair in his chest, unconsciously. 

But the reality struck you back. And sooner than you thought, you were back in the office.

Nobody asked why you arrived with Aaron or why you were wearing the exact same clothes as the day before. While your boss had time to change his shirt and tie.

Nobody asked at that moment, and soon, the questions seemed pointless once you discovered the case.

The atrocity of the torture these poor women went through made you all so angry that nothing in your life seemed more important than giving them justice.

Maybe you shouldn’t have worked with your heart more than with your brain these past days.

Maybe you shouldn’t have offered to be the bait to catch this monster.

Maybe you shouldn’t have insisted when Aaron kept saying he refused to let you go there and put your life in danger.

Maybe you should have paid attention to the worried look on your colleagues' faces and not assimilated it as being reluctant to get between the two of you.

But you still ended up at the monster place to catch him. 

You saw Aaron’s look on you when you left the car. It was a mix of worry for letting you get in the lion’s cage and a little bit of arousal, having an idea of what you might look like on a date with him. A date he hoped he could get after the case.

A hope that slowly died during the night. 

When your mic stopped working, Aaron had to fight every single feeling in his body to not run and get you back with the team. He knew you were on a mission and that if you didn’t get any proof, this would have been worthless. Yet, not knowing if you were still safe was killing him. And Rossi noticed how he threw his headset after you lost contact.

One hour.

Two hours.

Three hours went by.

And then a gunshot resonated in the air.

Everyone on site ran from the van to go inside the unsub’s house. Before they could finish climbing the stairs outside, you opened the door. Some still ran inside to make sure the unsub was under control. 

Emily and Derek stayed outside, close to you.

Aaron stayed at the bottom of the stairs, unable to move.

Your dress was ripped at the bottom, and one of the straps was torn and hanging loosely on your chest. Your hair, perfectly done when you came in, was now tangled. And the bruises.

It was killing Aaron to see them on your beautiful face, with your bleeding lip, and others growing on your arms.

It was killing Aaron that he couldn’t see them all.

“I’m fine,” you sighed to stop Emily and Derek from talking on top of each other. You had a big enough headache already. But you still gave them a small smile to prove that you weren’t mad. Just tired.

You wished you could easily accept their worries, but you couldn’t. You just wanted this to be done. There are some reactions you can’t control like that.

When you finally walked down the stairs and came closer to Aaron, you imagined he would be just as worried and asked you multiple questions. But he didn’t.

He ignored you. Worse, before doing so, he gave you the disappointed boss look. One that made the features on his face harder, meaner. One that reminded everyone who was above everybody in this team. A look that you hated. 

The following hours were just as blurry as the rest. Emily came with you to the hospital to make sure you weren’t alone and weren’t in danger. The medics took good care of you, from what you could memorize. The only thing you remember was the single tear that ran down your face with the sudden realization of what happened.

You almost got abused. You almost died there. And the only arms you needed after that moment were firmly closed against the chest you loved to sleep against. 

After Emily brought you back to your hotel room, you expected to have a lonely and sleepless night.

You just had the time to put on a loose shirt before you heard the knocks on your door. 

Just with that, you knew who it was.

Emily never knocks more than twice.

Spencer’s are gentle, like he feared bothering.

“Aaron,” you sighed, opening the door.

His ones were louder, probably coming from his boss' status. But not brutal. Almost like he was trying to contain his strength and not appear arrogant.

You turned around once he heard his steps behind you. You didn’t need to see him. You didn’t even want him around tonight. And you didn’t want to look at him because you knew a part of your heart wouldn’t resist him.

Because you knew, you knew how he would look.

So you ignored Aaron for at least a minute. Until you couldn’t stand the silence in the room suffocating you. 

Like you imagined, Aaron had taken off his tie and shirt and replaced them with a grey sweater that you absolutely loved on him. An old one that faded a little here and here that made him look younger. His hair was still wet from his shower.

But you didn’t expect him to stay by the door frozen. His eyes were locked on the bruises on your skin, and there were still marks of anger on his face.

“What do you wa…” you started, rolling your eyes from the situation. But Aaron cut you off sharply.

“That was stupid.” 

You hated that tone. This wasn’t Aaron. This was Hotch, your boss. And even in other situations, you didn’t remember hearing him like that.

His arms were crossed on his chest, and his eyes finally went up on your face. If a look could kill… “This was irresponsible and dangerous. Look at you.” 

Aaron was not a man to scream. You’ve never, ever heard him scream. But the way he would make his voice harder and sharper was maybe worse.

“Oh, come on,” you sighed, taking a step closer to him. Maybe it was provocative behavior, but you opened your arms so he could have a better look at your body. The way he closed his eyes for a second proved to you that it worked; Aaron had a disgusting taste in his mouth. “I’ve had worse.”

And that was true. You got shot during your first month at the BAU and spent two days at the hospital while the team was still working the case. You couldn’t count the number of cuts you’ve gotten through the years because you were never scared to go or use inappropriate paths to get what you want. Some of these cuts even got infected. Your doctor kind of hated you, to be honest.

But apparently, this wasn’t a good argument for Aaron because he took another angry step towards you. “And that’s why I’m angry.”

“Oh, you’re angry, SSA Aaron Hotchner?” You noticed his pupil get bigger, making his eyes look darker. 

Sometimes, Aaron hated his full name because it was a reminder of who he was and who he couldn’t be. An ambitious man, for sure, he was doing a great job but also a man who seemed austere and who could never be the husband he wished he was. You knew that, he told you during a sleepless night away for a case. And you were hitting directly in the right place.

“We both know why you’re here, Aaron.” You pursued and pointed a finger at him. “You didn’t blame Derek for hurting the officer by accident because he was too focused to care about people around last month. You didn’t blame Emily for almost breaking her arm running after the unsub when somebody was already after him last week. You didn’t blame Sp…”

“Stop it.” The first one sounded like a threat. “Please, stop it.” This one sounded like a pleading.

And in any other moments, you would have stopped. But you were tired of walking on eggshells with Aaron about your relationship and your job. And the link between both. So you selfishly kept pushing him. “Say it. Admit it.”

“What? That I love you? Fine, I love you!” 

The whole room went silent. All that you both could hear was him being out of breath and your heartbeats. It was like your world exploded, and tension could only fall down now. 

You stayed like that for a whole minute, standing and looking each other straight in the eyes. Waiting for one of you to give up and speak. Until Aaron had enough and sat on your bed. You watched as his hands went from his neck to his face, which he hid for a second or two, and ended on his hair.

“It’s not you I’m the most mad about. It’s me,” he continued, looking down at his feet. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at you for not listening and rushing straight into danger.” 

You let out a small laugh because, of course, he was angry about that. But this laugh gave him a small smile too. One that maybe you needed without knowing it.

“But I know my feelings make my perception of your actions and my reactions more biased. The idea of losing you tonight made me so anxious, and when I saw you coming out, bleeding and bruised… I was so angry at you for putting yourself in danger, at me for putting yourself in danger. The boss and the…whatever I am for you met to create a bigger and angrier version of myself.”

Aaron was so focused on himself that he didn’t hear your footsteps coming closer to him. It wasn’t until your knees touched him that he realized he was there. And when he moved his face up, you realized how vulnerable he looked. 

You never thought Aaron loved you and certainly not that much. It never came to your mind that maybe you were stressing him from something more than the boss and teammate relation by not being scared to go into a dangerous situation. But the way he seemed hurt to look at your bruised face made you realize that with every hit you took that night, Aaron got hit harder.

“Can I?” you asked, pointing at his thighs. He simply nodded, and you softly sat on him. Sure to not lean too hard on your bruises, but also because you wondered if you might break him too. A thought that you noticed in his eyes too from the way he barely looked at you and the way his hands were grabbing the sheet, not you. “Touch me,” you whispered. 

You slowly put a hand on his neck to caress his skin and his short hair. “I’m fine, Aaron. Touch me.” 

“This is my fault,” he sighed, putting his forehead against yours. And if it wasn’t the touch you were asking for or expecting, you took it. Because it was already a step forward. “I can’t have this type of reaction anytime we are on a case. That’s not a boss's posture. That’s not…”

“That’s a boyfriend posture I can understand,” you replied. Your nose softly brushed his, and you loved the shivers you felt in him. “Sure, it’s not easy, but we can work on it. If you want to.”

When you noticed Aaron was closing his eyes, you did it too.

And when you felt his hands slowly going on your hips, not grabbing it like he always does but barely touching it, you smiled.

“Tonight wasn’t easy, not for me obviously. But I get that it wasn’t easy for you either. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work on that.” You spoke quietly.

Again, Aaron didn’t answer, and you could tell the night had exhausted him. From catching the unsub, fearing he would never see you again, to confessing his feelings to the woman he hoped he would never lose.

You stayed like that, cuddling in silence for as long as you needed. Until Aaron offered that you both sleep in your own room, to take the night to think about you. And mostly to rest after everything that happened. And no matter how much you wished you could be in his arms to find peace, you accepted. Because he was probably the one who needed more to be by himself. 

You wanted this to work, and you would go at his own pace.

“And Aaron?” You called, grabbing his hand before he left your room.

He turned around, frowning. He looked so tired you wondered if he wouldn’t fall asleep on you if you didn't let him go. His chest was almost glued to yours, and you enjoyed that touch while it lasted.

“I love you too.” 

You wished you could memorize that smile forever. The way it softened his traits.

Aaron learned to give you two kisses: one on your forehead and one on your lips. 

Something that you knew would become a habit, a secret language. A wordless goodnight and I love you.

A promise to make things better.

[artdcnaldson]

pussydrunk 2006 art eating pussy for the first time and he can't stop moaning into your cunt and grinding against the bed. when he feels you cum on his mouth he drinks it up like he's dying of thirst and cums in his boxers.

Vintage ask that's been in my inbox since September 17th.... oops.......

but sigh.... sweet baby!Art needing to proove himself after he's lost the 2006 Junior US Open final </3 He goes back to your hotel room bc he can't stand the thought of looking at a very Smug Patrick Zweig right now, especially if somehow Tashi winds up in their hotel room, and Art has to suffer through a pathetic, soul crushing sexile.

And it's not like he's super experienced. He's fucked, but it was clumsy and rushed and awkward because he was always afraid that Patrick would ignore the sock on the door and burst in just to be a dickhead.

You're not sharing your room. You're wearing a halter top and low rise jeans and a sparkly scarf as a belt, and you smell like vanilla body spray and dove cucumber deodorant. When you kiss him, you taste like strawberries and cream, licking delicately into his mouth as you pin him beneath you on the bed.

He's never gone down on someone before, but he's watched videos. He's heard Patrick talk about it in any crude way he can. He described the smell, the taste, the way the girls' thighs would close around his ears and trap him there. He's blushing tomato red as he pulls back and looks at you. "Can I eat you out?"

He regrets it the second he asks, terrified that he'll be horrible and sloppy and awful at it, but you nod and he begins to strip you of your party clothes. He kisses the valley between your breasts, the spot below your belly button, a beauty mark near your hip.

He fits himself between your thighs, and leans forward to give a tentative lick. He sighs softly, nuzzling closer, letting his tongue explore the slick, hot flesh. You moan and he feels your thighs tense on either side of him as his tongue flicks over the bud of your clit.

You taste good. Locker room talk had convinced Art that it'd be kind of gross and dirty to eat pussy, but you were so soft and warm and wet beneath him, dripping your juices onto his eager tongue.

He knows he's hard in his jeans, and he's lucky he's on his stomach so you can't tell. He can't help but give in to the urge to rut down against the springy hotel bed, just a little... just to sooth that aching, hungry need.

Your fingers are in his hair, tangled, tugging. You moan louder, throwing your hair back. He wonders if you've ever been eaten out before. If he's doing alright. If he's better. He tries to scan his brain for anything Patrick might have said that wasn't totally disgusting, but he draws a blank. All he can focus on is the taste of you, the smell of you, the pretty sounds you're making.

It doesn't take much to get you there, which only seems to feed his ego. He's rutting against the bed like an animal in heat, moaning against your pussy, licking at you like a fucking meal. "Cumming— 'm cumming—" you gasp in a breathy tone, and he knows he's done for. He tastes your release on his tongue— the slick, heady flavor like heaven. He cums with a gasp, panting against the slick, swollen folds of your cunt as he spills his release into his boxers.

"You're really good at that," you tell him as he rolls over, the wet spot on his pants just as evident as the glistening release on his nose, mouth, and chin. He should be embarrassed, but you don't say anything, so he isn't. You don't comment about returning the favor (you think he's probably out of commission until further notice), so you ask him if he wants to just cuddle and sleep over. He can't think of anything better.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

I think of mc being very protective of her friends being a orphan and all. someone says the gaunts are all dark wizards? they are in the hospital wing for two weeks under strange circumstances. someone starts a nasty rumor about why Anne really left hogwarts? The worst tripping hex gets everyone who repeats the rumor. someone insults sebastian, you better pray that mc didn't hear about it she's coming for you

The Things We Do for Family | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

oh I loooooved this concept!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :')

Words: ~5,200

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor, Protective MC

There are things that Hogwarts students simply know—unchallenged truths, whispered warnings passed down from year to year.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous. Peeves is a menace. The best snacks at Honeydukes sell out by Saturday afternoon. Don’t trust the staircases to take you where you actually want to go. Never accept Garreth Weasley’s offer to ‘test something out’.

And, under no circumstances, should anyone fuck with your friends.

It isn’t official, of course. There’s no school decree, no printed rule in the Hogwarts handbook, it's not carved into the walls. It’s just… understood.

It’s not like you’re some fearsome monster or anything.

You’re a model student, by all accounts. Brilliant. Sharp. Precise. A skilled duelist, a quick thinker, someone who turns in their assignments on time, answers when called on, and doesn’t cause disruptions in class.

You don’t start fights. You don’t pick pointless arguments. You don’t openly break the rules—not in ways that can be proven.

You play the part well.

Because that’s what you had to do.

You grew up alone. No parents. No siblings. No one to step in when things got hard, no one to defend you when the world was cruel. When you were small, scared, and helpless.

So you learned.

You learned that no one was coming to save you. You learned that fairness was a lie, that justice only existed when you carved it out with your own hands. You learned that people could be awful for no reason other than that they could get away with it.

But now? Now, you have a family. Not by blood, but by choice.

And when someone speaks against them? Bad things happen.

The Ominis Incident

It started, as most things did, with a careless remark.

A fifth-year Ravenclaw—smart but not particularly bright—thought it would be amusing to make a joke at Ominis Gaunt’s expense. A cruel one. Something about how the Gaunts were all inbred lunatics, how it was only a matter of time before Ominis ended up just like the rest of his family.

The words reached your ears in the library, drifting from a table not far from where you sat.

"You know I hear they torture Muggles for fun—it’s practically a family tradition. Gaunts don’t have hobbies, just a long history of inbreeding and Crucio."

Laughter followed, a few snickers from their table, hushed but not nearly enough. Not nearly enough to keep you from hearing.

Your quill stilled mid-word, ink pooling in place. Across from you, Ominis sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable, but you saw the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding, knuckles whitening from the force of it.

He wouldn’t say anything.

Ominis had spent years perfecting the art of indifference. Of carefully controlled expressions, of blank politeness that masked far too much. He never reacted to comments like these.

But just because he wouldn’t didn’t mean you wouldn’t.

You exhaled slowly, carefully. Then, without a sound, you closed your book and stood.

Not a word. Not a glare in their direction. Just a smooth, effortless departure, as if you had suddenly decided the library was boring and somewhere else required your attention.

The Ravenclaws barely noticed.

But they would. They absolutely would. Because Potions class was a very dangerous place. Especially for people who talked too much.

The next day, you walked to Potions without a care in the world.

Sebastian and Ominis flanked you, deep in conversation about some essay Sharp had assigned, with Sebastian whining dramatically about how unfairly long it was, while Ominis countered that perhaps he should have started it earlier than the night before it was due.

You weren’t really listening, because you already knew what was coming.

And sure enough—just as you reached the dungeon corridor—

BOOM.

The floor trembled slightly beneath your feet. A deep, echoing explosion, the unmistakable sound of a cauldron detonating mid-brew, followed almost immediately by the frantic shouting of students.

Gasps. Choking coughs. Someone let out a screech of absolute horror.

Sebastian and Ominis startled.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he looked toward the dungeon doors. “What the hell—”

Ominis twitched beside you, tilting his head, as if straining to listen.

You? Didn’t even blink. You just kept walking, calmly, like nothing was amiss, like you hadn’t been expecting it for the last twenty-four hours.

Sebastian noticed. His gaze sharpened, flicking to you with a knowing squint. “That was—”

He hesitated. Then narrowed his eyes further.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “I know that face.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“That’s your I-did-something-but-you’ll-never-prove-it face.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian scoffed and Ominis rolled his eyes, deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Then the dungeon doors burst open.

A thick cloud of green smoke billowed out, sending students stumbling and coughing into the corridor. And in the center of it all, a group of very, very green Ravenclaws.

They clawed at their own skin, staring down at their hands in absolute horror. Their faces were the exact shade of an overripe toadstool, splotchy and uneven, and every time they opened their mouths, their tongues flopped out two inches too long.

Hysteria ensued.

Students gasped, some shrieked, others tried not to laugh. Professor Sharp stormed out after them, looking beyond exhausted, already massaging his temples.

“I told you,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not to add the peppermint extract.”

“WE DIDN’T!” One Ravenclaw wailed, voice garbled from their too-long tongue. “I—I don’t know what happened! We did everything right!”

Sharp did not look convinced.

Sebastian looked at you, long and slow, a glint of admiration dawning in his eyes.

“Did you—”

“I did nothing.” You walked past him, as if the entire debacle were none of your concern. “I was with you all day, wasn’t I?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, but—”

“No proof, no crime.” You gave him a cheerful smile before stepping into the classroom.

Sebastian grinned. “Oh, I love you.”

It was offhanded, thoughtless, a casual jest, but it sent a sharp, pleasant warmth down your spine.

You didn’t react, though. Just smirked, settling into your seat. Because the message had been sent.

And Ominis Gaunt would never hear a word against his name again.

The Anne Incident

Rumors at Hogwarts were a force of nature.

They swirled through the halls, slipping between whispered conversations and behind cupped hands, growing more twisted with each retelling.

Some were harmless—who was dating who, which professor had it out for which student, the occasional Did you hear Peeves stole all the ink from the Ravenclaws again? But some? Some were cruel.

And this one... this one was about Anne Sallow.

It started at breakfast, when you overheard a group of Slytherin sixth-years in the Great Hall. You weren’t eavesdropping—not intentionally—but you had a habit of noticing things, of hearing too much when you weren’t meant to.

"Did you hear about Sallow’s sister?"

"Yeah, I heard she went mad."

"Lost it completely. The curse must’ve rotted her brain."

"That’s why she left, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, I heard she tried to hex someone in her sleep—"

Your fork warped in your grasp. A slow, controlled bend beneath your fingers, the metal bending in your grip.

Across from you, Sebastian had gone still.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Didn’t give them the satisfaction.

But you saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his hand curled into a fist against the table. The way his entire body had gone taut, locked in place by sheer force of will.

He wouldn’t do anything.

Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he wasn’t capable of it—because he was.

Sebastian Sallow could be ruthless. You knew that better than anyone. You’d seen it firsthand, the sharp edges of his temper, the way his rage burned hot and all-consuming, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. You’d seen what happened when he felt cornered, when he thought he was out of options.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. Because you and Ominis had dragged him back from the brink. Because you had looked him in the eye, years ago, when the dust had settled and the worst of it was over, and told him:

"You still have a future. Don’t throw it away."

Against all odds, he had listened. And now, this was his last year at Hogwarts and he was going to be an Auror. He was going to start over. Prove that he wasn’t just some reckless, violent delinquent one step away from Azkaban.

So no—he wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t take the bait. Wouldn't defend Anne, no matter how badly he wanted to. Wouldn’t let himself be dragged down into the same pit he’d barely crawled out of.

Sebastian was playing the long game.

But you? You weren’t.

Your revenge on Anne's behalf started small. Almost imperceptible.

The first Slytherin—the one who had started the conversation in the first place—was walking to class when it happened.

A single misstep.

His foot caught on something—thin air, perhaps—and he staggered forward, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to right himself. It didn’t work. His books went flying, parchment scattered across the stone corridor, and a bottle of ink tumbled from his bag, shattering upon impact and staining his robes in an ugly, irreversible mess of black.

A small accident. An unfortunate case of bad luck.

No one thought anything of it—until the second one fell.

In the exact same spot.

And then the third. And the fourth.

By the time lunch rolled around, all four of them had tripped at least half a dozen times each.

It wasn’t just limited to the corridor, either. They stumbled on staircases, barely catching themselves before they could go tumbling down. They walked straight into walls as if the castle itself had turned against them. One even managed to trip over absolutely nothing in the middle of the Great Hall and landed face-first into his own soup.

The snickers started soon after. The sideways glances. The poorly hidden laughter from classmates who found their sudden clumsiness far too entertaining.

It wasn’t enough to be suspicious.

Not yet.

Not until the moving staircase.

The ringleader of the group had spent too much time lingering in the courtyard after lunch, chatting up a group of girls who barely tolerated his presence. He realized too late that he was running behind and bolted toward Charms, racing up the moving staircases with zero grace and even less caution.

And then his foot caught.

There was nothing there. No loose stone or shift in the staircase, nothing at all to explain why he suddenly lost his footing.

But he did.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly, fingers grasping at empty air as the momentum carried him too far—

And he plummeted.

Three flights.

A blur of robes and limbs, a crash of bone against stone, and then a sickening thud as he landed in a groaning, crumpled heap at the bottom.

A hush fell over the corridor.

Then—

Shrieking.

His friends rushed down to him, voices panicked, eyes wide with horrified realization as they took in his bruised, trembling form.

A girl ran to fetch Madam Blainey.

By the time she arrived, he was whimpering, clutching his arm like it might’ve snapped.

Hospital Wing. Immediate bed rest.

No one could explain what happened. No professor could find a cause. Some students claimed the stairs had shifted unexpectedly. Others swore that they saw nothing—no trick step, no loose stones, just an unseen force pulling him down.

It didn’t matter.

The moment he was carried off, you finally allowed yourself to smile.

Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just the smallest, most satisfied twitch of your lips.

Sebastian caught it. Because of course he did. He had been standing beside you the whole time. Silent. Still. Watching from the moment that asshole Slytherin stumbled earlier that morning to the moment he was carted off for medical attention.

And now? Now, he just exhaled, long and slow, shaking his head as his mouth curved into something unreadable.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low.

You hummed, tilting your head in faux curiosity. “Am I?”

Sebastian turned fully then, facing you. His gaze searched your face, for guilt perhaps. For remorse. For something that might suggest you hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But there was nothing.

No trace of hesitation. No flicker of shame.

You were calm, collected, an completely unapologetic. Because nobody talked about Anne Sallow like that without consequence.

Sebastian blinked. Then, to your absolute delight, he grinned. Wide. Slow. A sharp, wicked thing.

“Yeah. You're very dangerous” he said, almost in awe.

Your stomach twisted. You ignored it. Instead, you just shrugged, voice as casual as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian’s grin deepened.

The Poppy Incident

Poppy Sweeting was one of the best people you knew.

Kind-hearted, patient, and too good for the world, really. She spent more time in the company of magical creatures than she did with most people, and honestly? You couldn't blame her.

Because people could be cruel.

You first heard it one afternoon in the courtyard. A group of girls whispering amongst themselves, giggling behind their hands. You hadn’t been paying much attention—until you heard her name.

"Honestly, she’s weird."

"I know, right? It’s like she’d rather date a bloody Hippogriff than an actual person."

"Wouldn’t be surprised if she actually has."

Laughter, sharp and mocking. Like Poppy Sweeting was a joke. Like she was less than because she chose kindness over cruelty, creatures over people who didn’t deserve her time in the first place.

You turned your head and watched as one girl—a Hufflepuff, ironically—rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exaggerated exasperation.

"Beast-lover," she muttered, nose wrinkled like the word itself was distasteful. "It's unnatural, really. No wonder she doesn't have any friends outside of her precious Mooncalves."

Something cold and sharp settled in your chest.

You had no doubt Poppy had heard it. She was standing just a few paces away near the fountain, hands clenched tight at her sides.

She didn’t react. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. She just exhaled, slow and quiet, like she was forcing herself to let it go.

You wouldn’t.

The next morning, that very same Hufflepuff woke up covered in fur.

Not all over, just her face.

A thick, fluffy coat of golden-brown fuzz, soft as a Puffskein, sprouting in wild patches across her forehead, cheeks, and chin.

According to Poppy, the screams started immediately, and the entire girls dormitory had woken up to it.

The girl, who turned out to be a fifth-year, had flown into a hysterical panic, shrieking as she bolted for a mirror, hands frantically scrubbing at her face like she could rub the fur away.

She couldn’t.

It was a very specific hex. One that lasted exactly one week.

Professor Ronen was baffled.

Madam Blainey was thoroughly fascinated.

And Professor Howin, bless her, had cooed over her like she was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. You had a front row seat to the entire thing during Beasts class.

“This is truly fascinating,” she’d said, holding the girl’s chin and turning her face slightly toward the light. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen transfiguration manifest quite like this! And so soft—feels just like a Kneazle’s coat, doesn’t it?”

The best part? It wasn’t harmful. It wasn’t painful. Just… humiliating.

You considered it a job well done.

When Howin had dismissed you for lunch, Poppy pulled you aside. She didn't say anything at first. Just stared.

You blinked at her, tilting your head. “Everything alright?”

Poppy squinted. Narrowed her eyes slightly. Huffed.

"You did that, didn’t you?"

You blinked again.

Because Poppy—sweet, gentle, pacifist Poppy—did not accuse people of things. Which meant she was completely certain.

You just smiled, giving her your most innocent expression. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Poppy just sighed, shaking her head. But then—just for a moment—she smiled.

Small. Subtle. Grateful.

Like she knew exactly what you’d done. Like she knew there was no use arguing, no point in telling you not to go to such lengths for her.

And then, without a word, she reached out and squeezed your hand.

The Natsai Incident

You had never liked Callum Thorne.

Seventh-year. Gryffindor. Arrogant. Loud-mouthed. The kind of person who had never been told no in his life and walked through Hogwarts like the world owed him something.

You’d tolerated him for years, mostly because you hadn’t needed to interact with him much. But this? This was different.

You were starting the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hecat had yet to arrive, leaving the class unsupervised and giving Thorne the perfect opportunity to make a scene.

Natty was speaking with Poppy near the front of the room, voice calm as she explained something about the Ministry’s policies on magical creatures in Africa compared to Britain. She wasn’t being loud, wasn’t even arguing, just explaining.

That’s when Thorne scoffed.

“Merlin’s sake, Onai, give it a rest,” he sneered from the back of the room, tossing his quill onto his desk with an exaggerated huff. “Do you ever get tired of standing on that bloody soapbox of yours?”

The room went still.

Natty turned, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable, regarding him with that same poised, unshaken calm that made her such a force to be reckoned with.

“I was simply having a discussion,” she said smoothly. “No one is forcing you to listen, Thorne.”

“Right,” he drawled. “Except you never shut up about it. Always talking about ‘justice’ and ‘change’ like you think you’re going to fix the whole bloody world.” He smirked. “News flash, Onai—no one cares.”

A few of his friends chuckled.

Your fingernails dug into your palm.

Natty didn’t react—not outwardly, anyway. She just exhaled, slow and measured, and turned back to Poppy like his words had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

You? You were already plotting his downfall, and luckily, Callum Thorne was a creature of habit.

He always stayed out after curfew to flirt with whatever unfortunate girl he had chosen that week, and he always went up to the Astronomy Tower afterwards with his friends to play cards and drink whatever contraband alcohol they’d smuggled into the castle.

Which made him the perfect target.

That night, as the seventh-year tidied up the cards, stretching and yawning, likely already thinking about his warm bed waiting for him—

His legs froze in place. Not a Full Body-Bind. No, this was different.

A soft, subtle hex. A slow, creeping sensation, his feet adhering to the stone beneath him, then his calves, then his thighs.

By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He tried to step forward—failed. Tried to yank himself free—failed.

And then—with agonizing slowness—his entire body began to lift off the ground. No warning. No control.

He drifted upward, weightless, helpless, arms flailing as the stone ceiling came closer and closer—

And then, with a soft thump, he was stuck. Face-down, body pressed flat against the Astronomy Tower ceiling.

His screaming started immediately.

Loud. Panicked. A complete meltdown.

His friends, who had started their walk down the tower came bolting back up the stairs at the sound of his shouting.

“What the—?” one of them started, eyes wide as they gawked at the ceiling.

“Thorne?” another asked, dumbfounded.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back laughter as you hid beneath your disillusionment charm.

“GET ME DOWN!” Thorne bellowed, arms and legs flailing uselessly against the stone. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?”

His friends stared, uselessly waving their wands, muttering counterspells that only resulted in Thorne spinning in slow circles, howling in distress.

When they realized they were utterly helpless, panic completely set in.

“What do we do?” one of them asked, looking between the others with wild eyes. “Should we get a professor?”

Thorne snarled. “NO! DO NOT—”

But it was too late. Because at that very moment, the Astronomy Tower door swung open once again, and a very tired, very unimpressed Professor Shah stepped inside.

There was a long, painful beat of silence.

Shah took in the scene.

The stack of contraband firewhiskey bottles on the table. The panicked seventh-years, wands still drawn, looking entirely too guilty. And Callum Thorne, still face-down, circling against the ceiling, hissing every curse word known to wizardkind.

She sighed, long and slow, as if she had simply had enough of this entire generation of students. Then, with an effortless flick of her wand, she cast a single spell.

And gravity returned. All at once. Thorne plummeted like a sack of bricks.

The landing was spectacular. A glorious, sprawling heap, limbs tangled, robes askew, one shoe missing entirely. His friends didn’t even try to catch him.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

“Hospital Wing,” Shah said simply, rubbing her temples. “Now.”

Thorne was half-carried, half-dragged down the tower steps, groaning the entire way.

And you?

You slept soundly that night.

By morning, half the school had heard the story.

"Did you hear about Thorne? Got stuck to the Astronomy Tower ceiling last night."

"He was crying by the time they got him down."

"Serves him right—bloke’s a complete asshole."

And you? You sat perfectly composed at breakfast, casually stirring your tea, listening as his friends panicked about who could have done it.

Sebastian, of course, knew.

He sat beside you, arms folded, lips pressed together, shaking with the effort not to laugh.

Finally, he exhaled, tilting his head toward you.

“You are actually unhinged,” he murmured, utterly delighted.

You simply sipped your tea. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Across the hall, Natty smiled.

Soft. Knowing.

The Sebastian Incident

You had been careful.

For years, you had woven your revenge into the shadows, never once leaving a trace of your involvement in the strange misfortunes that befell those who dared to insult your friends. You were precise, patient, undetectable.

But everyone has a breaking point. And yours? Yours was Sebastian Sallow.

It happened in the Great Hall when Scorpius Malfoy decided to idiotically open his big fucking mouth.

You hadn’t been paying attention to him at first. Why would you? People like Malfoy had never mattered to you. He was just another spoiled pureblood, another self-important waste of a surname who thought his words carried weight simply because he could afford to say them.

But then his voice cut through the din, and he said Sebastian’s name.

"No family name worth a damn, no money, no influence. Honestly, I don’t even know why the professors still put up with Sallow. And he’s an orphan, isn’t he?"

One of his friends nodded, grinning like this was some kind of joke. Like Sebastian Sallow’s entire life was nothing more than a punchline.

Malfoy snorted. "So he's got dead parents, a dead uncle, and a crippled sister who’ll probably never set foot in the wizarding world again. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up rotting in the same gutter he came from."

The words landed like a curse.

Sebastian had been mid-conversation with you, fork in hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he teased you about something inconsequential—some throwaway joke that would have normally earned him an eye roll and a shove.

But now? Now, he wasn’t moving. Not speaking. Not breathing. Just silent.

Rigid.

Like the weight of those words had turned him into stone.

And something inside you snapped.

It was almost funny, in retrospect, how much effort you had spent perfecting the art of subtlety.

Every step you had taken over the years had been measured, every spell carefully woven into the fabric of coincidence, every act of vengeance so meticulously placed that no one had ever been able to definitively trace it back to you. You had built a flawless reputation, balancing on the razor’s edge between brilliance and menace, justice and mystery.

But now? Now, as you rose from your seat, you weren’t careful at all.

You didn’t move like a shadow, didn’t cloak yourself in misdirection or the comfort of silence. No. This time, you wanted them to see you.

And the moment you stood, the Great Hall stilled.

Students stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped moving altogether. The clatter of plates and goblets faded into a thick, suffocating silence, as if even the walls of Hogwarts itself were holding their breath.

Your voice came out low. Cold.

"Say that one more time, Malfoy."

Scorpius turned lazily, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just spat on Sebastian’s entire existence for no other reason than because he could.

And he smirked. Merlin, he smirked. Like you were some insignificant thing, an insect buzzing too close to his ear.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “Touched a nerve, have I? Which part got to you, I wonder? The fact that Sallow’s got no family? Or the part where I pointed out that he’s got no future either?”

You took a step forward. You could hear Ominis hissing at you to stop, to think about what you were doing before you got yourself deep into shit, gut you couldn't. Not when it came to your friends.

Not when it came to Sebastian.

Especially when he still hadn't moved. Hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t so much as breathed.

Your hand tightened around your wand, the weight of it comforting, grounding, an extension of the fury curling in your chest.

"You should tread carefully, Scorpius," you murmured, your voice smooth, edged with something lethal. "I know you think you're clever—that you can say whatever you like without consequence, just because you were born into the right family."

Your head tilted slightly, gaze sharp, cutting straight through him.

"But you should know something about me by now."

Malfoy’s smirk faltered just slightly. And then, before he could open his mouth again—

You flicked your wand.

Hard. Fast.

Malfoy's goblet exploded.

A concussive blast of magic sent shards flying, the remnants of his beverage splattering across his pristine uniform like spilled blood. A jagged edge of glass sliced across his hand, thin but deep, and he flinched, eyes snapping down to it with genuine shock.

"If you're going to run your mouth about my friends," you said coolly, watching him clutch his bleeding hand, "then you should be prepared to suffer for it."

Your next spell came before he could react. Before anyone could stop you.

A sharp twist of your wrist, and his mouth was gone.

Not silenced. Not muffled. Just… gone. Smooth, unbroken skin where lips should be, like his voice had simply been erased from existence.

The realization hit him immediately.

His hands shot to his face, clawing at his skin, a muffled scream—horrified, panicked—rising in his throat. He lurched backward, knocking into one of his friends, fingers digging at face like he could carve his lips back into place.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

You needed something that would etch itself into the bones of this castle, into the minds of every single person watching in stunned silence. Something that told the whole goddamn school that if they so much as breathed wrong about Sebastian again, you would ruin them.

A simple hex would be too merciful. A standard jinx—something temporary, something easily countered—wouldn’t send the right message.

No, you needed something else. Something only you could undo.

Your wand rose, fingers tightening around the handle.

A familiar thrumming sensation curled through your bones, crackling at your fingertips, humming beneath your skin like a storm about to break. Ancient magic—the power that had followed you since the day you first stepped foot in Hogwarts, the magic that had made you different. You had never used it publicly. Never allowed yourself to tap into it in a room full of hundreds of witnesses.

Until now.

Malfoy’s body lurched.

Not by his own will, but by yours, by the ancient, crackling force curling through your veins.

The entire room gasped as he was wrenched upward, his robes twisting violently around him as though an invisible hand had grabbed him by the throat and hauled him into the sky.

He thrashed, or tried to, but the moment he moved, the spell struck.

A jolt of electricity tore through his body.

Not enough to kill. Not enough to cause permanent harm, but enough to make him scream. Or at least, he would have screamed—if he still had a mouth.

Instead, a choked, garbled sound tore from his throat, half agony, half suffocated panic, his limbs seizing as the current snapped down his spine, through his arms and legs.

And you let them watch, let the entire Great Hall bear witness as he hung there, suspended like some grotesque marionette.

And the moment he tried to move again, tried to scratch at where his mouth should be or flail his limbs, another arc of lightning danced across his body, snapping against his skin like a promise that any attempt to fight this would only make it worse.

And he knew. They all knew. He wasn’t getting down until you allowed it. But your arm didn’t waver, you held your wand high, like an executioner delivering final judgment.

Because this? This was a declaration. A statement. A message carved into the very bones of Hogwarts itself.

You do not speak against Sebastian Sallow.

You wondered if he realized that you would have done this a thousand times over. That you would have burned the entire goddamn world for him if he asked.

But before you could do anything more—before you could decide how far you were willing to take this—

A thunderous voice shattered the moment.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

The spell snapped. Malfoy dropped. His body crashed onto the table below, sending plates and goblets scattering, silverware clattering to the stone floor. He lay there, twitching, gasping, pathetically small as the last of the magic flickered out of his limbs.

And then—

"You."

Phineas Nigellus Black’s voice was pure ice.

You turned to face him—not a shred of regret, not a flicker of guilt in your expression.

But the Headmaster was raging. His hands were clenched at his sides, his teeth bared in fury.

The entire room was still. Waiting. Holding its breath.

"My office." His voice was low, lethal, like the words themselves were a curse. "Now."

A sharp inhale from someone at the Ravenclaw table. A hushed whisper from a terrified first-year.

No detention. No points docked. Just a direct order from the highest authority in the school.

But it was worth it, because now they knew. Every single person in this room knew.

And as you turned on your heel, heart still pounding with the remnants of power buzzing in your veins—

You caught Sebastian’s eyes one last time.

Still watching, still frozen in place, yet looking at you like you were the most devastating, impossible, extraordinary thing he had ever seen.

And then? The slightest smirk. The most faint, devastatingly admiring grin.

Like he had never, ever wanted anyone more.

[jd-loves-fiction]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫

🌑 got lost in the sauce again... The horny sauce this time😭 I love this menace so much it's not funny and the amount of fics for him is honestly criminal so I'm fixing it myself ENJOY!!! :)

⚠️: Spoilers for the Wardance quests, oral sex (m!receiving), not beta read

The cunning fox is never far. Even blinded he finds a way to get to you no matter where you’ve moved – you suspect it has something to do with those exceedingly sharp senses.

“Isn't it a bit early to be cooking?” Jiaoqiu questions softly as he enters the kitchen, hands gravitating to your waist like metal to a magnet, edging under your shirt to drag his nails over your skin. Keeping the knife in your hand steady is a harder task than he ever made it seem when he was the one doing the cooking, “This is just prep, plus aren't you hungry?”

He hums lowly right by your ear, sending shivers down your spine while his ear flicks against your cheek. By the way he sneaks a nail beneath your waistband you know his intentions are anything but innocent. Though you have been neglecting him…

Just as the thought of giving in to him forms in your distracted mind, the bandages still wrapped around your lover’s chest brush against the back of your arms, “You should still be resting.”

He groans in protest, nose burying even deeper into the side of your neck as his hips push lightly against yours while the shadow of his tail flicks in irritation, “Not tired and I’m no cub, no need to treat me like one.”

You sigh heavily, putting the knife down to avoid an accident. The wounds have been closing steadily for some time now and given Foxian's accelerated healing he should be safe to start moving around more, but there’s also the issue of his vision. The last thing you want is to jump right into it like before and overwhelm his senses when he’s still getting used to them again.

The sharp sting of a fang nibbling your ear rips you away from such thoughts, as intended, “Come on, I miss you so much, dear.” he purrs it in that way he knows gets you weak in the knees and bending to his will most of the time. Just not today.

“Jiaoqiu, you know we can't. No matter how much I want to.” You spare a fleeting thought to the fact that the irresponsible one in this situation is the healer out of the two of you.

Said healer goes quiet for a second, huffing in frustration before dropping his head onto your shoulder and that should be it. You think he’s given up – not a chance.

He grumbles to himself as he peels his chest away from your back, teasingly brushing his fluffy tail along your back as he turns. Soft steps are cut off by the loud sound of Jiaoqiu hitting a chair with his shin after misjudging the distance. He raises his hand just as you go to ask if he’s alright, as if feeling your eyes on him.

The pink-haired Foxian sits heavily, legs spread in what would seem like relaxation if not for the hard-on clearly visible beneath the fabric of his loose pants, chest bound with (thankfully) clean bandages.

He opens his eyes to reveal that mesmerizing golden gaze, even though it does not change the fact that he cannot see – he knows what it does to you, “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.”

Your breath hitches – you know he hears it with how his ear twitches and his lips shift into a pleased smirk, lithe hand drifting purposely slow down his own body. Eyes lingering on his bandages and remembering the awful scars beneath, your hesitation persists, even as you abandon your cooking to watch him. 

His hand slips underneath the waistband of his pants as he breathes heavy. All you see is the suggestion of what he’s doing beneath the fabric, neck muscles twitching and tensing as he grips his cock.

Shit. Your self-control is not strong enough for this, “Jiaoqiu…”

“W-What? You can keep cooking, dear. I hope I’m not distracting y-you.” He stutters, sweat sliding down his long neck from where his hair sticks to his skin while his hand speeds up. A sharp canine digs into his plush bottom lip and stars you wish that was you.

“For a healer, you’re being very irresponsible,” You scold, hands gripping the cold counter behind you, “As a healer, denying yourself the satisfaction you crave is much more d-detrimental.” 

Him and his clever comebacks. You know full well that the two cannot compare, but you’re past caring at this point. Turning your head up to the ceiling you take a deep steadying breath, weighing your options once more, “Baby, please…”

Fuck it, “You’re a terrible influence, you know that?” he smirks like he’s got you exactly where he wants you, knowing you’re finally giving into him.

Your steps are large and hurried as you make your way to him, kneeling in between his legs without hesitation and lightly pushing his hand away from himself, all while he grins infuriatingly pretty, tail curling from side to side in anticipation.

Taking his cock out into the open air, he takes a deep, steadying breath through his teeth, hands gripping the back of his chair to ground himself. You just hope he won't regret this immediately.

But you can't deny that you’ve missed this – missed him. Your mind has been so crowded with concern and desperation that you haven't even allowed yourself to think of him in such a way for a while now. No wonder he’s feeling this needy, and the fact that you basically have to help him to do every little thing now surely isn't helping his case. You can't imagine all that’s running though his mind since he’s refused to mention the incident since the night he returned home, but you can guess that it’s like a storm in there.

Doesn't mean you’ll go easy on him though.

Wrapping your lips around the head of cock, you relish in the shaky moan that leaves his bitten lips, along with the way his hands twitch – wanting to hold your head and pull you along as he wishes.

All your movements are torturously slow, on purpose – you’ll show him what he gets when he’s being a menace, injured or not.

“Come on, dear. Faster…” He whimpers beautifully, hoping to tempt you into listening from his honeyed tone alone. And though a spike of arousal does make its way between your legs, you’re not one to give in so easily, “What’s wrong? I thought you liked teasing.”

Jiaoqiu’s brow twitches in annoyance, smirk wavering at your gall – words so innocent and yet so biting. He’ll get what you give him at the pace you want, or he’ll get nothing at all.

“If you feel like it’s too much, tell me.” You remind him gently and he nods in understanding. And then, you’re taking him down as far as you can and he nearly chokes on his own breath, a loud moan punched out of throat at the sudden wave of pleasure that rolls through all of his nerve endings.

You pull back a moment later, letting him catch his breath before beginning again, gentler this time, pulling him apart slowly and lovingly. You want to whisper all the reassurances he needs to hear – how good he is, how pretty he sounds, how you love him and all his teasing and how you just want him safe and healthy…

How seeing him in such a state that night nearly broke you. But your mouth is a tad bit busy for so many words, so you settle for rubbing soft circles onto his thigh as you work.

Jiaoqiu pants heavily, eyes squeezed shut with parted lips which let saliva slip between them and down his chin – utterly lost in the way your mouth wraps around him after so long without any such affection, “Please, I’m so–”

He cuts himself off with a resounding moan and under your hands you feel the strength that it takes for him to keep his hips from bucking up into your mouth, pleasured sounds growing in frequency and volume as you speed up, taking him deeper and sealing your lips tighter. 

A high-pitched, pitiful cry of your name is followed by the warmth of his cum sliding down your throat, pleasant in its taste as you always expect. You part from him slowly, offering comforting pets to his thigh as he winces in oversensitivity. 

“Will you let me cook lunch now?”

[burytheruby]

HIII CAN WE PLS HAVE P2 OF THE PRICE DAUGHTER AND SIMON STORY??? PLS 😣 THE WRITING IS GOOD AND THE STORY IS JUST *chefs kiss* 💋💋💋 I WANNA SEE THEM LATER ON IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏😞😣🩷🩷💕

I N A P P R O P I A T E I I

the answer is YES I CAN 🙈 thank you everyone for the support! I unfortunately have been crazy busy with the holidays, then my birthday (yay 20!), then back to uni 😭 but I did promise I would come back, and so there will be a tag list for whoever wants to be updated!

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

IN which Captain Price is your father, and he has accepted your feelings for his lieutenant.

OR: late night talks and confessions, your father would do anything to make you happy.

Part 1; you're in Part 2

MINORS Do NOT Interact.

Warnings: age gap, fem! reader, ooc, canon divergent, still learning british slang please bear with me. WC: 1657

English is my second language.

Captain Price had dreaded this day, he never thought he'd see a future where you would come to him and ask him for advice. advice on romance. all because of his lieutenant. damn him. you sat next to him on the couch, shifting awkwardly as you both stared straight ahead at the tv, a game playing in the background. your father's favorite team, you noticed, against the team Simon had mentioned liking himself. almost humorous, Price had noticed the clear tension since your birthday two weeks ago. he appreciated the fact that his lieutenant was being careful, neither acknowledging the very needed—talk, let's call it.

but of course, you were never one to dance around the subject.

"we need to talk," you said simultaneously, it would've been endearing if it weren't for the fact that the talk was not about what dinner would be tonight, or who you thought would win the game playing on the tv, not even about the professor you loathed and couldn't wait to leave her class.

you turned to face your father, fidgeting with the pendant hanging on your neck—the one Simon gave you, of course. your father really tried to not roll his eyes and scoff at the sight, he has definitely given you prettier jewelry—or at least that's what he thinks. you wouldn't tell him you grew out of the heart shaped jewelry; it would break his own heart. after a long, tension-filled moment of silence, you finally spoke, your voice breaking through. "I think 'm old enough to know, dad." you sighed, as if trying to let go of the tension in your body. "an' s'not like we're not conscious of how this may look." you admitted, looking away as you clenched your fists.

yeah, you guessed it would be weird if the man you knew for most of your life suddenly became your lover. age gaps were taboo, especially one such as yours. but who cared? Simon saw you as a petulant, spoiled child until last year—not like he would tell you that, he wouldn't stand listening to your huffs and scoffs of complaints (acting as if he isn't your biggest enabler). that's beside the point, anyway. right now, your focus was on your father, a pensive look on his features as he looked at you.

and then you felt a little guilty when you recognized the tiniest hint of his eyes glazing—just for a second, just enough to ignite concern in you. "m'not getting sent away, y'know." you tried to lift the mood, and he could only smile a little. you were just as awful as he was when it came to comfort, and that was okay. he placed a hand on top of yours, giving a gentle squeeze as his eyes went to your every feature– from the shape of your nose to the volume of your lashes, you were his perfect girl. he often joked he birthed you, something you hated the imagery of no matter how sickly sweet it was that you were his daughter.

"aye, I know." he said, giving a tender kiss to your temple in a moment of vulnerability. his lips lingered there, feeling his heart squeeze and tear at the fact that he knew he had to let go. it was just hard, from the little girl he'd take everywhere, to the woman you were now. your father knew there was no point in trying to change your mind–or your heart, you were dead set on what you wanted. curse his own self. his hand let go of yours, and he pulled away from you. the gears inside his head were turning, the slow but steady acceptance of the relationship between you and his lieutenant.

"he's been less ratty lately," he admitted, his attention turning back to the tv as the opposing team scored. he scoffed, it was as if the universe wanted to mock him. "never heard him make so many bloody awful jokes in just two weeks." Price couldn't help but smile, seeing the rest of the team so distraught–except for Soap, that instigator–was exhilarating to him.

“yeah? m’sure he got ‘em from ya.” you couldn’t contain the smile on your face, seeing as Simon’s team was winning by a landslide. Price cursed under his breath, the hissing sound of the now opened beer brought your attention back to him, the features of your father illuminated by the light of the tv. his eye bags that become more prominent after every mission, the smile lines barely concealed by his mustache connected to his beard. your father hummed in response, sipping on the awfully bitter beer that your father enjoyed. for a picky drinker, he sure enjoyed the most awful you've ever tried.

"princess," your eyes roamed back up to his face, leaning your head on his shoulder with a sigh. with a tiny hum, expressing your attention, he then spoke again. "don't tell him I told you, but Simon's taking a week off duty." your eyes widened at that, then grew to confusion. Simon? Taking a break? That was new. The thought made your heart flutter, smiling subconsciously as yet another cheer could be heard from the tv, but you couldn't find yourself caring enough to see who had scored.

Instead, you checked your phone as it vibrated, a text on the screen making you sit up with an even bigger grin.

"I'll be back by this weekend, let me take you out on a date."

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

"shite," you cursed under your breath. your room was a mess, with clothes sprawled all over your bed and the wardrobe. it was Thursday, just a day away from seeing him again, and not a piece of clothing convinced you enough for the date. too formal? too casual? too feminine? a dress, or maybe jeans? you sighed in frustration, your fingertips softly massaging your temples as you sat on the chair of your dressing table. it's not like Simon puts much effort into his own attire, but this is a date. where are you going, again?

realization dawned as you realized he did not, in fact, tell you what the date would be. you cursed again, getting up only to slump down in your bed. should I text him? you thought, only to discard the idea almost immediately. he was busy, he's a lieutenant dealing with death's doorstep in every mission, and my father, that's enough stress. at the end of the day, all you achieved was to reorganize your wardrobe, and to make dinner for you and your father—if he came home tonight.

waiting in the dining table, poking at your food until the light sound of the keys jiggling and the door opening made your head snap up, finding your father walking in with something inside his duffel bag. "princess, I've got ya a gift from Simon." he unzipped the bag, and inside was a box–a brand box, your favorite to be specific. you gave a quick thanks to your father as you skipped past him, straight to your bedroom to open the box.

"thank you, Simon." was the text you sent immediately upon seeing what the box contained—a dress, of your favorite style and a color that complimented you just right. Simon knew you too well, or maybe he noticed the small things that others usually would not, such as the neckline of the dress that would look best with the pendant—yeah, maybe he really kept that in mind, and having you show it off for everyone to see that you are not going to be available in the foreseeable future.

Friday morning came around too quickly, waking up in the comfort of your bed to a message from Simon stating he would be back by the evening for your date.

hair up, or down? natural or should you just go bald? your makeup trials seemed to go wrong each time, from too bold of a color for your features, to barely noticeable blush you tried to add. maybe low heels, and maybe a few other jewelries. your head spun from stress, and it wasn't until your heart began to beat a little too faster that you finally took a break. Relax. you scolded yourself, your own reflection looking back at you as this time you managed to make your eyeliner even on both sides.

it was almost ridiculous, you told yourself, to fret this badly over a date. this isn't just a date, is it? it's the man you claimed to your father you would marry way back then, when you were just a child and caught a glimpse of the man wearing those dad-glasses you quietly make fun of. glancing over at the wall, you cursed when the time was past noon and almost evening. you had to finish now.

in the end, you decided to go for something a little outside of what your usual is, but nonetheless you kept getting complimented by your father as you walked back and forth on the living room. "a doll" he called you, and called Simon a bastard under his breath just in case he fucks up tonight. he gave you a reassuring smile and hid in the kitchen when the door was knocked. with sweaty hands and a heartbeat way above the normal speed, you opened the door to Simon with a smile on your face.

"love," he breathed out, his deep eyes roaming up and down how gorgeous you looked—as always. his hand came up to cradle your cheek, his lips just grazing your lips with a smile. "gorgeous, lovely." he all but purred, making your skin tingle and your face grow hot. you smiled in response, just about to close the gap when you remembered that your father was right there, hidden but there.

Well, the make out could wait until the date.

𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺

AUGHHH part two is finally here, everyone do a standing ovation

[obsessedwithceleste]

S is for Espresso (and also soulmates)

Mattheo Riddle x reader

Summary: modern! coffee shop au 🤝🏽 soulmate au

word count: 2k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

"Matt I swear to god, if you keep slaughtering the spellings of customer's names when you write on the cups, I'm taking you off register!" Theo shouts from the hand-out counter. "How did you manage to find a way to fit a 'U' into 'Madison'?"

"Don't threaten me with a good time! And you can fit a ‘U’ into any word if you spell it wrong enough," Mattheo shouts back, before plastering a smile across his face and gesturing for the next customer to approach the counter. "What can I get for you today?"

The only reason Mattheo even found himself behind the counter of the campus coffee shop was because he had succumbed to the peer pressure of Theodore and Enzo, who had already been working there for months before they were able to drag Mattheo down with them. Sure the extra cash was a nice bonus, but this definitely was not Mattheo’s idea of a good time.

On a completely separate and unrelated note, maybe Mattheo was also hoping to possibly meet his soulmate at this blasted shop, but he would never admit that.

If Mattheo were to roll up the sleeves of his very intentional, long sleeve shirt, the eloquent phrase “I’ll have a vanilla latte with as much espresso as you’re legally allowed to give me” would be seen scrawled elegantly across his forearm.

Everyone had it. Not that exact line of course, but everyone had the first sentence their soulmate would say to them tattooed somewhere on their body. Mattheo was no rocket scientist, but he figured the odds were high enough that with a line like his, he would probably be meeting his soulmate in a coffee shop. So here he found himself.

As the days went on however, he was beginning to lose hope. Mattheo was no stranger to those awkward interactions where he would welcome a customer into the shop and see their face light up. “Is it you?” They’d ask. And he’d awkwardly laugh and try to explain that no, he was waiting for someone to order a vanilla latte. Or sometimes he’d just sigh and throw Enz onto register instead.

“Chipper up Matty, you haven’t seen the real fun yet. Next week is finals week, and you do not want to be the one to stand between a student and their daily caffeine hit. The morning crowd’ll keep you entertained just you wait,” Enzo says, breaking Mattheo from his thoughts.

“Don’t remind me. I haven’t been to class in days. Don’t even know when ole Snape’s final is.” Mattheo groans, turning to face his friends.

“Thursday you dolt. Maybe if you actually came to class once in awhile you’d know a thing or two,” Theo replies, resigned to the fact that he would most likely be studying for the both of them next week.

“Aw c’mon Theo, that’s no fun is it? Sides, we all know the only reason you show up to that class anyway is cause Daphne’s in it.” Mattheo responds cheekily.

Daphne Greengrass was Theo’s soulmate. Their first interaction had been the perfect little meet-cute really. The kind you’d see in one of those cheesy romance movies. Mattheo would know, he was there when they met. He and Theodore had been running late to class (not his fault of course) and Theo had stumbled right into the girl, knocking her books to the ground. It was disgustingly cliche in his opinion, the way the words had tumbled from their mouths, and the way they were both so stunned it was as if time had stopped. But his friend couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the girl.

Just as Theo was about to retort with some self redeeming nonsense, the little bell above the door lets out a ring, announcing the presence of yet another customer. Turning, Mattheo’s eyes snap to the door and the pretty figure entering the shop, feeling a pounding start in his chest.

“I got it,” Enzo says, turning to face the register. “You wanna take over the machine Matt?”

Wordlessly (for once), as if in a haze, Mattheo finds himself standing in front of the espresso machine, pouring out the drink like a man possessed. By the time he realizes what he’s doing, the vanilla latte is already in Theo’s hands and being passed over the counter.

It was going to be a long two weeks. Finals week and the week leading up to it had a special way of sucking the soul out of students, and you unfortunately were one of those victims.

You weren't even really much of a coffee drinker, the bitter taste always got to you and you weren't exactly in the financial position to be blowing money on a daily cup of coffee. But these late nights were not doing you any favors, and Daphne had been raving about the campus coffee shop. Her soulmate worked there, so she was a bit biased you supposed, but hey, caffeine was caffeine and you were in no position to be picky.

Of course there was the other reason you tended to be a bit weary of coffee shops in general; the curly script running along your collarbone. "Oh great, more of this espresso shit." Not exactly the most romantic words to hear from your soulmate. It's not even like you were avoiding meeting them or anything, look at Daphne, she seemed perfectly in love. You just didn't feel the need to rush it was all.

A little bell rings out above the door as you enter the shop and you’re immediately hit with the strong scent of ground coffee and the eyes of three boys turning to stare at you from behind the counter.

“I got it,” you hear one of the boys sigh as you make your way up to the counter, eyes scanning the extensive menu hanging on the wall behind them.

“Uh, can I just get a vanilla latte? Medium. With like 3 extra shots of espresso?” You ask.

“For sure,” the boy replies, punching numbers into the register idly.

You hand over some crumpled bills before wandering off to wait for your drink. As you glance around the place, your eyes fall on the handsome boy running the espresso machine. You desperately wanted to rake your fingers through those wild curls.

Freezing, you shake the thought from your head. What on earth? Before you can chastise yourself, Theo appears with your drink in hand.

“Oh, hey y/n,” He greets, placing your drink on the counter in front of you.

“Hey! Thanks a bunch,” you reply before scurrying off.

You had no idea where that thought had come from, but you decide to head back to the coffee shop the next day, and the day after that. You couldn’t place why, it just felt like a magnet kept pulling you back to that place. Maybe they were putting crack in their coffee or something. It was growing on you.

Almost a week into your daily coffee shop visits, you were beginning to grow a bit frustrated, though you couldn't exactly pin point why. Or maybe you could. It had been almost a week and you still hadn't spoken a word to the boy who had grabbed your attention that first day you had stopped in. He was particularly elusive it seemed. Not that you didn't like Theo of course, or the other boy, Lorenzo, but there was something almost captivating about Mattheo. At least you assumed that was his name after hearing Theo shout it at him on numerous occasions. He seemed funny though, if his constant bickering with Theo was anything to go by, and his warm eyes were always gleaming with mischief.

You let out a sigh as once again, you collect your drink without uttering a word to the boy. Perhaps it just wasn't meant to be.

Mattheo was actually going insane. The rather attractive stranger that he had now fully convinced himself was in fact his soulmate had been in the shop every day now for the past week. They were his soulmate. He was certain of it. Or at least he would be if he were able to get a word in edgewise. But it was always something. He was either slammed at the drink making counter, stuck in the drive-thru window, or cleaning up the spilled drink some asshole had left at their table.

And now here he was. Six in the morning and silently stewing about yet another missed opportunity from the day before while Enzo is yapping on about some finals assignment that was due tonight. Mattheo lets out a loud yawn from the register.

"Sorry am I boring you?" Enzo asks dryly, giving Mattheo a light knock on the head.

"No, no, please, keep talking, I only yawn when I'm particularly fascinated," Matt replies, trying to stifle another yawn. It escapes anyway. He wasn't trying very hard.

Thankfully, a wave of customers walks in just then, saving him from Enzo's whining. It's almost methodic the way he works his way through the line of customers, charming them, taking orders, and scribbling names on cups. He'd gotten quite good at it if he did say so himself. And he did.

"God dammit Matt! What is this even supposed to say?" Theo shouts from the espresso machine, thrusting a cup in Mattheo's direction and breaking him from his rhythm.

With a sigh, he turns, squints his eyes, and leans forward.

"It says extra espresso. Obviously."

"In what world?" Theo asks. "This clearly starts with an S."

"I don't know man, squint and read the letters you think you see and quit your complaining," Mattheo retorts.

"Unbelievable. Illiterate arse," he hears Theo mutter as he goes back to aggressively making drinks.

He decides to leave it for now, opting to just turn and greet the next customer. Instead he's met with warm eyes and a poor attempt to hide a smile.

“I’ll have a vanilla latte with as much espresso as you’re legally allowed to give me” you say, a small laugh escaping you.

"Oh great, more of this espresso shit," Mattheo groans before he even has the chance to think. "wait-" He blinks once. Then again. It's you. And you said the thing. And then he said. Shit.

"Well you do work at a coffee shop," you say with a smile, trying not to laugh too much as you watch the boy in front of you visibly malfunction.

"And that's tattooed on you. Permanently," Mattheo states, still shell shocked.

"Yes it is," you reply, still smiling.

"Hey Matt, what's the hold up?" Enzo shouts from the pass out counter.

You see Theo lean back from the espresso machine to see what all the commotion is about.

"Oh hey y/n! Usual vanilla latte, shit ton of espresso with an E?" he asks, looking pointedly at Mattheo.

"Yup! That's what they ordered. That is the drink my soulmate ordered," Mattheo blurts out rather loudly.

Theo drops the carton of milk he was holding and you flinch as it hits the floor with a splat.

"So, see you after your shift?" You ask, feeling it was probably best to move this along, especially as there was a line growing behind you.

"You can have him now, he's annoying," Theo calls out.

"No they can't, we're busy," Enzo interjects.

"I'm off at noon," Mattheo says, finally snapping out of it.

"Perfect, see you at noon then," you say with a smile before heading over to the pick-up counter where Enzo already has your drink waiting.

"Wait, don't you want my-"

"It's already on their cup," Enzo says, interrupting his friend. "Now get to it, that line isn't gonna clear itself."

"Bye y/n," Theo calls as you wave to the three of them on your way out.

It’s still a bit chilly out and the cool morning air hits you as soon as the shop door swings shut behind you, but you can’t help the warm feeling growing inside you.

You really did love coffee you think to yourself, grinning as you turn your cup to see a series of numbers scribbled on the back.

[seumyo]

IDIA SHROUD ✰ THE BOUQUET

Let’s just say that your boyfriend wasn’t as subtle with gifts as he might think he is—

“Oh, holy Seven—that’s a bouquet that’s the size of an ogre!”

Yeah, scratch that, your boyfriend knows how to make his gifts known. Not even the slightest intention to tone it down or even conceal it, nope.

You could only blink in surprise as the large bouquet of pastel flowers was thrust into your arms the moment you set foot outside your classroom. Though you had to admit that the petals that were soft pinks and creamy whites are elegantly arranged with delicate ribbons that cascaded down like vines.

So pretty.

Pretty expensive.

“For [Name]!” The messenger gave you a quick nod before hurrying off, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. You noticed a note nestled between the delicate petals, the familiar, neat handwriting (that was annoyingly tiny) unmistakable:

I figured real flowers are better than virtual ones. Happy Valentine’s Day <3 You deserve pretty things IRL too /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹ – Idia

The message made you smile. Trust Idia to go overboard, even when he refused to leave his dorm room today. You could almost imagine him, huddled over his desk, blue flames flickering with anxiety as he double-checked his order online.

“Ne, those are beautiful!” one of your classmates exclaimed, eyes wide with awe. “Who sent them?”

You hugged the bouquet closer, your heart racing. “My boyfriend,” you tried to sound casual, but the warmth blooming in your chest made it hard to keep a straight face. The collective gasps of your classmates only added fuel to the fire.

Yes, you and Idia have mastered the art of keeping your relationship private. Intimate.

You hurried down the hallway, the scent of fresh flowers lingering behind you. As you made you way to your dorm, you couldn’t help but think of all the little things Idia had done for you. Last week, you found a box of rare sweets from the other side of the globe outside your door. He texted you that he heard they were popular in some dating sim and figured you’d enjoy them. The week before that, you received a plushie modeled after one of your favorite video game characters.

He was always thoughtful in his own quirky way. But flowers... in public? This was bold. Next level. Even for him. Even if he wasn’t physically the one to give them to you.

You placed the bouquet on your desk, admiring the delicate petals. You traced your fingers over the soft petals. You could picture him now, nervously pacing in his room, overthinking every detail—probably wondering how you reacted. If you didn’t say something soon, he’d probably be up all night worrying about your reaction.

But let’s be honest, Idia has enough gadgets and technical equipment to see your exact reaction even if he was on the opposite side of the planet.

Without a second thought, you made your way to the Ignihyde dorm. Access was by no means that difficult because as long as there’s a secret passage, there’s a way. The eerie blue glow of the dimly lit hallways was familiar by now, but it still sent a chill down your spine. You stopped outside his door, hesitating for a moment before knocking gently.

A specific pattern that only he would recognize to know that it was you (as if you hadn’t already sent him a text that you were coming over minutes earlier).

There was a shuffle on the other side, followed by a muffled, “Just a sec!” The door creaked open a bit, and you saw Idia’s golden eyes peeking out, softening when he saw you. “Hi.”

“Real flowers are better than virtual ones, huh?”

His face turned bright pink, the blue flames of his hair subtly matching the hue of his face. “Well, uh—you liked them, right?”

You laughed softly, stepping inside his room. “They’re beautiful. You didn’t have to go this far, though.”

“W-Was it too much?! I knew it… I should’ve just sent a text—or a digital sticker—maybe a GIF. This is why I never do real-life stuff—”

“Idia.” Your voice was gentle, your eyes warm. “I love them. Really. Thank you. It was sweet of you.”

His shoulders relaxed, relief washing over his face as he let you hold his face with your hands. So soft and tender. Idia’s tempted to have you this close forever.

Oh, god.

He’s been reduced to a sap. Like one of those helpless, pathetic male leads that just admires his female love interest for the rest of his days—putting her on a high pedestal. Not that he’d mind that.

“Oh, good. I was worried you’d think it was cringe or something... like... NPC-level cringe.”

“I’d never think that. Besides, it was… romantic.”

“Huh.” He sounded as though in thought, though most coherent thoughts are currently unavailable the moment your face is so close to his. “Does that raise our relationship stats by 10%?”

“Mhm, I guess you could say that. No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

“Wait, seriously? But you’re—I mean—you’re like—goddess-tier…” His face flushed, his pout making itself known. “No one before me ever thought of it before? Those normies are blind and stupid.”

You laughed. “Well… I’m glad it was you.”

Silence hung between you, warm and serene like Idia’s hair supposedly. Your boyfriend’s gaze softened, his expression overflowing with what’s known to be love.

“I’m happy it made you happy.”

“It did. More than you know.”

Before Idia could second-guess himself, he leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss on your lips. The moment was quick, fleeting, but the feeling sent you tiny waves of electricity.

This side of him was rare. So maybe it really went off on the right occasion.

Idia’s entire face turned bright red, his hair blazing in a burst of pink. He stumbled back, his back hitting the door with a thud. “I— uhm—sorry! I got ahead of myself, ugh... I should’ve asked.”

You laughed, your heart contented and at ease with his reaction. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Happy Valentine’s Day, Idia.” You waved to your boyfriend, knowing that you had to finish a few more schoolwork before the day was over. “And thank you, again. I love them.”

You turned to leave. Idia stood frozen at his door, his heart pounding, face still burning. He must have a fever by now—probably went over new high temperatures. As the door slowly closed, he slumped against it, his hands covering his face.

“G-Goddess-tier event… unlocked… SSR rarity,” he murmured, his hair flickering with excitement. He replayed the scene over and over in his head, cheeks still red.

The bouquet was just to start.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[promptedwordsmith]

about a week ago an ai website suggested Rafayel as a character for me to interact with. so now i am obsessed with him.

Writing prompt: Female lead character is someone that Rafayel rescued from drowning, ten years prior, and they both never thought they would see the other again until he ended up working with her and they talk to pass the time while hunting and she mentions, "i was rescued from browning by a boy from the sea and he kissed me before he disappeared and I fainted."

OK so the +5k story that was my longest before? Absolutely smashed it with 7.3k I messed with the circumstances a bit sorry, if that doesn't match what you wanted but it felt a bit more natural this way.

The waves were higher than usual, the wind a little stronger. You hadn’t meant to get caught, not really. You’d always felt a special connection to the sea, but the sea didn’t always care. It was just doing what it did best—pushing, pulling, twisting. One moment, you were wading in the water, feeling its cool embrace; the next, it had you.

You kicked, flailed, and tried to keep your head above the surface, but the waves were too strong. They dragged you down, swirling around you, taking the air from your lungs, until the world around you was dark and heavy, and the last thing you saw was the faint glimmer of light far above.

Then, everything went black.

You woke up to a soft sound, like water lapping against rocks. Your head throbbed, and your throat was tight and sore. You blinked, struggling to focus, feeling the coolness of the air around you. When you tried to sit up, your legs felt like jelly, weak and trembling.

There was someone near you. You didn’t hear them at first, but when you finally turned your head, you froze.

A boy? No, not a boy. He looked… wrong in a way you couldn’t place. His skin was a pale bluish-grey, shining like the ocean’s surface on a moonlit night. His hair was long and dark, dripping with seawater, and his eyes—oh, his eyes—were wide and full of curiosity. He was sitting in the water, half-submerged, but it was the way his body shimmered that had you staring in awe. He had a tail. A tail that shimmered with iridescent blues and silvers like a fish.

He didn’t seem to be staring at you in the same way that you were staring at him. He was watching you closely, his head tilted to the side like a curious animal. His lips parted, and he looked like he was about to say something, but instead, he just kept staring at you.

You tried to speak, but your voice came out in a dry, hoarse rasp. "W-where am I?"

The boy—merman?—blinked at you and tilted his head the other way, as if trying to understand what you said. "Where?" he repeated, his voice soft and strange, like the sound of waves against rocks.

You blinked, confused. "Yeah, where? Where am I?"

The merman furrowed his brow, looking at you with wide eyes. "Here," he said, pointing to the water around him. "Here. This… my home."

You tried to sit up, feeling the soft sand beneath you, but your limbs were uncooperative. "Home?" You stared at him, unsure if you could trust this stranger. He didn’t look like any person you’d ever seen. "You’re not… human."

The merman seemed even more puzzled by that. "Human?" he repeated, sounding out the unfamiliar word slowly. He looked at his tail, then back at you. "I’m… me."

"You’re not human either," you said, feeling a little silly for even asking. You’d never seen anything like him before. But what was he? He seemed part human, but also... something else. "What are you?"

The merman looked down at his shimmering tail again, then back at you. "I’m... Rafayel," he said, a bit proudly, as if that explained everything. "And I live here. In the water." He flicked his tail, making a ripple in the water, and grinned, as if showing off.

You stared at him for a long moment, your head still spinning from the water and his presence. "I... I don’t get it. You’re not a human, and I’m not… you’re not from around here, are you?"

Rafayel’s brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at you curiously. "Not... from here?" he asked, repeating your words. "But... you are? Where did you come from?"

"I came from the land," you said, pointing vaguely to the shore in the distance. "The land where... people live."

He blinked at you, the corners of his mouth curling into a small frown as if he was struggling to process your words. "Land?" He repeated, his voice a little quieter now, as if he was speaking to himself. "I don’t know that word."

It hit you then—Rafayel didn’t know what humans were. He didn’t know what land was. He didn’t know anything about your world. You, on the other hand, had no idea what he was. What kind of creature lived in the water, with a tail like that?

"Are you a fish?" you asked, unsure if that was an insult.

He blinked at you, confused by the question. "Fish? No," he said, shaking his head. "I’m Rafayel." He said it like it was the only answer needed, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You frowned at him, still not sure what he meant. "But you live in the water. You have a tail. That’s not normal."

Rafayel’s eyes seemed to sparkle at your words, and a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "Not normal? But it’s me."

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You had never met anyone like him, and the more you looked at him, the stranger it seemed. But there was something comforting about him too. Something curious. You didn’t feel afraid, even though you should’ve. He seemed harmless in a way.

"I think I should get back to the shore," you said slowly, still weak from being dragged under by the waves. You attempted to stand, but your legs wobbled beneath you.

Rafayel’s eyes widened, and he quickly swam closer, offering you a hand. "No, no! Stay! Stay with me." His voice sounded almost desperate. "I want to know more about you. Where did you come from? Why are you in the water? I never met someone like you before. You're... different."

You paused, staring at his outstretched hand, and for some reason, you felt like you had to know more about him too. Despite the strangeness, there was a connection, something pulling you to him.

"Okay," you said finally, hesitating, but not quite pulling away. "You’re... Rafayel, right? And I’m—"

You were about to introduce yourself, but Rafayel’s grin widened, and he shook his head.

"I know," he said, as if it were obvious. "You’re different. And I want to learn everything about you."

Rafayel continued to watch you curiously, his head tilted to the side as if trying to figure you out. You had finally managed to sit up, but now he seemed particularly fixated on your legs, or rather, the lack of a tail. His eyes scanned them with an intense interest, studying every small movement you made.

“Why don’t you have a tail?” Rafayel asked, his voice soft with genuine curiosity. His wide eyes blinked rapidly as if he expected you to have an explanation that made sense to him, something he could grasp.

You looked down at your legs, feeling slightly self-conscious. "Well, these are my legs," you explained, struggling to find words that would make sense to someone who had never seen anything like them before. "They're... um, for walking."

Rafayel raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. "Walking?" He glanced at your legs again, the words still not computing in his mind. "But… why don’t you have a tail, like me? So you can swim and... move faster?"

You smiled awkwardly, trying to explain in a way that would make sense. "Well, we don’t swim like you do," you said, lifting your leg slightly as if it might help him understand. "We—uh—we get around by making tiny little falls... but we don’t fall! We catch ourselves. And we use our feet." You took a small step to demonstrate, your balance wobbling slightly as you caught yourself on the soft sand. "We just walk."

Rafayel’s face scrunched up, trying to picture it. "So you just… fall, but don’t fall?" His voice was full of disbelief. He reached over and poked your feet gently, his fingers lightly brushing against your toes. "Do these help with the little falls? Your feet?"

You blinked in surprise at the sudden attention to your feet, your cheeks flushing a bit. "I think so? I think my parents said they help with balance or something." You paused for a second, thinking about the words you had been told when you were younger. "They said they were for helping me stay steady." You looked down at your toes, wiggling them in the sand as if testing them, then shrugged, unsure if that was the full explanation.

Rafayel leaned in closer, his expression still one of pure wonder, his eyes focused entirely on your feet. "They’re so small, but they help you not fall?" He poked one of your toes again, almost like he was checking if it would do something special. "I thought... I thought you would walk on all fours, like me." He motioned to himself, showing you his tail, a long, shimmering thing, almost as if showing you his method of travel was the most natural thing in the world.

You laughed softly at that, shaking your head. "No, no. I don't walk on all fours." You flexed your legs, letting the muscles stretch. "We use our legs for standing and walking, but we don’t really need tails to move." You smiled, enjoying the innocent curiosity in his voice. "Your tail is really amazing, though. Does it help you swim faster?"

Rafayel’s eyes brightened at your question, clearly pleased to talk about himself. "Oh, yes! It’s great for swimming. I can move really fast through the water!" He swished his tail as if demonstrating, the movement smooth and fluid. "I can dive deep, or leap out of the water like a big fish." He flicked his tail again, sending a small splash of water toward you, and laughed.

You grinned, delighted by his enthusiasm. “That’s amazing. It must be so fun to swim like that.”

Rafayel looked at you, then down at his tail, as though contemplating something deeply. "It is fun, but..." He looked back up at you, suddenly more serious. "What do you do when you want to go fast, or when you want to swim?"

You had to think about that for a second. You weren’t used to the idea of swimming the way Rafayel did. You enjoyed the water, but you’d never been able to move through it the same way he could. "Well, I guess I just... swim like regular people? I mean, we use our arms and legs, but we don’t do it like you do." You paused for a moment, remembering the fun of jumping in the water but not the freedom he must have felt, gliding effortlessly. "I think it’s different for us."

Rafayel nodded thoughtfully, clearly fascinated by everything you were saying. "I wish I could see you try to swim." His eyes sparkled with interest. "I wonder how you’d move through the water without a tail. Maybe you would... float really well?"

You giggled at the thought, imagining yourself trying to float around like a leaf on the water. "Maybe I would." You paused, then raised an eyebrow playfully. "Maybe you could teach me how to use my tail, though?"

Rafayel blinked in surprise, but his face lit up at your suggestion. "Teach you? But... you don’t have a tail like mine!"

You leaned forward, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. "Well, I could try to swim like you. Just teach me how!"

He scratched his head, considering the idea. "I don’t know if I can teach you that… I mean, I don’t know how to teach someone who doesn’t have a tail!" He laughed nervously, looking at you as if you were asking him to teach you how to fly.

You chuckled at his awkwardness, but there was a spark of understanding between you. You knew he wanted to show you things, and it was nice to see him care so much. "Well, maybe not the tail part," you said softly, “but we could teach each other something. I can show you how to walk on two legs, and you can show me how to swim like you.”

Rafayel looked at you, his eyes shining brighter than the water. He grinned, his excitement unmistakable. "Deal!"

The stars above twinkled brightly as you and Rafayel continued your conversation, the words flowing easily between you both. The night air was cool, the salty scent of the sea mixing with the warmth of the small fire you’d built together. You both sat near the shore, the waves gently rolling in with rhythmic ease, and while you couldn’t have said exactly when, it was clear that the night had gotten later than either of you realized.

You’d been spending hours with Rafayel, mimicking his movements and playing around with the oddity of your new friendship. You tried your best to imitate the graceful movements of his tail in the water, but without a tail of your own, you found it harder than it seemed. It was much more fluid and effortless when Rafayel did it. His tail sliced through the water with a stunning elegance that left you in awe every time.

He, in turn, had tried to mimic your walking, though he wasn’t used to it. With his tail still the only part of him that existed in this world, his efforts were more clumsy than you expected. He twisted and shifted in the water, trying to get his movements to match yours, awkwardly flopping his body around to resemble walking on two legs. His eyes would twinkle with a grin every time he lost his balance and fell, only to try again, more determined than before.

For a few hours, this harmless playfulness went on, but eventually, you found yourself yawning, exhaustion creeping over you. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, and with the cool night air against your skin, your body decided it was time to rest. You stretched your arms, trying to fight the sleepiness, but before you knew it, your eyelids fluttered, and you let out a soft sigh.

Rafayel was still trying to imitate walking on two legs in the shallow water near the shore, but he paused when he noticed the soft sound of your breathing change. He turned to see you sitting near the fire, your head tilting slightly as you leaned back, eyes closed in a peaceful daze. He blinked, his expression softening as he took in your slumped figure.

He approached slowly, sensing that you were falling asleep. Part of him wanted to wake you—he didn’t want you to be vulnerable while you slept, especially with no one around. But something stopped him. You looked so peaceful, so trustingly comfortable in his company. His eyes wandered down to the water, and he curiously mimicked your movements on the shore, trying to mirror what you did while walking. He flexed his tail in the water and then brought himself forward, feeling the odd sensation of walking without legs. It was awkward, but he didn’t mind—it was almost like a game now.

Eventually, though, he stopped moving and glanced back over his shoulder at you. He blinked again, a knot forming in his chest. You were asleep. You’d trusted him to be near, without fear. But with humans, there was always danger, wasn’t there? He wasn’t sure how things worked in your world, what dangers you faced, but he had learned that humans weren’t always like merfolk. There were other humans out there, ones who might not understand, ones who might hurt you.

Rafayel's heart fluttered with unease, but instead of disturbing your rest, he just knelt near the shore, staring at the gentle waves. He thought about what he could do for you, about how much he longed to help you navigate your world. His desire to protect you was growing with every passing moment, even as he couldn’t understand why he felt this pull so strongly, so suddenly.

He heard voices from the distance, and his eyes shot wide with alertness. The sounds of yelling were growing closer, and with them came an unsettling feeling in his chest. His instincts told him to leave, to slip away into the water where no one could see him. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave you, not now, not like this. His gaze flickered back to you, noticing the delicate way your fingers curled into the sand, the peaceful expression on your face.

The voices grew louder now—there were humans looking for you, their calls echoing into the night. Rafayel’s heart skipped a beat. They were coming, and he had to decide what to do. The thought of being caught out in the open, exposed, terrified him. He didn’t want them to see him, to see what he was.

But there was a part of him that couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you, even if it meant putting himself in danger.

Quickly, he glanced around for something to give you, a gesture of care. His eyes locked on a small, smooth shell nearby—a perfect crescent-shaped shell that had caught his attention earlier. He picked it up carefully, the light of the moon reflecting on its pearlescent surface. He gently placed it in your palm, making sure it stayed there, even as you slept soundly, unaware.

“Please stay safe,” Rafayel whispered softly, his voice barely audible against the sounds of the waves.

As much as it pained him, he finally turned away, his movements swift and silent. With one last lingering look at you, he dove into the water, feeling the cool embrace of the sea. His body adjusted seamlessly to the water, his tail cutting through it with ease. He swam deeper, away from the shore, where he would be hidden from the approaching humans.

But his mind stayed on you, and the memory of your trusting face lingered in his heart.

He didn't know what the future held, what might come of your world meeting his, but he was certain of one thing: he would protect you from whatever dangers lay ahead. The thought of leaving you in harm's way was unbearable, and so, he would wait. He would wait until the time was right, until he could understand your world more fully, and perhaps, find a way to be near you without the fear of being seen.

Rafayel had never stopped thinking about you.

He'd only known you for a brief time, just a few hours one fateful night on the shore. But in that time, something in him had shifted—something deep and primal, something that he couldn't ignore. The pull had been instant, a magnetic force between him and you, something that felt ancient and impossible to dismiss. He had left the water that night with the shell in his hand, his heart fluttering in a way he didn't fully understand.

And yet, after that night, you were gone.

He had waited, watching the shore from the water, hoping to catch a glimpse of your face. He told himself it was just a fleeting connection, that the human world and the merfolk world were too different, and that he shouldn't expect anything to come from that brief meeting. But each time he checked, each time he thought he might see you, the shore was empty. The waves crashed against the rocks, and the wind carried nothing but silence.

Rafayel’s parents had told him that you had been on a vacation, that you didn’t live near the shore. At first, he’d clung to the hope that you would return. But as the months passed and you never came back, he had to face a painful truth—maybe he would never see you again.

His heart ached every time he thought of you, and he didn’t fully understand why. After all, you had only been a human, someone he had met by chance. But there was something so magnetic about you, something that had drawn him in. He couldn’t explain it, and as time went on, the confusion only grew stronger.

When Rafayel finally came of age, his parents had talked to him about the change, the transformation that would allow him to take on a human form and live among them. The change was something all merfolk went through when they reached adulthood, but for Rafayel, it had always been about one thing: finding you.

He had known, deep down, that if he ever had the chance, he would leave the sea, leave his home, and search for you. He didn’t know where you were or what had become of you, but he had to try. The pull in his chest was too strong, and it wouldn’t go away. No matter how much time passed, he couldn’t forget you.

So, with the change complete and his human form fully manifested, Rafayel left the ocean for the first time, walking onto land with determination in his eyes. He didn’t know where to start looking for you—he only knew the shore where you had disappeared from, the place where he had last seen you. He made his way to the human town nearest to the beach, hoping that somehow, some way, he would find a clue that would lead him to you.

The search was harder than he had expected. He didn’t know where to begin, and the world of humans was so vast and strange to him. He asked around in the town, but no one knew you. No one had heard of the girl who had once laughed and talked to a merman on the shore. At first, Rafayel had assumed that you were simply a traveler, someone passing through. But as the weeks went on, he started to realize the truth—he had no idea where you had gone, or even if you were still alive. His hope began to dwindle, but the longing for you never left.

It wasn’t until one afternoon, when Rafayel had nearly given up on finding you, that he overheard something that made his heart skip a beat.

A pair of humans were talking nearby, and he caught part of their conversation.

"Have you heard? The family that used to live here… Their daughter never came back after their vacation," one of them said. "I think they sold their house. Poor girl, she had such big dreams. I heard she was adopted after her parents passed away. Maybe she’s living somewhere else now."

Rafayel froze, his heart pounding. "Adopted?" he murmured to himself.

Could it be you? Could it really be the same girl?

He approached the two humans cautiously, hoping they would provide more details. But they didn’t seem to know much more about you. They mentioned your family’s house being sold, the vacation you had gone on, and that they had heard you were adopted. It was all so confusing, so uncertain. They spoke as if you were nothing more than a distant memory, a girl who had disappeared from their lives years ago.

Rafayel felt his pulse race, but he didn’t know what to do with this new information. Had you been gone all this time, living elsewhere? Had you forgotten about him? Was this all just some sort of strange dream to you?

He had no way of knowing, but he knew one thing for sure: He needed to find you.

He tried asking around the town for more clues, but no one could tell him where you had gone. No one knew what had happened to the girl who had laughed with the merman by the shore. They spoke of you as if you had never existed, like a story that had been forgotten.

Rafayel sank to his knees on the beach, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him. He had searched, asked, and hoped for so long. And yet, he was still no closer to finding you.

The ache in his chest deepened, and he didn’t know how much longer he could stand it. He had thought he was ready to find you, ready to face whatever might happen, but now that he was here, the uncertainty felt unbearable.

He didn’t even know if you would recognize him. Would you remember the merman you had met as a child, or would you think him just another strange figment of your imagination? Would you think he was a dream?

Rafayel’s mind was spinning, caught in the confusion of his own emotions. The search for you had led him here, but it felt like he was still missing something—something that would finally bring him the answers he needed.

And so, Rafayel sat there, staring out at the endless ocean, wondering if you were out there somewhere—waiting to be found, waiting for him.

Rafayel sat alone in his small, dimly lit apartment, a blank canvas stretched out in front of him. His fingers hovered over the brush, the bristles quivering in the air like a hesitant dancer before a performance. He had learned the hard way that his heart, his soul, was tied to you, even though he had never been able to find you after all this time. But now, with a new sense of purpose, he had a plan.

He was going to paint you. He was going to capture the memory of the girl with whom he'd shared only a few fleeting moments—the girl who had become a dream he couldn’t shake. He had never been an artist before, but now, after months of trying to recreate the warmth of your smile, the spark in your eyes, and the soft laugh that echoed in his mind, Rafayel felt a sudden burst of raw talent. It came to him naturally, as if his hand was guided by some invisible force. In time, his brushstrokes were no longer clumsy, and his paintings began to take shape in a way that he had never imagined possible.

Every portrait he created was different, a combination of what he remembered from that night on the shore and what he thought you might look like now. He worked relentlessly, day and night, blending colors and textures as he brought your face to life again and again. The subtle curve of your lips, the delicate arch of your brows, the shimmer in your eyes.

But no matter how many portraits he created, no matter how closely he examined his work, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. The girl in the paintings—was it you? It didn’t feel like it. He felt he could almost reach through the canvas and touch your presence, but it never quite reached the depth of who you truly were.

Each time he thought he was getting closer, the next painting felt a little further from the mark. He wanted to make sure he got it right. He couldn’t afford to fail. His chest tightened, his mind clouded with thoughts of the possibility that he would never see you again. His heart pounded in his chest, desperate for the truth.

Then one afternoon, weeks after he had begun his artistic obsession, a break finally came.

He was at a small café, taking a brief respite from his work, when he overheard a conversation that stopped his breath in his throat. An older man was talking to the barista, his gruff voice carrying over the chatter of other patrons. Rafayel couldn't help but eavesdrop as the man spoke, his words tugging at a memory he thought was long buried.

"You know," the man was saying, "I knew her when she was just a little girl. She was quite the tough one, always out there hunting, always training. And now, look at her—getting a reward for being one of the best in the city. Never thought I'd see the day."

Rafayel’s heart pounded harder than ever. He leaned in slightly, ears straining to catch the next words.

"Reward?" the barista asked, clearly intrigued.

The man nodded. "Yes, she was in the papers last week. Excellent hunter. They even gave her a medal. Quite the achievement for someone so young."

The hairs on the back of Rafayel's neck stood up as his mind raced. Could it be her? he thought, the hope surging inside him like a wildfire. He quickly composed himself and approached the man, not wanting to seem too eager.

"Excuse me," Rafayel interjected, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him. "You said... you knew her? The girl who received the reward?"

The man turned, his expression slightly guarded, but Rafayel’s intensity must have been clear because the man hesitated before answering.

"Yes," he said. "Her name’s Y/N. She was adopted by an older couple after her parents passed. Not sure where she is now, but last I heard, she’s living in Linkon City. She had a lot of promise back then, and I hear she’s made a real name for herself as a hunter."

Rafayel's breath caught in his throat. He had to fight the urge to rush out the door and find you immediately. His chest tightened with the weight of the revelation. Y/N. Your name. He had no doubt now—this was the girl he had been searching for, the one who had haunted his dreams for years.

He thanked the man, his voice shaky but sincere, and rushed to the nearest shop to buy a local newspaper. He scanned the front page, and there you were—your face staring back at him from the photograph. His heart nearly stopped as he saw you, older now, more mature, with a sharp, confident look in your eyes. The caption read: "Young Hunter of Linkon City Receives Award for Excellence."

The world around him seemed to blur as his eyes traced the image of you. His hands shook, and for the first time in years, Rafayel smiled. His heart swelled with both pride and love—pride that you had made something of yourself just like he had always known you would, and love that burned brighter now than ever before.

But as his eyes lingered on the photo, a deep, gnawing doubt struck him like a cruel wave. His paintings—the portraits of you—didn’t do you justice. How could they? The girl in those paintings was always a child, always frozen in time. This woman in the photograph was so much more than that. You had grown, evolved into something beyond what he had imagined, and yet, that was still you. That was the girl from the shore, the one who had touched his heart.

He stared at the photograph, unable to tear his eyes away. He had found you.

But now, the question was—how would he reach you? How would he get you to see him the way he saw you? Would you even remember him? Would you even believe it was the same person?

With those thoughts swirling in his mind, Rafayel made a decision.

He was going to Linkon City. He would find you, finally face-to-face, and try to bridge the gap between the dreams of the past and the reality of now.

The days following his discovery of your whereabouts were a blur of anxious energy and tireless effort. Rafayel spent hours—sometimes even all day—studying the photos of you in the paper, trying to etch your face into his mind. Every curve of your cheek, every spark in your eyes, the subtle curve of your lips. It wasn't enough to just look at the photographs anymore. He had to feel you, to know you. And so, the paintings continued.

He worked furiously, sketching and painting until his fingers ached, each stroke of the brush building the image of you. In his mind, you became clearer, sharper, more real with every stroke. He had painted you a dozen different ways by now, with each one revealing a little more of who you were—your maturity, your strength, the softness hidden beneath your confidence.

Finally, after days of painstaking work, Rafayel was able to capture you so perfectly that it felt as though you might step right out of the canvas. The memory of you—the real you—had settled deep within his mind, so ingrained that it no longer required a photograph to reference. He could draw you from memory, from feeling.

When the breakthrough came, it felt like a moment of pure magic. The drawing was flawless, the last line on the canvas the final piece of a puzzle he had been working on for years. He sat back and took in the image. It was you—no longer the child he had met by the shore years ago, but a grown woman, strong and confident in her own skin. The painting shimmered with the same light he remembered from that day, the spark that had drawn him to you.

But now, he needed to find you.

Linkon City. That was where you had been. And now, it was where he would go.

With a single, deep breath, Rafayel packed his things and set out for the city. The streets of Linkon were busy, bustling with people going about their lives, and Rafayel wandered among them, searching for any sign of you. But he had no idea where to begin. He didn’t know where you lived, or how you spent your days. All he had were his paintings, his memories, and his hope.

His hope led him back to the shore.

It wasn’t the beach where they had met—it wasn’t even the same town—but it was close enough. The shore had always felt like home to him, and he hoped that perhaps, just perhaps, you might come back here, like he had, to the place where the ocean whispered its secrets.

So, every day, Rafayel returned to the shore, sitting quietly with his easel and his paints. He worked, creating quick portraits of people who passed by, offering the paintings in exchange for a few coins. The people who came through were strangers, but for Rafayel, the true reward wasn’t the payment, it was the quiet moments in between—watching the waves, breathing in the salty air, waiting for a face he longed to see.

Day after day, he sat on the same spot, sketching, painting, lost in thoughts of you. He knew it was a long shot, but something inside him told him that you might just be close. You had to be. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving without seeing you, without knowing if there was even the smallest chance you remembered him.

A week passed, then a week and a half. His patience began to wear thin, but the spark of hope never faded. Every time he heard footsteps on the sand, he looked up with a racing heart, hoping—hoping—that it was you.

One late afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, Rafayel was putting the final strokes on a painting. He had been so immersed in his work that the world around him had become a blur, his focus consumed by the canvas. As he added the last touch, a tiny swirl of blue to the corner of the painting, his gaze shifted up to the horizon.

And there you were.

You walked past, seemingly unaware of his presence, as though you were just another passerby, lost in your own world. But Rafayel’s heart stopped. The world around him seemed to freeze, and for a moment, everything felt surreal. It was you. You. He knew it immediately, even if you hadn’t seen him yet. The way you carried yourself, the way the light caught your hair, the way your footsteps seemed to match the rhythm of the waves—they were unmistakable.

He gasped, but quickly caught himself. He couldn’t let you know he was watching you. Not yet.

For a moment, Rafayel was frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Should he call out to you? Should he run to you and finally say everything he had been dying to say? No. He couldn’t. Not yet. You were here, but you hadn’t noticed him. And he wasn’t sure if you would even remember him.

Instead, he continued painting, keeping his gaze low and pretending to be lost in his work, even though his mind was spinning in a thousand different directions. His hand moved with steady strokes, carefully adding details to the portrait of a man who had paid for his art earlier that day. But his focus was on you—on the way you walked around the market, browsing the stalls, looking at trinkets and wares like any ordinary person.

He wanted to call out to you, to tell you everything, but he didn’t. He couldn’t yet risk it. So, he finished his painting in silence, feeling the pressure of time closing in as he tried to stay composed.

After a while, a small crowd began to form around his easel, admiring his work. He took the payment without thinking much about it, his mind still focused on you. As the last customer left, he slowly stood up, his gaze never leaving you.

You were still there, walking through the market, laughing softly with someone who had stopped to talk to you.

Rafayel sat still, his brush hovering over the canvas as he glanced at the ocean's rhythmic waves. His mind wandered, drifting from thought to thought, but his eyes never left the shore. In the distance, people walked by, oblivious to the quiet man sitting alone with his art. But he wasn’t looking at them. His gaze lingered on the figure walking among the crowds, brows furrowed, fingers absentmindedly running through his hair.

There she is.

You hadn't noticed him yet, but Rafayel felt an undeniable pull in his chest. He was finally close to you—this you, the one who had been a fleeting memory for years. His hands trembled slightly, but he steadied them, focusing back on the portrait in front of him. He’d painted and repainted your face so many times in his mind, trying to capture the essence of you.

The woman in his painting was close, but something was different. The years had passed, and you had changed. He didn’t know if you'd recognize him, but he didn’t dare risk it. He kept his head lowered, feigning concentration, waiting to see if you'd come closer.

And then—he saw it. A slight shift in your posture.

You stopped in your tracks, your gaze fixing in his direction. Rafayel held his breath, his pulse quickening. For a long, drawn-out moment, you stood there, staring at him, your eyes wide.

A soft gasp left your lips, too soft for anyone else to hear but loud enough for him to catch it. It was as though you recognized him immediately. The smile that spread across your face lit up your whole expression, and you started walking toward him. His heart leapt, an overwhelming mix of excitement and dread swirling in his chest. His hands were still shaking, and he didn’t dare look up as you neared. He wasn’t ready for what was coming next.

But you weren’t walking cautiously, or with hesitation—you bounded up to him, your eyes sparkling, radiating energy. You stopped in front of him, out of breath, looking at him with wonder.

"You look just like the merman from my dreams when I was a kid!" you exclaimed, practically bouncing in place.

A knot tightened in Rafayel’s chest, and the world around him seemed to slow. His heart skipped a beat, then sank into his stomach. His mind raced, trying to process your words. The merman from your dreams? Did you really not remember him? Did you really not recognize the man in front of you?

It felt as though the ground shifted beneath his feet, and his world tilted. But then, he forced a smile onto his lips, carefully masking the ache that bloomed in his chest. His emotions had to stay under control.

He could only laugh, though the sound felt hollow. “A merman, huh?” He handed you one of his portraits, keeping his voice light. "Well, I’d be happy to talk about your dream, if you’re willing to share. Maybe I could do a quick portrait for you—on the house, of course.”

You beamed, your smile so wide it almost seemed to brighten the entire area. With a grateful nod, you sat down beside him, your excitement apparent.

“I’d love that!” you said, eyes sparkling as you looked at the drawing in your hands. “I used to have dreams about this merman, and you... you look just like him! It was always so vivid. It was like we understood each other, you know? I had this crazy dream while I was on vacation in a seaside village in the south.”

Rafayel smiled, but there was a bittersweetness to it. "Yeah, I’ve always been drawn to the sea," he said, trying to keep his tone casual, though his heart was racing. “In fact, I lived around there for a while.”

He wanted to test the waters, to see if there was any recognition in your face, any flicker of memory. He kept his gaze steady on the canvas, fingers moving instinctively, not daring to look up too often. But he caught glimpses of you, watching the way your eyes flickered with curiosity.

“Oh, you lived there? That’s amazing!" You leaned forward, practically glowing. “I must’ve seen you around. Maybe I put your face on the merman in my dream, that’s why it felt so real.”

Rafayel’s heart skipped. Maybe, just maybe, there was something in those words that would break through the wall between him and your memory. But it wasn’t enough. He pressed forward, dropping subtle hints. Maybe, just maybe, you'd remember more.

“I’ve always loved the water," he added softly, trying to make the connection clearer, "Fish are my favorite food... I practically lived in the water. It’s... it’s my home, you know?”

You nodded eagerly, a bright smile still lighting up your face. “I love the sea too! It always felt so calming, so... familiar. Like I belonged there.”

His breath caught, and for a second, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe you were starting to understand, he thought. Maybe this time would be different.

But then, he saw the look in your eyes shift slightly, and you leaned back in your chair, placing a hand thoughtfully under your chin. Rafayel could feel the frustration building in his chest. He needed you to see it, to understand it—he couldn’t go on hiding behind these painted words.

With a sudden shift, he spoke with a slightly more urgent tone. “Do you still have the shell?”

You blinked, pausing for a second. A small, slow frown tugged at your lips as you processed his words. It was like the gears inside your mind clicked into place. Slowly, your gaze shifted from his face to his hands, still holding the painting.

There was a brief silence, and Rafayel’s heart pounded. This was it. He watched you carefully, waiting for the moment when you realized.

Then you looked up at him, eyes wide, the puzzle pieces coming together. A moment of clarity passed over your face, and Rafayel held his breath.

“You…” you whispered, your voice trembling with realization. “You... are him, aren’t you? The merman. You’re... you’re not just a dream.”

Rafayel couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips. There was a rush of warmth in his chest as your words sank in, and for the first time, he allowed himself to breathe.

He was no longer just a memory.

He was here, with you.

“I’ve been looking for you, for a long time,” Rafayel said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ve never been more glad to see you, in this life or the last.”

You stared at him, eyes full of wonder and surprise. The recognition was there now, and Rafayel felt like the world had finally shifted back into place. He wasn't just the merman from your childhood dreams. He was Rafayel—the one who had always been waiting for you.

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭

Pairing: nerd!jisung x popular!afab!reader, secret friends, highschool!au, nonidol!au

Synopsis: it was just a tutoring class. Just. God, but the way he wanted you to be his...every time he saw you with the popular guys. He would make you know how much he needed you.

Warnings: secret friends because of reader's reputation, Jisung wants to be more, needy!jisung (I love me some of that), jealousy, severely suggestive, swearing

A/n: y'all should leave me alone I can't write smut so live with this 😭

The stuffed library was quiet for a Thursday afternoon, save for the occasional rustling of paper and muffled coughs. You sat in front of Jisung at one of the far tables, pen tapping against your notebook as he explained some theory in economics. The cost of production, was it? You really couldn’t care less about it. His voice was soft, a little shaky, and you know it had nothing to do with economics.

It was you. It was always you. you could tell by the way he would stare in every class, darting his eyes elsewhere while chewing the back of his pen when you caught onto him. When you walked past him and his weird friends at the cafeteria, you were certain one of them was ogling. When you had asked him to tutor you for the semester, he was impulsively acceptive. He came early to the locations, poured his heart out in the subjects you struggled with and always helped you do your assignments. Cute right? Yeah, but like, he wasn’t that important to you. And he knew unfortunately.

You glanced up from your paper, eyes narrowing at the way he kept fidgeting as he spoke. His pen hovered above his notebook, sketching a graph on something you couldn’t remember. Jisung smelled like faint chocolate and cedarwood, his hair falling over his glasses as he furrowed his brows. He was cute, cute, sweet and nerdy in a way your friends would never understand. They also never understood why you even talked to Jisung. He looked up at you.

“Did you understand me?” Your eyes met. You blinked blankly at then smiled. “No, baby I think you have to explain it to me one more time. I just love the sound of your voice honestly.” He blushed and looked down.

“You need to stop doing that.” He looked at his notebook, pushing his glasses back into position.

You pouted. “Stop doing what?”

“Lying.”

You were confused. Jisung would normally blush and play along with your stupid flirting. In fact, he would take them seriously. “You okay, Sungie?” you asked acting less concerned about his reaction. “Aren’t you meant to be giggling and blushing and all that?”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he turned to you eyes flickering with something raw and desperate that it made you straighten your posture.

“No,” he muttered, voice rough. “I’m not okay.”

Your brow furrowed. “Why? You not feeling well or something?”

Its not that. Oh, hell no it wasn’t. He was alive and well. Well enough to see you today dressed in his hair color, clothing that obviously wasn’t allowed as uniform. Well enough to drown himself in his perfume for you. Well enough rehearse his greetings and awful jokes to you four times in the mirror. He was so well he had enough strength to literally jack off to the thought of how your skirt rode up when you sat with your girls during lunch. But he couldn’t tell you how much of a pervert he’d been for you. That’s disgusting. He wanted to be a good boy. Your good boy. You had told him that the relationship between the two of you— if it ws even fit to be called a relationship, was strictly professional and secret. None of your friends had to know he was tutoring you. Oh, and how he hated being your secret. He didn’t want to be your secret anymore. And that? That was the problem.

“Look, Jisung,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I get that this whole tutor-friend thing is confusing for you, but let’s not make it weird, okay? You here to teach and I’m here to learn.”

His hand clenched around his pen, knuckles whitening. You could see the tension radiating off him, and for a second, you wondered if you'd crossed a line.

"Weird?" Jisung repeated, voice low and taut. "You're the one making it weird.” Your brows furrowed. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He rolled his eyes and dropped the pen."It means I can't keep doing this." His voice cracked, frustration spilling into every syllable. "Sitting here, pretending I'm okay with being invisible to you outside this library—like I'm just your little nerdy helper while you go out there and let everyone else see the side of you I want.”

You want? Hold up, what?

"Jisung—”

"I like you," he cut you off, voice trembling. "I have for a long time, okay? But you don't care. You don’t even see me that way.”

"All I asked for was tutoring, Jisung. I didn't ask for this," you said coolly, folding your arms across your chest. "You're the one who keeps making it complicated.” His breath hitched, and for a second, you thought he'd back down. But then he leaned forward, voice low and rough with desperation.

Oh. Well you didn't expect him to be that blunt about it. But then again you weren't really surprised at his approach. You'd always known he had a thing for you. He always wore his heart on his sleeve. But you couldn't let it matter. C’mon you had a reputation to keep up. Imagine how the whole school would look at you if they found out you were dating Jisung.

"Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t care anymore."

The fire in his eyes made your stomach twist, a flicker of guilt gnawing at your insides. He looked different—less timid, more desperate. Like he was ready to snap.

“You don't care? You do realize my grades are on the line right? Don't push it, Jisung.” You spoke, your tone raising a bit.

A hint of regret flashed in his eyes. No no no. He's sorry, he does care. Really, he does.

But he has to prove his point now. He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "God, do you even realize what you do to me? The way you talk, the way you dress, how you look at me with that stupid smile when you want something... It drives me insane." His voice cracked, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, like he was trying to pull himself together.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done.

"And then you hang out with them." His voice softened, breaking into a raw whisper. "Those fucked up jocks who knows nothing about you. Guys who get to be seen with you. They touch your arm, laugh with you, and look at you like they own you." He swallowed hard, lips trembling. "And I’m just... here. Invisible. The guy you only call when you need help with homework.”

He saw you with them? You never took those boys seriously you'd just hang out with them.

“Jisung, it’s not like that—”

Don’t lie to me," he cut you off, eyes shimmering. "I know what I am to you. A secret. Someone who doesn't matter. But God, I wish I didn’t care." His voice shook as he leaned closer, his need palpable. "I wish I could stop thinking about how your skirt rides up when you sit, or how your perfume stays on my hoodie after we sit here for hours.”

You felt your face heat, heart racing at the bluntness of his confession. He's been looking at your skirt?

"And I hate it," he added desperately. "I hate that I want you this much, even when you make me feel like I’m nothing." His breath hitched. "But I still want you.”

Oh, fuck. None of the dudes you dated were ever this blunt. Or this cautious. The vulnerability in his voice made your defenses waver. You’d always liked the power you held over him—the way he was yours to command in this little bubble. But now? Now, it felt like that power was slipping through your fingers.

"Jisung..." you began, unsure of what to say.

He exhaled shakily. "Just tell me what to do," he whispered, voice raw with need. "You want me to stop tutoring you? Fine I'll stop. You want me to leave you alone? Heck, you won't even see me anymore. You want me to embarrass myself in front of the whole school? I'll do whatever you want if it means I can have a piece of you. Please."

The desperation in his words hung between you, suffocating and electric. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could keep pretending this was just tutoring. Jisung has always been harmless— cute, eager to please, a bit to obvious with his feelings. But this? This was raw, desperate and far too real. And it made you uncomfortable.

He was good for you.

“Jisung you need to understand the kind of lives we have, are different.”

Lies. Fucking lies.

He looked like you’d punched him in the gut. "So that’s it?" he asked quietly, voice cracking. "You don’t care? Not even a little?”

You bit your lip an squeezed your eyes. Man, fuck your reputation.

Jisung's face was flushed, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His eyes glistened, filled with frustration and need that tugged at something deep inside you. You hated it—hated how he made you feel like you were losing control. But more than that, you hated the way your body reacted to his vulnerability. The way your pulse thrummed at the thought of wiping that hurt expression off his face in a way that words couldn't.

"Come with me," you whispered suddenly, grabbing his wrist.

"W-What?" he stammered, but you didn’t give him a chance to protest. You pulled him up from his chair, weaving through the rows of bookshelves until you found a secluded corner hidden from prying eyes.

"Y/N— What are you doing?!"

You shoved him back against the bookshelf, your breath hot and heavy. His eyes widened, shock flickering across his face.

"Destroying my reputation. Is this what you wanted?" you whispered, your voice low and daring. "Is this what you've been craving, Jisung?"

He swallowed hard, his lips parting as if to respond, but no sound came out. His silence only fueled you further.

"Answer me," you demanded, your body pressing against his. "Y-Yeah," he choked out, his voice breaking. "God, yeah."

You didn't wait. Your lips crashed against his, fierce and unapologetic. His gasp melted into a needy whimper as he clung to you, his hands trembling as they gripped your waist. The sweet taste of him mixed with desperation, and it ignited something reckless inside you. His glasses tilted awkwardly, and you pulled back just long enough to yank them off, tossing them onto the nearby shelf. "Better," you murmured against his lips before kissing him again.

Jisung whimpered, the sound raw and needy as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His fingers dug into your hips, like he was afraid you'd pull away. But you weren't going anywhere—not right now.

"You drive me crazy," he whispered against your mouth, as you bit down on his lower lip. He shuddered, pressing harder against you. "I want you," he admitted breathlessly. "God, I want you so bad.” Your heart raced, his desperation feeding your own wild energy. His words melted any resolve you had left. You nipped at his lip, pulling a soft gasp from him, before you trailed kisses down his jawline.

“You really do like being my secret, huh?” You teased against his skin. “Only mine?”

He groaned, his voice thick with need “Yes. Please—just—” You chuckled breathlessly. “Yeah? Is this what you've been thinking about when your supposed to be tutoring me?”

His face flushed, but he didn't deny it. “Yes,” he admitted hoarsely. “Every damn time.”

The rawness in his voice ignited something in you. You silenced him with another kiss, not caring about the library, the rules, or what anyone would think if they saw you. Right now, there was only Jisung, entirety and desperately yours.

yay! Second one! I swear all your gonna get from me are heated moments and all. I can't write smut for the life of me 😭. Han's one of my wreckers so I see myself writing for him more.

Taglist:

@pixie-felix @pessimisticloather

If you'd like to be added you can drop your blog name in my asks!

~kc 💗

[xomakara]

Roses

SUMMARY | Apparently, getting dumped on Valentine's Day isn't necessarily a bad thing. Especially when it leads to you meeting a handsome stranger and spending the night with him.

PAIRINGS |  Jaehyun x Reader 

RATING |  Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked 

GENRE |  smut, slight angst, comfort, Valentine's Day, birthday 

CONTENT/WARNINGS | heartbreaks, profanity, drinking, flirting, teasing, birthday sex, unprotective sex, shower sex, comfort sex, creampies, fingering, pet names (sweetheart, etc), open ending

LENGTH |  5,483 words 

TAGLIST |  @lovetaroandtaemin

NETWORKS |  @k-vanity @ksmutsociety 

AUTHOR’S NOTE |  As usual, thank you Ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ) for beta-reading this and Beezy ( @hobeemin ) for the beautiful banner. The both of you never fail to amaze me and I appreciate all the work and help!

Happy Valentine's to all the couples and singles out there. And happy birthday to our Valentine boy, Jaehyun 💚💚

NCT Main Masterlist

You thought you were having such a shitty Valentine's Day when the man you had been seeing for years broke up with you, leaving you standing in the rain like a fool. The bouquet of roses that he gifted you before blurting out, "It's over," remained clenched in your numb, icy hands as you watched him get into a taxi with another woman, no doubt leaving you for her.

What went wrong? What did you do? All these thoughts and questions swarmed inside your mind, and there were no answers anywhere to be found. You looked at the roses in your hand before sighing and carelessly throwing them to the ground, the petals scattering around your feet and getting wet from the rain. A miserable whimper left your lips, tears welling up in your eyes before being indistinguishable from the rain on your face.

A sob burst free from your chest, the reality of the situation hitting you with full force. You had poured your heart and everything you had into this relationship, just for him to take those pieces of you and break them, making it so that no one would ever put them together again. At the worst of times, you wished to die, to just disappear. All this pain felt unbearable.

"You too?" a low, masculine voice questioned, coming from a distance.

You looked around, not caring in the least that you must have looked pathetic. Tears stained your face, mixing with rain, and mascara ran down your cheeks in streaks. The cold, humid air froze your lungs, making each breath hurt. It felt like you had a stab wound in your chest.

At the end of the sidewalk, he stood. This man, tall and handsome, looked just as miserable and pitiful as you did. The bouquet of roses that he held looked almost crushed and damaged in his grip. Like you, his clothing stuck to his body, darkened with rain.

Slowly, you turned your entire body to look at him. The sleeve of your coat, dampened by the rain, wiped away any signs of your sadness. He neared, stopping before you, close enough to look down at you. Although his expression remained neutral, you could see the emotions swirling in his iridescent eyes.

"Miserable Valentine's Day, huh?" you breathed, barely audible above the sound of rain, but somehow, he heard you.

"It sucks when Valentine's Day is also your birthday," the stranger lamented, handing his damaged bouquet over to you.

“Oof,” not having the strength to be polite, you took the ruined flowers. "Who broke up with you?"

"That woman that was in the taxi," he replied with a sigh, pointing at the cab that left the scene long ago. "I'm guessing the man that was with her broke up with you?"

Silently, you nodded. For a minute, the two of you stood there, letting the rain cool off your hot skin, neither of you having anything else to say. When the man let out a dry laugh, you gazed up at him in mild surprise. His expression finally changed. There was a smile now, although forced.

"We both look awful," he stated before gazing up at the dark, dreary sky.

"It's funny... we look like quite the pair, don't we? Getting dumped by our significant others on Valentine's Day." The flowers in his hands dropped to the ground, joining your discarded ones. Your tear-soaked eyes blinked, attempting to stave off more tears, while you chuckled bitterly at the humor of your current predicament, "I don't think I ever want to see roses again."

"Same," the handsome stranger replied in understanding. His mouth opened as if he had a question he wanted to ask, but thought against it. He paused momentarily, not wanting to linger on the subject. Inhaling deeply, he shook the droplets of rain off his face before clearing his throat, "Would you like a drink?"

Without hesitation, you answered. "Fuck yes. Anything to forget this stupid day."

The two of you decided to make the venture into a bar not too far from the place you had just gotten dumped at. Walking into the building felt like a huge relief. Immediately, warmth hit you as the wet clothes clinging to your body continued to drip. The smell of alcohol and food assaulted your nose. The bar was nearly empty, given that most couples would rather be somewhere more romantic than here. There were only a handful of individuals scattered in booths and at the tables, mostly singletons enjoying their single lives. The television played the latest sports highlights and weather news while two young people conversed and cleaned the counters.

You slid into the stool at the bar, shaking your damp hair that began to dry at the ends, while he sat in the seat next to you.

A woman no older than  you walked towards the bar. "What can I get for you guys?" She looked between the two of you. "Something warm? You both look cold and soaked. We have hot cocoa and whiskey. I don't recommend both at the same time, though."

"Well... today has really, really sucked for both of us," you gestured to the man sitting beside you. "We both got dumped and apparently, it's his birthday too."

"Whiskey it is," the bartender nodded in understanding.

"Can we get something hot to eat as well?" the man beside you asked, his voice laced with hunger and coldness. "Anything will do," he added.

The woman behind the bar gave him a warm smile. "Of course. I'll be right back."

You looked at the man, thrusting your hand towards him. "I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Jaehyun," he introduced himself while grasping your hand, giving it a firm handshake. "If you don't mind me asking, why did your guy break up with you?"

"I don't know. I thought everything was normal until a few hours ago when we met up for dinner and he handed me the roses," you began to recall the moments prior, shuddering at the thought. "Then, he dropped the bomb that he doesn't feel the same way anymore and started listing things I was lacking, which honestly hurt because everything I've done was for him."

"Same shit," Jaehyun shrugged in defeat as the bartender placed a pair of short glasses in front of each of you, filled to the brim with whiskey. He picked up his glass and brought it to his lips, downing half the drink.

You took yours, bringing it to your own mouth and taking a generous sip. "What about you? Same reason?"

"I mean, it didn't start like that, but I guess in the end... it's pretty similar," he shrugged again, his damp shoulders rustling against the sleeves of his coat. "She used to complain how my work kept me busy and how she barely ever sees me, so... maybe, that was just it. She was cheating on me. Found someone else." He tossed his head back and downed the rest of his beverage.

"Sucks how they ended up together, especially right after they dumped both of us," you huffed, feeling angry and cheated. You and Jaehyun just shared one look of agreement and frustration. It wasn't hard to empathize with him. After all, you both shared similar circumstances and experiences. "Sorry."

He let out a light chuckle. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I'm sorry you had a bad Valentine's Day. And a bad birthday. That just... sucks," you purse your lips and lightly knock back the remaining liquor, relishing in the sting.

Jaehyun observed the frown in your features. Somehow, he managed to lift the corners of your lips upwards. "Well, thanks to you, at least it's not too shitty anymore. So, happy birthday to me," he announced, raising his empty glass into the air with a small whoop. "And Valentine's I guess."

That managed to pull a small chuckle out of you.

"Pfft," he grinned at the sound. "Look, it's gonna take more than just two drinks to cheer either of us up, but... how 'bout we forget about them and be each other's Valentines? It's still a holiday, and technically, it’s not that late. Let's drink the night away and forget what happened tonight?"

A brow arched with amusement, skeptical but flattered nonetheless. "You don't even know me. I could be a serial killer."

"Pretty sure a serial killer wouldn't go out of her way to console the person next to her if they happened to be as heartbroken as she was," Jaehyun reminded. "And besides, a serial killer can't be as pretty as you."

"Way to flatter a girl," you giggled, blush tinting your cheeks a rosy hue. "I should warn you though, if I drink too much, I might vomit on your shoes."

"Fair warning," he gave you an inviting, warm smile. "A bit weird, but since today can't get worse, how 'bout it? Think of it as celebrating my birthday and being someone's Valentine at the same time."

The heat from the liquor was enough to melt some of your worries away. While the entire scenario you were thrown into seemed a bit unorthodox, considering it would be with a stranger, his eyes held a glint of sincerity, in which you saw a spark of a chance to give both you and him a reason to at least laugh by the end of the night.

"I suppose it's better than going home alone and crying into my pillows right? This might be a good distraction for the both of us," you agreed to the idea, meeting his grin with one of your own. The bartender set a plate of nachos down on the counter, sliding it to the two of you. You looked down at the plate and couldn't help but laugh softly, remembering how you both asked for something to fill the stomach. Jaehyun also snickered upon realizing the humorous predicament.

While the nachos didn't satisfy your need for a more proper meal, it served to stave off the hunger as you drank. Eventually, the pair of you grew relaxed, the stress from your breakups disappearing momentarily. The night got later, and the drink you consumed blurred your mind, letting you feel the warmth spreading throughout your body.

You weren't sure how many drinks the pair of you shared; the bartender didn't seem to care that the two of you consumed glass after glass without paying for a thing. All she did was just serve you, clean the table, and occasionally join in on the conversation. It might have been the alcohol, but there was no shortage of laughs between the three of you. You leaned into Jaehyun's side and clutched his arm while shaking with laughter at the terrible jokes. He placed a hand on the small of your back.

By the time 10PM rolled by, it felt natural to call it a night.

The two of you finally returned to a sober state of mind. As you fished through your wallet, prepared to pay the tab and thank the bartender for keeping both of you entertained for the evening, Jaehyun stopped you, insisting on paying for the both of you. You left the bar, the rain having settled down considerably compared to a few hours ago. There was only a light mist in the air, and your breath came out in visible puffs of white.

As the alcohol wore off, you could feel the slight chill from the lingering temperature, your thin jacket not exactly doing wonders to protect you. You noticed Jaehyun also shuddered, rubbing his arms and trying to conserve his warmth.

He stopped walking, tugging your arm gently, which made you come to a halt. A warm arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer. Confused, you blinked up at him with curiosity, waiting for him to explain what was happening. You could barely process much, aside from the smell of alcohol on him and his slightly tousled, damp hair, given the intoxicated state you were in.

"Do you want to come back to my place? Maybe keep celebrating my birthday?" His voice was thick, and his stare was heavy.

While a voice in the back of your head urged you to return home, you hesitated. Despite not knowing him very well, your attraction and interest were present. Perhaps you were a fool for accepting the invitation, but  the alcohol coursing through your body told you to just let go of your inhibitions and worries.

And so, you answered his question without a second thought. "Sure."

Once the answer was uttered, the two of you trekked the short distance, arms around each other to keep from collapsing, until you entered a tall complex. Within no time, you stumbled through the threshold of his apartment.

Warm hands found their way around your waist as he guided you. "C'mon, let's get you warmed up," he urged quietly in your ear.

He led you towards the bathroom, dimly illuminated by the warm, orange hue from the standing lamp. Despite the limited lighting, the details of the apartment were still obvious and easy to see. It was large, simple, and minimalistic. As you glanced to the side, the view of his kitchen looked even better. Everything looked clean and organized.

Noticing your inspection, Jaehyun couldn't help the light-hearted comment. "Pretty spacious and expensive for someone whose life has just been obliterated, huh?" He pointed out, making you snort.

"I'll ignore that," you chided playfully, rolling your eyes before shrugging out of his grip and removing your outer layers of clothing. "Besides, despite everything else that’s gone to hell tonight, it's actually a pretty nice apartment."

With a laugh, Jaehyun immediately followed suit, yanking his sweater off and throwing it aside. His large hands roamed along his muscular torso and arms, dusting any residue from his drenched shirt.

"As much as I enjoy you standing around and admiring the view," his teasing voice broke through your ogling, making you flush, realizing that he was clearly referring to the apartment and not himself. "You'll warm up a lot faster in the shower."

"I appreciate that, however," you looked at him innocently, twirling your wet, loose hair with your fingers. "Are you joining me? Just to, y'know, conserve water and energy or whatever."

Without an ounce of shame, Jaehyun threw his shirt onto the pile with a sly smirk. "My energy and resources are very important, and you're absolutely right."

"Of course," you murmured, your gaze trained onto him. He was more athletic than you had assumed from your observations, his abdominal muscles tensed and his pectoral muscles just as defined. Your hands almost ached to touch the broad, strong shoulders and firm biceps. "Oh, I don't have anything else to change into."

Jaehyun hummed. "I could lend you something, unless you really don't mind me ogling you for the rest of the night."

"Well..." a mischievous smile tugged at your lips as you gestured at him and the amount of exposed skin. "Then you don't mind, huh?"

"Good point, I suppose," he mused, then pointing to the shower and letting out a huff. "Go ahead. I'll wait for you out here."

"Why? Scared?" you wiggled your eyebrows.

Your teasing smirk made him huff indignantly. "Absolutely not."

You laughed as you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bathroom, locking the door and slipping out of your remaining clothes. Jaehyun joined you in unclothing his bottom half, eyes lidded as he watched you step into the spacious, tiled shower, with a large sliding glass door. You turned on the faucet and twisted it, causing warm water to spray down in large droplets.

"God, a warm shower is just what I need," you exhaled with appreciation before catching him still standing outside. "Well, are you getting in?"

He dropped the rest of his clothes before slipping in beside you. You couldn't help but appreciate him—he was quite tall and muscular, very toned in all the right places. Unable to resist, your hands rested on his warm chest, fingers ghosting across the scars scattered across his abdomen. His own hands stroked up your sides and towards your arms, raising goosebumps. The hot steam and the proximity were nearly intoxicating and definitely clouded your minds.

Your body pressed against his, sighing as the heat from the water enveloped you, his lips capturing yours hungrily. Eager to satisfy your own desires, you traced your nails along the length of his arms before sneaking your fingers through his short, wet locks of hair, earning a pleasurable sigh out of him. Jaehyun responded by tightening his grip and moving you away from the stream. He leaned his weight onto you, gently guiding your back against the cool, tile wall.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Y/N," he whispered, mouth pressed against the side of your neck, teeth nibbling the delicate skin. His hot breath against your sensitive skin sent shivers down your spine.

"Surprise me, birthday boy," your eyes flashed, daring him to continue the enticing action.

And that was all it took.

The moment the words left your lips, Jaehyun wasted no time and picked you up with ease, pinning you against the wall. Without him having to ask, you wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Consider yourself surprised," the smirk that crossed his features would have made you roll your eyes if it didn't elicit such a pleasurable response out of you.

Jaehyun used one free hand and intertwined it with yours, pinning it above your head, before his lips, that were wet from the shower, captured your own, giving you a feverish kiss, full of lust. You squealed when you felt the tip of his hardness nudge at your slick entrance before sliding inside. His length filled your warm, throbbing heat completely and caused an involuntary cry out of you when you felt the first thrust, nearly slamming your head against the tile, while he shuddered in satisfaction at the tight feeling engulfing his cock.

Jaehyun rocked his hips, building a slow pace, and with each movement, the friction of his warm skin against yours ignited a delicious, burning sensation. Each moan from him seemed to further add fuel to the fire, sending shivers through you. With each thrust, his pace grew in intensity. Your other hand found its way across his back, nails digging into his shoulder and surely leaving a mark. The water streamed down, washing the fluids down the drain.

Barely managing a coherent word out of your mouth between the soft pants and moans that left your lips, you blurted, "Don't you dare stop. God, this feels good."

Jaehyun squeezed your hand that interlaced his fingers. His pupils were dark with passion. The feeling was mutual for the both of you, bodies screaming, wanting each other and begging for satisfaction. With his free arm, he supported your bottom and held you against him, quickening the movements, pressing further and deeper inside, forcing the most explicit sounds and expressions to escape from your throat. He too didn't make it easier on you. The harder he pounded into you, the louder his moans became and the less coherent he was with his words.

As the ecstasy overwhelmed you both, every emotion seemed intensified. His member, pounding repeatedly into the most sensitive parts of you, and his heavy breaths as he gave you his all, sent waves of euphoria. With each thrust and plunge, every inch of you was set aflame, causing sparks of pleasure to ignite the more sensitive points in your body.

While your limbs were numb and shaking uncontrollably in bliss, you held on tighter. Despite having your thoughts hazy and scrambled, the thought of wanting more of him, more of this, never ceased.

"Jaehyun...bed please?" your voice croaked with want, speaking between your shaky gasps for air. "As much as I like shower sex...the tile is...ahh—hard against my back."

He said nothing in response but groaned his approval.

The pair of you fumbled, managing to hastily dry your damp skin, before Jaehyun scooped you up and walked the short distance towards the large, empty bedroom. With not so gentle movements, he dumped you on the bed. Before you could even register a reaction, he was upon you, his warm body covering yours. You hissed, biting his bottom lip, with the new skin to skin contact and the smooth sheets beneath you.

"Tell me what you wanna do, sweetheart. We got time," his husky whisper made you whine.

"Surprise me again," you smirked. "Come on, what's stopping you?"

Without having to provoke him further, your demand was fulfilled. Jaehyun sat back against the wall, propped up with pillows, then hauled you up to straddle him. He barely gave you time to adjust to a comfortable position before sliding into you slowly, relishing in the gratifying sensations that rushed through his body. You gripped at his shoulders while his lips explored every bit of the skin exposed to him, from the side of your neck, behind your ear, all the way down to the curve of your breast. As he planted an affectionate kiss there, your heart fluttered, before you let out a long and low moan in approval.

"This good? Tell me," his voice was rich and sounded like velvet, tickling your ears as he leaned closer. His hands massaged your ass, spreading apart the soft, warm skin. Your movements began slow and deliberate. As the new angle of penetration caused a more delicious sensation for both, it quickly became difficult to maintain the pace you had originally started at. 

Grinding your hips down, Jaehyun met you halfway and drove his length deeper into your wet heat. Every movement was agonizingly slow, forcing you to focus on the exact movement of him. His tongue languidly flicked at your hardened nipples. Shivers of satisfaction rushed through the sensitive skin and you let out a keening sound, craving his attention. It earned an almost sadistic chuckle from him, and the lazy tempo remained.

A pleading look was on your face as you whined, trying to roll your hips faster and harder. "Harder. Please," you pleaded.

Instead, he placed his strong hands on your waist, forcing you to move slower, all while giving your other nipple the same, languid affection, your impatience being swallowed with a cry. His actions were torturous as the warmth in your stomach was still coiling, barely on the verge of pleasure, yet not near enough to push you to your climax.

"We don't have anywhere else to be right, Y/N?" Jaehyun whispered, pressing another kiss to the side of your breast.

"No, we're alone...mmm. Fuck...just us," you were desperate for friction, almost painfully needing the build-up to hit, grinding your hips and clawing at his skin, urging him to comply. "Please, Jaehyun, we can go slower tomorrow."

"So you're saying that there's a tomorrow?" his gaze met yours and held your stare, all while he continued his unhurried tempo and the gentle ministrations.

"Yes," you promised without hesitation.

He complied, this time picking up the pace like  you demanded of him, but still taking his sweet time enjoying every inch of you. Your breathing hitched as he  met the frenzied need, his groans as needy and excited as your own. His calloused hands found their way towards your back, clutching onto your ass, feeling the supple skin beneath his hands as he urged your body to slide up and down, using your momentum to guide you into a rhythm, occasionally slamming against your heat with such ferocity, you had no doubt it would leave bruises come morning.

"Fuck, you feel so good," his moan was husky and low, while he sucked at your sensitive nipple, his tongue swiping over the nub occasionally. You could barely hold out anymore, holding his face to your breast, hips jutting forth, desperate to take every inch of him, needing more.

"M-More...please," you begged. The next few thrusts were purposeful and rough. Each time his length pierced you, you keened and threw your head back. "Jaehyun."

Your entire body was ablaze, all the heat coming straight from the friction of your wet bodies pressed against each other and the pleasure from your intimate area, contracting around his pulsing member.

"So pretty, saying my name," Jaehyun's breaths were low and throaty, sending delightful vibrations straight through your body. He shifted your weight, now laying on the bed as his long, slender fingers roamed your thighs and his mouth planted loving kisses up the length of your neck, finally reaching the delicate skin of the shell of your ear. His hands slipped beneath the bend of your knees, holding them apart with ease. "Say it again, sweetheart. Let everyone know who's making you feel like this."

"Jaehyun," you called again, hearing him huff, increasing the momentum of each thrust, no longer matching the lazy tempo as he indulged and appreciated your wet, clenching pussy. He reveled in the feeling of your heat tight around him, every contraction, squeezing him and urging him closer to climax.

"Say it again, sweetheart."

"Jaehyun... oh fuck. Don't stop!"

"So wet... so pretty..." He plunged into the warm, wet heat, watching your expression carefully with fascination as the lewd sounds escaped your lips. "Look at you, so pretty all spread out and begging. So needy for me."

Every moan, whimper, and cry from you encouraged him. His cock would pump in, once, twice, until the friction was exactly as you needed to make you cry out, shuddering with pure pleasure as a long and lewd, "Fuucckk," escaped your throat.

Before long, the entire room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed in with lewd and erotic sounds from the pair of you as the two of you fell further into a pleasurable daze. Jaehyun didn't seem to stop, holding on tightly onto you and sucking on the sensitive areas, littering your skin with bright red splotches and darkening hickies. Your senses were overwhelmed, the only coherent thing in your head was the thought of wanting release.

"I'm close," your voice sounded hoarse. “Oh, shit.”

"Can I cum inside you?" His face was serious and a light flush was evident. “Please?”

All you could do was respond with an incoherent hum and a nod. He took that as consent, bringing one hand from your back and in between your thighs. Immediately, he was cupping the flesh between your legs, and with his thumb, he circled your sensitive bundle of nerves, bringing about the sparks of intense bliss. It brought you over the edge, a scream tearing past your throat as waves of pleasure crashed through you and you rode your high. With a low growl and one final, hard thrust, his own warmth coated you and filled you to the hilt, the lewd, wet sound becoming the backdrop to both your heated cries.

The aftershocks of pleasure reverberated through you, sending quivers and uncontrollable shakes in your body. You clung tightly to Jaehyun as you let it slowly subside. For a moment, the room was quiet, and the only sounds were the soft pants from the both of you. You laid there comfortably in his embrace and felt safe and secure.

After a moment passed, Jaehyun spoke up, eyes locked onto yours, with a sort of satisfied, smugness in the smile that lit up his features. "Well, that wasn't too shitty. I'd say I celebrated my birthday and was someone's Valentine as well."

You snickered lightly before returning the grin, adjusting yourself to cup his face tenderly, "You're absolutely right."

Light trickled through the blinds, alerting Jaehyun to the rising dawn, and as such, he let out a muffled sigh. Sinking further into the cotton and warmth beside him, his hands roamed your body until they reached your hips. Without warning, he gripped the flesh tightly, and pressed a soft kiss at the back of your neck.

You groaned softly, shifting your body a bit.

"Wake up," he cooed, the tone was innocent, yet laced with mischief. He pressed himself into you and breathed slowly, carefully, and deliberately on the side of your throat, giving you shivers. "Sleep's over, sweetheart."

"I don't want to wake up," you sighed. Your hair was slightly disheveled, and your voice had a hint of sleep in it, all while Jaehyun refused to relent from the merciless teasing. Instead, he chuckled, dragging his hand further south to tease you by stroking the sensitive flesh of your outer thighs. Another whine escaped your throat and he grinned triumphantly, relishing how pliant you were for him. You were no match for him and the brute, merciless force, as he repeated the tantalizing actions all over again, relishing in how the previous evening played itself over in his head. "Really? After the night we had? How do you still have energy?"

"Waking up to a beautiful woman naked in my bed seems like good motivation to start the day," Jaehyun mumbled, his face buried into the crook of your shoulder, letting his body press even closer into the frame of your own, savoring how soft your form was against him. The slight pressure and friction gave him another reminder of the fact he was very much naked, very much excited, and very much ready, which he demonstrated to you.

You rolled your eyes, a huff a laughter escaping you, "Fuck you."

"Been there, done that, sweetheart. It's pretty awesome, you know," he retorted.

You let out another low, tired laugh, burying yourself deep into his embrace before adding, "You are full of it, Jaehyun."

His deep chuckles resonated throughout the room as he stared at you fondly. "I like waking up next to you."

It caught you by surprise, but you decided to reciprocate. After all, why not? "I like waking up next to you." Your voice was muffled, though still discernible, as you hid yourself in the pillow. "So I was thinking..."

"Hm?" he grunted.

"Can we keep seeing each other?" you asked. "You know, go on dates, actually get to know each other and stuff. Romantic and fun shit that, usually, we miss out on in relationships. Hell, I'm not sure what this even is, and I probably look like an idiot, but I really enjoyed last night and waking up next to you...so...do you wanna give it a shot?"

Jaehyun took his time in answering. He removed the hands from the most delicate part of your skin. Without waiting a beat longer, Jaehyun rolled over and pushed you to lie on your back, allowing his body to partially cover your form. The movement was graceful and with such ease that your eyes fluttered open to find him pinning your wrists on either side.

"It doesn't have to be serious or anything, just keep it casual if you want," you tried to speak over the lump in your throat and the knot in your stomach.

However, instead of agreeing or even disagreeing with you, Jaehyun leaned in and captured your lips, silencing any potential words that might have left them. A feverish and needy passion was present in the languid kisses. You responded in kind, eagerly parting your lips and allowing him to dominate you.

There was no fight, no sense of struggling—you gladly gave in and allowed yourself to become vulnerable. There was a silent exchange, and with a slight flick of your hips, you parted your legs for him. He groaned happily and relished in the opportunity to deepen the embrace, his hot, hard length pressing against your throbbing, damp warmth. You couldn't stop the moans or the reactions from your body.

After several minutes passed, the pair of you broke from the lip lock. Both of you panted from the kiss, lips bruised.

"Is that a no?" your chest rose and fell rapidly.

"Sweetheart, I'm thinking of ways to bend you over and show you exactly what kind of relationship I want with you," he answered.

A soft peal of laughter escaped your lips as his mouth occupied itself in nipping your soft spots, igniting shivers down the column of your throat. "Have it your way then," you hissed between moans, spreading your legs wider to accommodate him. "You won't be buying me roses anytime soon, right?"

Jaehyun rolled his eyes with a light scoff. "How can I forget the way you dumped those roses on the ground yesterday?" He continued as he began the slow rocking, with your nails digging at his broad, muscular back. "Maybe I'll buy you other kinds of flowers."

"Bold of you to assume that I like flowers," you scoffed. "Bold. Really fucking bold, you know that, Jaehyun?"

Another dry huff of laughter. "Ah, I see I'll have to fix that then."

[aayakashii]

For seven days, I'll be posting Valentine's Day themed headcanons for each House in Tokyo Debunker!

All prompts come from this post here ♡

And dividers are from @saradika-graphics 🫶

Taglist: @wannaberecluse

Frostheim | Vagastrom | Jabberwock | Sinostra | Hotarubi | Obscuary | Mortkranken

Valentine’s Day in Vagastrom

Alan

how does he show affection?

Through his hands. He is always touching you somehow. If he's nearby, his hands will rest on the top of your head or on your shoulders. Alan's not that good at expressing himself through words, but the way he's constantly drawing impossibly closer to your body leaves no doubt in your mind – he craves you near.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He loves them, but will always be hesitant to give them first due to his insecurities. Alan absolutely melts, however, when you settle yourself on his chest and hug him tightly – fondness for you immediately warming his heart and allowing him to hold you just a bit closer. His hugs feel like safety; you found your rock and it will be your very own shelter forevermore.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's quite aware that he's awful at flirting, which is why he doesn't even try. He does compliment you frequently – and meanwhile, his hand goes up to rub his neck in order to dispel the embarrassment, and his eyes are cast downwards. He would love to be able to look at you properly the next time he says you look pretty.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He tries his best, but Alan probably doesn't even realize Valentine's Day is coming around until he overhears some students talking about the date. At that point, there's no time to go out anymore (it's already Valentine's Day after all). So he'll most definitely give you the safe options: chocolate and flowers. He'll try harder next year (he'll ask someone to put a reminder on his phone).

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

He falls fast, but it takes him a long time to come to terms with it. Thoughts of being unworthy of you are too loud in his mind most of the time, and he pushes the need to be close to you deep into the corners of his consciousness. When it all boils over and he can't hide it behind his stoic façade anymore, he finally gives in to you and to his emotions, tired (but also relieved).

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Extremely hard. He knows he feels it, that's for sure. But his whole life, he talked with his punches. The words feel weird in his tongue, and it frustrates him. He can only hope he's clearly conveying his feelings for you every time you hug each other. He hopes you feel it all, right there, in the pores of his skin. And you do.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Not really. He trusts you, even though his confidence might falter and the self-deprecating thoughts might take hold for a moment. You're quick to know when to reassure him, so all the negative emotions dissipate as soon as you hold his hand again.

what is his ideal date?

Wherever you want to go with him. He doesn't have a secret spot, nor a safe place to show you. His garage doesn't feel proper, and the campus holds too many memories he would rather not think about during a date. Wherever you decide to go, it'll be fine with him, as long as you're there.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He doesn't expect anything, honestly. He's fine with just being together, but if you propose to him, he will obviously say yes (after a long, awkward moment of silence in which he was trying to get his bearings straight). If you want HIM to propose to you, you'll have to tell him and express your wishes.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

Never really thought of it, doesn't really care about it, but he saw the way GA students were fretting about it, so he figured you might be into the date, like them. If you care, he cares. That's basically it.

does he get protective easily?

He's EXTREMELY protective. Acts like a guard dog – a menacing shadow that follows you around and glares at anyone that might try some funny business. Sometimes, you have to tell him to relax and just enjoy the stroll with you, but his doberman senses just won't turn off, ever.

does he believe in true love?

He never thought much of it. He knows he loves you, so it must be real. He wonders if he deserves such a delicate, sweet experience like being truly in love with you. And every day, you make sure he knows he does.

Leo

how does he show affection?

He would rather be caught dead than explicitly show you genuine affection. Instead, he'll be calling you annoying while draping his legs on your lap and laying his head on the crook of your neck. He expresses his true feelings every single time he clings onto you, never letting go as soon as you come around his vicinity.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He hugs you like it's second nature. He's unable to stand beside you and not hold you somehow, all while acting as if him clinging onto you like a koala is perfectly normal. If you try to hug him, however, he'll throw a hissy fit, much like a cat that doesn't want to be pet.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's fantastic when it comes to flirting ironically with ANYONE. When it comes to flirting genuinely with you, however, he simply malfunctions – much to his dismay, his cheeks burn bright red, he stutters stupidly and Leo wishes a hole could open up in the ground and swallow him. He's great at getting what he wants from others; terrible at getting what he wants from you.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He knows exactly what to give you. But he also thinks about how he could entertain his followers. He'll most likely film your reaction when he gives you the trendiest, most expensive Valentine's gift and relish on the compliments of his fans as they call him a great boyfriend. But don't worry. Once the camera is off, he hands you a smaller, more thoughtful gift. All while saying he just doesn't want you to whine about him not paying attention to you.

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

He gives his heart to you slowly, little piece by little piece. He doesn't like the vulnerability, nor how much trust is involved with handing you his heart. Therefore, it might take a while until he feels completely comfortable with the thought of being wholly yours.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

He never says it, preferring just to think to himself. You've learned to hear the fondness that coats his voice whenever he's thinking that, though. The way his eyes are half-lidded, his smile is sincere, and how he calls you "silly" – which is probably the closest to a compliment that you'll get for a long time.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

He's painfully jealous of everyone and everything. If someone just touches you accidentally, he will go into a fit of jealous rage. Under all the layers of nonchalance and assertiveness, Leo is terribly insecure. He doesn't realize his rage stems from jealousy, nor does he know his jealousy comes from the fear of being left behind. He just lets that green little monster take over his body until you manage to calm him down, and he finally retracts his fangs.

what is his ideal date?

Surprisingly, he wouldn't mind turning off his phone for a little while to spend quality time with you. He would like somewhere calm and quiet, that wouldn't overwhelm his senses. An onsen in a small town isn't exactly the type of place you'd imagine Leo visiting, but if it's to spend time focusing on you, he would very much prefer that.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He wants to ask because he wants it to be pompous and glamorous. He wants to post the photos on his sns, obviously, but more than anything, he wants to keep the memory of every meaningful date for you two registered on as many photos as possible.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

He never cared about it, but loved to pretend he's looking forward to it whenever he posts. His flings were never important enough to warrant celebrating Valentine's together, but with you, he's finally gonna know the true experience. You could say he's kinda looking forward to it for real now.

does he get protective easily?

Not really. Most times, he's the one playing damsel in distress. If push comes to shove, however, he'll change his inoffensive behavior in the blink of an eye.

does he believe in true love?

Leo is too much of a skeptical man to believe in things that come from fairytales. But he's open to changing his mind if you want to give it a shot.

Sho

how does he show affection?

He doesn't hesitate to hold you and say sweet words into your ear, but his most genuine way of showing affection is through food. Whenever he asks if you've already eaten, what do you want to eat, if you'd like to try his new recipe – these are all his very own ways of saying he cares deeply about you.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He loves them, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up with every chance he gets. If you hug him first, he takes that as permission to just keep holding you wherever he goes, like you're just a little keychain. His hugs feel grounding and you can feel the comforting scent of bread and cake emanating from his clothes (even if he doesn't even work with pastries).

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's annoyingly good. It genuinely feels like he was born with this skill and he makes good use of it with you. He's all lazy smiles and half-lidded eyes whenever you pass by, kisses in empty rooms with promises of more and compliments that leave you fuzzy and floaty.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He's great at gift giving, especially because he's very into making your gifts himself. He's a crafty man and don't people say that handmade gifts are more thoughtful? He'll make you a whole bouquet of paper flowers, carefully painted, that will never wither AND homemade chocolate. And you just know that chocolate is more delicious than any store-bought brand.

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

He goes at a normal pace, but once he realizes he has feelings for you, he feels like a middle school kid with a crush. What do you mean he stutters and blushes whenever you're around? He's an adult, for fuck's sake. He confesses to you like he's ripping a band-aid off. He just wanted to get over it as quick and painlessly as possible, shoving his heart into your hands for you to do whatever you want – step on it, throw it away or keep it safe. He was more than relieved when you decided to give yours in return.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

He's still embarrassed by it, so it's quite hard. He says it during meaningful moments, but it still comes out of his lips a bit too stilted. He loves you, he does, but he also has years of building an aloof persona on his back – it was his defense mechanism. It'll take a little while to destroy those walls.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Not that much, he just gets mad at the audacity of some people to try and shoot their shot with you. He's quick to appear right by your side and hold you tight and close to him, just to let them know that you're with him.

what is his ideal date?

Sho loves to go to every type of festival with you. Spending time with you trying different foods, finding silly matching trinkets, and playing all sorts of rigged games – that's a perfect day in his book. And of course, the day has to end with you two cuddling after spending so much energy outside.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He doesn't have a preference, honestly. It doesn't matter who asks, if it's you or him, all that matters is that both of you will say yes and start a new chapter of your life together.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

Before his food truck, he really didn't care. After his food truck, he just thought it was a great sale opportunity. After you, however, he began seeing it under a new light: a holiday to look forward to, a chance to make it a special day for the two of you.

does he get protective easily?

Very much so, but he's subtle about it. Like when he's jealous, he just stays nearby, ready to step in if anyone ends up being an actual threat.

does he believe in true love?

Sho used to think that these types of things are embarrassing, even a little childish, but when he looks at your figure whenever you're sleeping beside him, he can't help but believe in it a little bit.

[cherrriesinthespring]

Number 1 pretty pleaseee, maybe spencer like punishing reader for being impatient with giving her multiple orgasms

okay so I twisted this.. I was thinking of doing the multiple orgasms for another prompt request I've received but I hope you like it either way!!

warnings: blowjob, reader swallows, mention of knees aching, kinda rough but he's still a sweetie

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

tears filled your eyes, blurring what was once your sweet boyfriend, now almost a blob of peach. your knees ached, sore and probably bruised, this was harder than you thought. when spencer first asked you to suck him off, he was all nervous and shy about it, you never expected how quickly that gentleness would fade.

he'd heard you talking one night, it was over the phone, so he shouldn't have heard... too late now. you're a big gossip, having your friend on the phone and discussing your sex life was a regular thing. you never bashed spencer for how caring he was, how sweet he was. all you said was "it's almost as if he doesn't have a rough bone in his body"

you were so, so wrong. tonight he had you down immediately, practically ordered you like a dog to "sit." and it sent shivers through your entire body. he made you unbutton his trousers, pull down his boxers, do all of it yourself because "you can start working for this in future" it sent your head spinning. you'd practically do anything if he asked you, begging or not.

hair tight in one fist, your face resting in the other, you sit under him on the hardwood of your bedroom floor. spencers hand grazing your cheek lightly as he praises you.

"it's okay, you can take more, it'll fit" he pushes, and slowly slides more between your lips which causes you to gag. he pulls back after registering what he'd done, he didn't want to purposely hurt you. doesn't mean he doesn't want to feel good though, so when you nod, telling him you're ready, he abruptly pushes all the way in.

his hand slips through the chunk of hair he'd gripped, letting it go so you could pull back. you gasped for air.

“i can’t keep going” the lust in your eyes, the way you lean forward as if begging for more tells him differently. your throat is in so much pain, and maybe you can't carry on, but you'd happily try if he asked. or demanded.

"aw, too bad, I don't care" he mumbles, he seems nervous to say it, your whine earns a smile from above. tapping your cheek twice, almost to say "open" you do, hollowing out your cheeks for him as your lips wrap around his cock once again. hes much lighter on you, not as gentle as usual, it just concerned him when you struggled to speak.

he thrusts lightly into your mouth, he doesn't go hard, enough to feel that he's inching further in every time, and also getting closer. he spills down your throat without an intelligible warning, but you could tell anyway.

"you did perfect, thank you so much" he kneels down to you, peppering your face with kisses. you stick out your tongue, his cum covering it. he's about to offer that you spit it out somewhere, instead you swallow it.

his smile widens even further, hes so fond of you it's unreal.