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rafayelxsylusho · 3 days ago

Note

the jealous fic series is sooo good! can’t wait for the sylus one

I almost forgot about my man. Thanks for reminding me!

Hope you like it!!

How the LADS men fu€k jealousy out of you.

TW: SMUT

***There is a quote from a book that some of you have probably read before, I just really wanted to use it in one of sylus fics😊😊***

Sylus 🐦‍⬛

You had been looking forward to surprising Sylus at home, craving some much needed alone time with him after recent missions that kept you apart. However, once you got to his place you found the house quiet and empty. No sign of Sylus anywhere. A flicker of concern began to rise in your chest as you wandered the halls, calling out his name, but only the echo of your own voice greeted you.

You found Luke and Kieran in the study, engaged in their usual antics, lounging on the plush leather sofas, having a lively discussion that ended abruptly when they noticed you.

"Look Kieran, our favorite hunter came to visit," Luke drawled. "Here to see the boss man, y/n?"

Kieran sat up and offered you a genuine smile. "Boss isn't here at the moment," he explained "He's been called away to attend a rather important auction tonight."

"Auction?" you asked, frowning. "What auction?"

Luke leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The big one. The one everyone's talking about. The one boss has been prepping for all week."

You try to recall any mention of an important auction Sylus had spoken of, but as much as you rack your brain you come up empty. It's not like him to keep something like this a secret from you. A flicker of concern crosses your face as you wonder why he wouldn't have mentioned it to you directly.

"So, when will he be back?" you asked, trying to sound casual even as you felt a flutter of disappointment at his absence.

Kieran shrugged. "Hard to say. These things can go on for hours. Days even. Depends on how stubborn the other bidders are."

Luke snorted. "And how determined Sylus is to win."

You find yourself waiting for Sylus to return home from the mysterious auction. The hours tick by, and to pass the time, you decide to engage in some friendly competition with Luke and Kieran. The three of you spend the next couple of hours engrossed in a highspeed, adrenaline pumping videogame.

In between races, you raid the well stocked kitchen, returning with an array of tasty treats and Sylus' prized collection of gourmet chocolates.

As the night wears on you can't help but glance at the clock more frequently, wondering what's keeping Sylus. A regular auction should have ended by now, and while he is known for his meticulous attention to business dealings, this delay is starting to feel a bit longer than usual.

You decide to reach out to Sylus. You pull out your phone and dial his his private number, the one reserved for emergencies and urgent matters. After a few rings, his deep, smooth voice fills your ear.

"Y/n, what is it?" his tone unusually distracted. It's clear that he's in the midst of something important, his words clipped and hurried. The sound of muffled voices and distant commotion can be heard in the background, hinting at a crowded and chaotic environment.

"Hey, I'm at your place with Luke and Kieran," you explain, trying to keep your own voice casual despite the unease you feel. "I've been waiting for you to come home. Is everything alright?"

There's a pause, and you can almost hear the gears turning in Sylus' mind as he considers his response. "Yes, everything's fine," he says at last "This auction... it's taking longer than expected. Complications arose with a few of the other attendees." He sighs, and you can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, a telltale sign of his exasperation and stress. "I'm doing what I can to wrap things up, but it may be a while."

Your heart skips a beat as you hear a woman's voice, a stranger's melodic tone. The woman's words are muffled, but her term of endearment "Sylus darling" rings out crystal clear through the phone speaker.

You stiffen, gripping the phone tighter as a flurry of unwelcome thoughts and emotions wash over you. A cold, sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach, and you suddenly feel like an intruder in the intimate moment.

"I apologize, kitten, but I must go," Sylus says abruptly, his voice tight and strained. "I'll deal with this and be home as soon as I can. Wait for me" With that, he ends the call, leaving you staring at your phone in stunned disbelief.

"Shit, was that Ira?" Luke asks looking at Kieran.

Your head snaps up as Luke's question hangs in the air, a sense of confusion etched on your face. Kieran, noticing your expression, quickly elbows Luke to silence him, shooting him a warning glare.

"Shh, don't be an idiot," Kieran hisses under his breath, though not quiet enough that you don't hear him. "You shouldn't go around throwing around names like that without knowing for sure."

Kieran clears his throat, his expression turning somber as he sees the confusion and hurt in your eyes. "Ira is just an old business partner of Sylus," he explains carefully, choosing his words with deliberate precision. "They have a history together, but it's all about work. Nothing more.

Unable to shake the sense of unease in your gut, you eventually make your way upstairs to Sylus' bedroom, hoping to find some sense of comfort and familiarity in the space that has become so closely associated with the man you've come to love so deeply. You curl up on the plush, king-sized bed, inhaling the faint scent of Sylus' cologne that still lingers on the silken sheets. As exhaustion finally overtakes you, you drift off to a fitful sleep, your dreams fragmented images of Sylus and the unknown woman, their figures intertwined in ways that make your heart ache with a painful, jealous fervor.

When you awaken sometime later, the first light of dawn just beginning to peek through the curtains, you reach out instinctively for Sylus, only to find the space beside you cold and empty. You check your phone, hoping for a message or a call, but there is nothing.

You know you can't stay here, not like this, not with the way your mind is racing. The feelings inside you threaten to consume you, jealousy, anger, and a deep, abiding fear of losing the man you love.

As you zip up your backpack, the weight of your decision to leave Sylus' place feels both heavy and necessary. You take a deep breath and make your way back to your apartment.

Once inside the familiar confines of your own space the memory of Tara's camping invitation surfaces, and you realize that the solitude of the city may be more than you can bear in your current state of mind. Without hesitation, you pull out your phone and dial Tara's number, praying that she hasn't already made other plans or filled the available spots on her trip. She answers on the second ring, her voice bright and cheerful.

"Hey, Tara," you say, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. "I know I already declined the camping trip, but... I've changed my mind. If the offer still stands, I'd love to join you and the team this weekend."

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line, and you can almost hear the surprise and delight in Tara's voice as she responds. "Of course, y/n! You're more than welcome to join us. I'm so glad you changed your mind," she says warmly, her words a balm to your battered soul. You thank Tara profusely, already feeling a weight lift from your shoulders at the prospect of escaping the city and the thoughts on your mind.

During the trip Tara and the rest of the team were wonderful hosts, ensuring that you were kept busy and distracted with hikes, campfire stories, and hearty meals. As the night of the trip wears on you lose yourself in the simple joys of the outdoors, the smell of pine needles and woodsmoke, the distant hooting of an owl, the warmth of your friends gathered around the flickering fire. Slowly but surely, the tightness in your chest begins to ease, and the painful thoughts of Sylus and the mysterious woman start to recede.

By the time the weekend draws to a close, you feel a sense of calm wash over you, the fresh air and company of your friends having done wonders to clear your head. The feelings of jealousy are still there, lingering in the back of your mind, but they no longer threaten to consume you as they once did.

As you step into your apartment in the late afternoon, the familiar scent of home envelops you, offering a sense of comfort and security that you desperately crave. The weight of the weekend's emotions and the long journey back to the city have left you exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Without hesitation, you make your way to the bathroom, eager to wash away the grime and weariness of the past couple of days. As the hot water cascades over your skin, you let out a sigh, allowing the steam to fill your lungs and cleanse your mind.

You linger in the shower for longer than necessary, the heat of the water soothing your aching muscles and helping to melt away the lingering tension that has taken up residence in your body. By the time you step out, your skin is pink and tingling, and a sense of renewed energy courses through your veins.

As you towel yourself dry, you remember the need to charge your phone, which had died during the camping trip due to the lack of a reliable power source. You pad out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of damp footprints on the hardwood floor as you make your way to your backpack. Fishing out your phone from the depths of the bag, you plug it in and watch as the screen flickers to life, the dim glow illuminating your face, the phone chimes and you take a deep breath before unlocking the screen. The anticipation of seeing Sylus' name among the list of notifications makes your heart race in your chest, a mix of hope and dread swirling within you.

As the messages load, you scan the list of senders, your eyes widening as you realize that there is not a single one from Sylus among them. You set your phone down on the kitchen counter, the glow of the screen illuminating the darkened room as you rummage through the cabinets for a glass. The house feels strangely quiet, a stark contrast to the lively chatter and laughter that filled the campsite just hours before. As you fill your glass with cool, refreshing water and take a long sip, you can't help but let your mind wander back to the memory of Sylus' curt goodbye and the sound of that woman's voice, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth that even the cold water can't wash away.

You set the glass down with a heavy sigh, your reflection staring back at you from the darkened window above the sink. In the dim light, you can see the weariness etched into the lines of your face, the shadows beneath your eyes a testament to the restless nights, and just as you're about to turn away from the window, a sudden movement outside catches your eye. You lean closer, peering out into the darkness, and your heart leaps into your throat as you see a tall, familiar figure standing beneath the dim glow of the streetlamp.

It's Sylus.

He stands motionless, his dark silhouette unmistakable even at this distance. He seems to be looking directly at your window, though you're not sure if he can actually see you through the darkness and the reflection on the glass. You take a tentative step back from the window, lots of questions race through your mind. What is Sylus doing here? How long has he been waiting? You freeze at the sound of a knock, your heart leaping into your throat as a wave of panic and adrenaline surges through your body. The knock comes again, more insistent this time, the sound of Sylus' fist against the wood unmistakable.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart as you make your way towards the door. You pause for a moment, your hand on the doorknob, and take one last steadying breath before turning the knob and pulling the door open.

"Sylus," you say, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. "What are you doing here?"

Even in the dim light of the hallway, you can see the intensity of his gaze, the crimson eyes that seem to pierce right through you, seeing straight into your very soul. He's dressed in a dark shirt and pants, his hair slightly disheveled, as if he's been running his hands through it in agitation.

"Hello kitten" Sylus murmurs, "how was your trip?"

"It was fine," you say shortly. "How did you know I went on a trip?"

Your mind races as you wonder how Sylus could possibly know about your last-minute decision to join Tara and the others for the weekend. You didn't mention it to anyone. So how did he find out?

Sylus leans against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space. He looks tired, you notice, the lines around his eyes a little deeper than usual. But there's a intensity to his gaze, a fierce focus that makes your heart skip a beat.

"I have my ways," he says, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips "The real question is, why did you leave without telling me?" His voice is low and smooth, but there's an undercurrent of frustration beneath the calm exterior.

"Come in," you say softly, stepping back to allow him entry. As Sylus steps into your apartment, you can't help but feel a shiver run down your spine, his broad shoulders brushing against the doorframe as he moves past you.

Sylus turns to face you, his crimson eyes searching yours in the dim light cast by the single lamp you left on before your trip. He looks different in the low light, softer somehow, the harsh angles of his face gentled by the shadows. But there's still a intensity to his gaze, a fierce determination that makes your heart race in your chest.

You stand there, clutching the towel tightly around your body. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of the emotions that have been building for days.

"Well? Are you going to invite me to sit down, or are we going to stand here all night?" There's a undercurrent of impatience in his voice, a frustration that belies the casual tone.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, and gesture towards the couch. "Of course, please, make yourself comfortable," you say, the words sound too formal to your own ears.

You turn to head to your bedroom, suddenly feeling the chill of the air on your damp skin beneath the thin towel "I'm going to change," you say over your shoulder, not looking back at him as you make your way to your bedroom.

You gasp as you feel Sylus' strong hand grab the back of your neck, his fingers curling around the damp skin and pulling you gently but firmly towards him. The sudden contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, your heart stuttering in your chest as you find your back pressed against the firm wall of his chest.

"Sylus," you breathe out "what are you doing?"

His other hand comes to rest on your hip, his long fingers splaying across the curve of your waist, holding you firmly in place. You can feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of the towel, the warmth seeping into your flesh and making your pulse race.

Sylus leans down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear as he speaks, his voice a low murmur. "I couldn't let you walk away without getting an answer first," he says, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me, kitten, why did you leave without telling me? There's a undercurrent of emotion in his voice, a frustration that he can't quite hide. His grip on your neck tightens slightly, not enough to cause pain, but enough to make it clear that he has no intention of letting you go until he gets the answers he wants. You can feel the tension radiating off him, the coiled energy of a man on the brink of losing control. It both frightens and exhilarates you, the power he holds in his hands, the way he can make you feel with a single touch.

"Sylus, please," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you try to pull away from him. "Not like this. I can't think straight when you touch me like this."

Sylus chuckles darkly, a low, rumbling sound that you can feel vibrating through his chest pressed against your back. His fingers tighten briefly on your hip before releasing you, only to trail slowly up the curve of your side, his touch feather light and teasing. "Like what, kitten?" he murmurs in your ear. "I haven't even touched you yet, not the way I want to. Not the way you need me to."

His hand reaches the side of your breast, his fingers grazing the swell of it through the damp towel. You can feel your nipple tightening in response, betraying your body's desire for his touch.

"Tell me why you left, y/n," Sylus demands, his voice hardening with impatience. "And don't lie to me."

You take a shaky breath, Sylus' proximity and touch making it hard to focus on anything else. "I...I needed some time to myself," you admit "To clear my head and think things through."

Sylus' hand stills on your breast, his fingers curling possessively around the soft mound. "Think things through about what?" he asks, a hint of something dark and dangerous lurking beneath the smooth surface of his voice.

You swallow hard, knowing you can't avoid the conversation any longer. "About us," you confess, the words falling from your lips "About what this...thing is between us. I didn't know how to handle it, so I left."

His lips brush against your shoulder, the ghost of a kiss that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. You can feel the heat of his breath, the dampness of his tongue as he traces the curve of your collarbone. "Tell me, kitten," he breathes against your skin, "is this what you needed to escape from? Me, touching you like this? Wanting you like this?"

His hand slides down your arm, his fingers intertwining with yours. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"Because if it is, I can make it so much worse. Or so much better," Sylus promises darkly "All you have to do is say the word, sweetie."

"Who is she, sy?" You whisper, words barely audible but you know he heard you. Sylus' teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips curling into a smirk against your flesh. He knows exactly what you're asking, but he's in no hurry to answer, not when he has you like this bare, breathless, and at his mercy.

His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your skin, the dampness of the water that clings to you. "You know, for someone who needed to clear their head, you seem awfully focused on her." Sylus' hand slides down to your waist, his fingers splaying possessively over your stomach. The evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your backside as he holds you close.

"Ira is someone I knew from my past. We were discussing a mutual investment opportunity. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about."

"Is that so?" you ask, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Sylus chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. He nips at your neck again, a little harder this time, sending a jolt of sensation straight down your spine.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, kitten," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. "But I must admit, it's...intriguing. Seeing this side of you, the side that wants to claw and scratch and mark what's hers."

Sylus spins you around to face him, his hands gripping your hips tightly. With a sharp tug, he yanks the towel down, baring your breasts to the cool air of the apartment. Your nipples pebble instantly, peaks tightening under the sudden exposure and the intensity of Sylus' gaze. His hands slide up your ribcage, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, teasing the sensitive skin. You can feel the calluses on his fingers, the evidence of his power and strength, the way he could take you and claim you and make you his. His hands still on your breasts, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he holds you in place. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, his crimson eyes blazing with an intensity that steals your breath away. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, filled with raw emotion.

"What makes you think I could ever look at another woman the way I look at you?" Sylus asks "Do you have any idea what it's like, y/n, to be consumed by someone, to have them under your skin, in your blood, in every fucking beat of your heart?"

He leans in closer, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the power and the hunger that he keeps leashed, barely contained. Sylus' eyes flash with a mix of anger and pain, his grip on your breasts tightening almost uncomfortably. His voice drops to a low, fervent whisper "I've waited lifetimes for you, kitten, dreaming of the day I could hold you again, touch you again, make you mine again."

His thumb brushes over your nipple roughly, sending a jolt of sensation through you. "And this is what I get in return? You, running from me, doubting me?" Sylus' voice rises, the anger and the hurt bleeding through every word. His eyes darken with a predatory gleam, a smirk spreading across his face as he sees the fear and excitement in your eyes. His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, his voice a low, sinful purr. "Go ahead, kitten. Run. See how far you get before I catch you." Sylus' hand slides down to your ass, squeezing the flesh roughly. "Run, If I catch you, I fuck you"

The dark promise in his voice sends a thrill of fear and anticipation down your spine. Acting on instinct, you wrench yourself out of his grasp and turn to run, your bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor as you race up the stairs to your bedroom. You can hear Sylus' footsteps behind you, his long strides eating up the distance between you. Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you reach the top of the stairs. You don't look back, you don't dare to see if he's close.

Just as you think you're about to reach the safety of your bedroom, you feel Sylus' Evol envelop you. An unseen force lifts you off your feet, strong and unyielding, pulling you back towards him. You let out a startled yelp, your hands grasping at the empty air as you're lifted higher, your bare breasts bouncing slightly with the movement.

"Sylus!" you cry out, a mix of fear and excitement lacing your voice. You're suspended in mid-air, towel no longer wrapped over the lower half of your body, your legs kicking futilely as you try to find purchase on the carpeted stairs.

"Did I say you could run that far, kitten?" Sylus' voice comes from behind you, dark and amused. You feel his presence looming over you, the heat of his body, the power radiating off him in waves. "I told you, I'd catch you. And now, I'm going to claim my prize."

Sylus' hands grip your bare thighs, his fingers sinking into your soft flesh as he hoists you over his shoulder. He carries you effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all, his steps never faltering as he walks towards your bedroom. You find yourself staring at his back, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the way his shirt stretches taut over the muscles beneath.

When he reaches your room, he kicks the door open, the wood slamming against the wall with a bang. He carries you inside and with a few more strides, he reaches the bed and tosses you onto it, your naked body bouncing on the mattress. You land on your back, your breasts heaving as you catch your breath. Sylus looms over you, his crimson eyes glinting in the low light, a smile playing on his lips. He takes in the sight of you, sprawled out and bare before him.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, your heart pounding as you watch Sylus remove his clothing. He starts with his tie, yanking it off and tossing it carelessly to the side. His fingers move to his shirt buttons next, undoing them one by one with deliberate slowness, as if he's savoring the anticipation of revealing what lies beneath. As he shrugs off his shirt, your breath catches in your throat. The dim light from the hallway casts shadows across the planes of his chest, highlighting the defined muscles, the sculpted abs, the V that disappears into his pants. You remember how his skin feels beneath your fingertips, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and your core clenches with sudden, desperate need. His hands move to his belt next, undoing the buckle with a sharp tug. The leather slips from his pants, falling to the floor with a soft thud. He undoes his fly slowly, inch by inch, until finally, he's shoving his pants and boxers down his long legs. He kicks them off to the side.

Sylus stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You've seen me like this before," he says softly, his voice rough with desire. "But I don't think you've ever really seen me. Not like I want you to see me." He crawls over you, his large frame covering your smaller one as he settles his hips between your thighs, the hard length of him pressing against your core. His hands come up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his intense gaze.

"You should know very well that I adore you," Sylus murmurs, his voice low with emotion. "There is no love purer than mine" His crimson eyes search yours, the intensity of his feeling burning into your very soul. "But right now," he continues, his voice dropping an octave, turning dark and dangerous. "Right now, I'm going to fuck you like I hate you." His grip on your face tightens, his fingers digging into your skin.

Before you can process it he's thrusting forward, burying himself deep inside your tight, wet heat. A scream tears from his throat as he hilts himself fully, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. "FUCK!" Sylus roars, his voice echoing off the walls of your bedroom. At the same time, a scream of pleasure and surprise rips from your own throat, your back arching off the bed, "SYLUS!" you cry out, your voice breaking on a moan as he stretches you, fills you, completes you in a way that feels so right and so perfect.

For a moment, he stays still, buried deep inside you, his heart pounding against your chest, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. Then he starts to move, withdrawing until just the tip of his cock remains inside you, only to slam back in with a powerful thrust. "Oh god, Sylus!" you cry out, your voice hitching and breaking as he drives into you again and again. Your nails rake down his back, leaving red welts in their wake as you cling to him, your body rocking with the force of his thrusts.

Sylus feels your legs wrap tightly around his waist, your ankles locking at the small of his back. With an approving growl, he sits back on his knees, bringing you up with him. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he changes the angle of his thrusts, now driving up into you from below. "Fuck, just like that," Sylus grunts, his voice filled with lust. "Hold onto me, kitten. Wrap those pretty legs around me tighter." His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he pulls you down onto his cock, meeting his upward thrusts with a force that steals your breath away

You can feel every thick, hard inch of him as he fills and stretches you, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his length. The new position allows him to go even deeper, his cock kissing your cervix with every powerful thrust. You throw your head back, a silent scream of ecstasy on your lips as the pleasure builds and builds inside you. Sylus knows your body intimately, understands what buttons to push, what touches will send you flying. And right now, he's determined to draw this out, to make this last as long as possible. He wants to feel you come undone around him again and again, wants to hear you scream his name until your voice is hoarse and raw. So he restrains himself, ignoring the desperate pleas of your body as your hips buck and writhe against his, seeking more friction, more stimulation.

He keeps his hands on your hips, holding you, preventing you from chasing your pleasure. His hands avoid your throbbing clit, his lips and teeth avoid your aching nipples, even as they map your neck, your collarbone, the sensitive skin behind your ears.

"Please, Sylus," you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, your nails scraping his scalp. "Please, I need..." You can't even finish the sentence, too lost in sensation, too desperate for release.

"I know," Sylus murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "I know exactly what you need, kitten. But I'm not going to give it to you. Not yet." He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, a twist of his hips that has you seeing stars. "You're going to come on my cock when I say you can come on my cock," Sylus commands, his voice low and dangerous. "And not a moment before."

Sylus uses all his strength to drag your hips down his length with brutal force. Your body is no longer your own as he manhandles you, using you for his pleasure. Each powerful thrust drives the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, your tits bouncing wildly with every slam of his hips against yours.

"Fuck, your cunt feels incredible," Sylus growls, his eyes wild and fevered as he watches your body jolt and quake with his relentless pounding. "So fucking tight and wet and perfect. Made to take my cock". Your mind starts to go hazy, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm as he fucks you.

"Sylus!" you scream, your voice raw and broken as he rails into you. "Sylus, please, I can't...I can't..." But your protests only seem to spur him on, his thrusts growing harder, faster, more demanding.

Sylus leans in, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh at the top of your breast, marking you. He bites down hard enough to make you cry out, the mix of pain and pleasure short circuiting your brain for a moment. As he releases your skin, he laves the reddened mark with his tongue, soothing the sting.

"Do you want some help, kitten?" Sylus murmurs, his voice a low against your skin. He rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis against your aching clit, giving you a momentary respite from the relentless pounding. He waits for your response, his eyes glinting with a dark, knowing amusement. "Yes? No? Maybe so?" His tone is playful, taunting, as if he knows exactly what your answer will be. He reaches in between your bodies, his fingers find and circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, pushing you to the very edge of ecstasy. Your hips buck wildly against his hand, seeking more, craving more.

"Yes, Sylus," you manage to gasp out, your voice ragged and breathless." Please..please..please.." Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin.

"That's my good girl," he purrs, rewarding your submission with a hard thrust. "Now, come for me, kitten. Come all over my cock. Let go, y/n . Give yourself to me completely."

With that command, Sylus leans down and drags the flat of his tongue over your nipple, the wet heat sending a shock of pleasure through your body. At the same time, his fingers find your clit, pinching the sensitive nub between them, rolling it, tugging on it, giving you the direct stimulation you've been aching for. The dual sensation is too much for you to withstand. Your body seizes up, back arching in a semicircle, as a intense orgasm crashes over you. "SYLUS!" you scream, your voice echoing off the walls, as wave after wave of ecstasy radiates out from your core, consuming you entirely. Sylus buries himself deep inside you once again, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he also finds his release. "Fuck, y/n , fuuuuuck!" his hot seed erupting from his cock and painting your insides. You can feel every twitch, every spurt of his thick come as he fills you up. Sylus' hips jerk and stutter, grinding against yours as he rides out the waves of his intense climax, pushing his seed deeper with every movement.

He collapses on top of you, his muscular frame blanketing your smaller one, pinning you to the mattress. He's still buried deep inside your fluttering, over sensitive heat, his softening cock plugging you up, trapping his seed inside you. His breath comes in harsh, ragged gasps as he rests his forehead against yours, his crimson eyes glazed and unfocused as he comes down from his intense high. Sylus takes a moment to marvel at the utterly debauched picture you make, hair mussed, skin flushed and slick with sweat, your bodies still joined intimately.

"I can adapt to any location and call it home, as long as I'm willing" Sylus murmurs, his voice low and intimate "but now I have a condition" His eyes bore into yours, the crimson depths swirling with unreadable emotions. "If you are not there then I'm not interested. "This," he gestures vaguely at the bedroom, but you know he means more than just the physical space, "means nothing without you in it."

Sylus' hand slides down to rest over your racing heart, feeling it beat against his palm. "You are my home, kitten. My haven. The one constant I crave." His voice drops to a fervent whisper, heavy with unspoken emotion. "So that condition is you must be there. Always. Or I will not settle for anything less."

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lotuswish · 3 days ago

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˗ˏˋ what they gift you for valentine’s day 𐙚 .ᐟ

synopsis: valentine’s day means something different to each of them—some treat it like a grand romantic event, others act like it’s just another friday, and a few are probably panicking last-minute. but whatever they give you, one thing’s for sure: it’s undeniably them, for better or worse.

featured character(s): lilia vanrouge, malleus draconia, silver, sebek zigvolt, leona kingscholar, ruggie bucchi, jack howl, vil schoenheit, rook hunt, epel felmier, jamil viper, kalim al-asim, riddle rosehearts, cater diamond, trey clover, ace trappola, deuce spade, azul ashengrotto, jade leech, floyd leech, idia shroud, no ortho shroud

content warning(s): none!

a/n: happy valentine’s day! ❤️

an overly extravagant display of affection

why settle for one gift when he could give everything? a sea of roses flooding your dorm, an entire box—no, several boxes—of gold-wrapped chocolates, or even fireworks painting your name across the night sky. to him, valentine’s day isn’t just about romance—it’s a stage, a perfect excuse to turn his feelings into something grand. love, in his eyes, should be seen, felt, and impossible to ignore. he doesn’t believe in halfway gestures; if he adores you, the world will know it.

⤷ kalim, malleus, rook

a single, meaningful item that shows they know you

this isn’t just a generic valentine’s day gift—it’s something that proves he listens. something small you once mentioned in passing, something he went out of his way to track down, something that perfectly aligns with your tastes in a way that leaves you wondering just how long he’s been paying attention. maybe it’s a first-edition book from your favorite author, a piece of jewelry that fits your aesthetic so well it feels like he had to have spent time picking it out, or a limited-edition item from a brand you once mentioned offhandedly. it’s not about extravagance—it’s about thoughtfulness, about making sure you know he sees you.

⤷ idia, jade, jamil, leona, ruggie, vil

a carefully crafted, handwritten letter

it's more than just a few words hastily jotted down onto a card—this is a letter, deliberate and meticulously composed. every word is chosen with purpose, every stroke of ink placed with careful intent, as if he agonized over each line, rewriting certain sentences more times than he’d ever admit. it feels less like a simple valentine's note and more like a confession woven into ink, every phrase carrying the weight of emotions he might struggle to voice aloud. this gift is more than a simple gesture—it’s a glimpse into the feelings he’s likely held onto far longer than he ever intended.

⤷ malleus, riddle, rook

a bouquet, but with intention

it’s not just about flowers—it’s about what they mean. this isn’t some store-bought, last-minute bouquet; every bloom has been deliberately chosen, each one carrying a message. roses for love, lilacs for first emotions, camellias for admiration—there’s no need for him to say anything outright because the meaning is woven into every petal. whether he expects you to recognize the symbolism or not, the sentiment is there, tucked between soft petals and carefully arranged stems. and if you do look up the meanings? you’ll see everything he couldn’t quite put into words.

⤷ cater, epel, trey,

jewelry, meant to be worn always

it’s not flashy or excessive, but it’s meant to last. a necklace, a bracelet, a ring—something simple but chosen with care, something that feels right for you. the weight of it is subtle but constant, a quiet reminder of him no matter where you are. he won’t say it outright, but the thought of you wearing something from him every day pleases him. and if anyone asks where you got it? well, he wouldn’t mind hearing you say his name in response.

⤷ floyd, jamil, leona, lilia, ruggie, sebek

a luxurious experience rather than an object

he sees no reason to limit valentine’s day to just a material gift—not when he could give you a memory. a private dinner under candlelight, an exclusive event, a perfect evening where every little thing has been arranged so you don’t have to lift a finger. it’s not just about extravagance (well, maybe partially); it’s about making sure you feel special, about ensuring this night is one you won’t forget. to him, valentine’s day isn’t about what you receive—it’s about how he can make you feel.

⤷ azul, jade, kalim, malleus, rook, vil

handmade, because it means more that way

he could have just bought something, but that wouldn’t have meant enough. instead, he put in the time and effort himself. maybe it’s a home-cooked meal, carefully prepared with your favorite flavors in mind, or a bouquet he arranged by hand rather than picking something up from a florist. maybe it’s a small carved trinket, a handcrafted piece of jewelry, or even a carefully stitched charm meant to bring you luck. perfection isn’t the goal—it’s the sincerity, the intention behind giving you something that holds a part of him.

⤷ deuce, epel, jack, jamil, silver, trey

something playful, because love should be fun

who says valentine’s day has to be serious? he doesn’t just want to give you a gift—he wants to make you laugh. maybe it’s a ridiculously oversized plushie, one so big you practically have to wrestle it through your door. maybe it’s a scavenger hunt, little notes leading you to the actual gift just to watch you figure it out. maybe it’s a box of chocolates with one secretly filled with something spicy, just to see your reaction. love doesn’t always have to be grand or serious—sometimes, it’s just about enjoying each other’s company.

⤷ ace, cater, epel, floyd, lilia, ruggie

something simple, but given with genuine care

he doesn’t make a big deal out of valentine’s day, and he doesn’t see the point in overcomplicating things. what matters is that he thought of you. a warm cup of your favorite drink waiting for you in the morning, a carefully wrapped box of chocolates, a small charm for luck. he won’t make a scene about it, but there’s something undeniably sweet about how naturally he makes sure you’re taken care of.

⤷ deuce, idia, jack, jamil, sebek, silver

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

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obeymeluv · 2 days ago

Text

In Your Defense [PT 1 - Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length. Trying to get everyone done today. It's my last day off for a few.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

Riddle likes to think he's made great strides not being angry but hearing some utterly disgusting joke about 'how much do you cost?' sends him like nothing else ever has. This guy is tall and so unimpressive, so plain, so average that Riddle can't really recall him at all. Maybe that's just the absolute fury blurring his vision. He knows he's not breathing but his chest isn't burning near as much as his face; the heat is spreading quick and he can feel it in his cheeks and neck. Temples pounding, his vaguely aware of the growl bubbling in his chest as it threatens to slip past his clenched teeth.

Ace calls it his teapot snarl.

Before Riddle knows it, he's flown off the handle and he's going off on a rant. The whole shop is quiet, people physically backing away as he just methodically unravels everything about this cretin from outfit, posture, presence, delivery, unoriginality--everything. Honestly, he doesn't even remember everything he said. The redhead doesn't even tune back into the sound of his own voice until he ends the onslaught with, "You've just paid twenty thaumarks to embarrass yourself but that pales in comparison to the fact that you thought you had a chance with them. You should be ashamed!"

The man slinks away, sad little bag dragging off the counter.

Whispers and giggles diffuse throughout the shop. He ignores the looks that come his way, using the time to come back to himself. Riddle fixes his cute casual clothes, content with the fact you picked them out together. He catches sight of the matching rose clips on your outfit and in you hair and smiles softly. "A strawberry cookie and a cake pop, please." he clears his throat, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

Sam had an assortment of sweets and he was going to capitalize on strawberry's popularity while he could. He saw you root through the display case, carefully considering the designs even though they were all supposed to taste the same (allegedly).

"Sure thing. Your total is 12 thaumarks. Thanks for stopping by Sam's Mystery Shop! Happy Valentine's Day!"

He hands you the thaumarks as you take the time to slide the I LOVE YOU cookie in his bag.

----

Deuce is an honors student! He is a good boy that's going to make his mother proud!

HE IS SO GOING TO PUNCH THIS MOTHERFUCKER IN THIS FACE!

His shoulders tense, fist clenching at his side. "Why, you think they're cheap? Something to be bought? What an insult!" his head snaps up as he stares down the slightly taller boy. Deuce's teal eyes turn a dark turquoise; the giddy glint of seeing you and chocolate eggs in one place turns to something sharp and steely. He hands the chocolate eggs to Ace, turning right back around to stare the creep down. Old habits die hard; he's grinding a fist into his hand.

"Aren't you the guy always complaining about limited time sales being unfair? Not my problem you missed the window." the guy scoffs, leaning back against the cashier counter. "Anyways," the guy tilts his head back and starts talking to you.

You look uncomfortable and angry that you can't handle this yourself. Professionalism and all.

"You may have caught the window but I'm about to show you the door." Deuce draws up on him with a quickness people have never seen. Not many people know about all the fights he used to get into. Gripping the guy's hair almost to the point of pulling it out, steering him like a panicked bull, Deuce all but chucks him out the front door of the shop. He turns around to walk back inside and buy his chocolate eggs but that spine-tingling feeling of someone fixing to take a cheap shot makes him pivot and nail the guy with a solid kick to the chest. The guy falls back on his butt, breath hitching.

Deuce scoffs and wipes his shoes on the step before going into the shop. The door is almost closed behind him when he hears a strained grunt. He's been in enough fights to know the guy is off the ground and making one last attempt to catch him from the back. More than done with this and just wanting his damn eggs and to say hi to you in all your festive lace, he shoulder checks the door like he's trying to shove Jack out of the lunch line (which he would NEVER, EVER DO).

The guy falls with a satisfying thud and Deuce tries his best to relax his face as he resumes his place in line. It's red from aggravation and the fact he's fishing for his thaumarks because he's forgotten what pocket he put it in. "Sorry about that," he tries to uncrumple the thaumarks a little before handing them to you. "And the face. My face. Not your face! Your face is fine! Like, you're not ugly! I just, uh--"

"Take the change, Deuce-y!" Ace is standing behind him, guiding his nervous body like a puppet. He makes Deuce grab the change and turns him around, shoving him away from the counter before he can make it any worse. "Now help me move this guy's body! He's out cold!"

---

Ace can only laugh when he hears that line. First of all, it's weak. Secondly, the dude must not have any faith in his game if the delivery depends on you being captive behind the counter. During work hours. With an obligation to be forward facing and listening to whatever he says.

"Why? You worried about your budget, buddy?" Ace laughs, hands laced together behind his head.

The guy snaps up, stick-straight. "N-No! I was just--" his face is blooming pink.

"People aren't products, bro. There's no discounts." Ace shakes his head.

"W-What I meant was, I want to take you on a date!" the guy turns back to you and flashes a big smile. All of Ace's pouty mutters fall on deaf ears. Not because he's being quiet, but because the guy is straight up ignoring him. He's not sure where the idea comes from--he'll blame it on an itchy hand--but he sneaks a couple of small candies in the guy's pocket. Sam's familiar top hat bobs into view, snaking around the shelves.

"DON'T FORGET TO PAY FOR THE STUFF IN YOUR POCKETS!" Ace felt confident in his sleight of hand tricks. It wouldn't be the first time he tricked NRC students. It's actually really easy to do. That works in his favor because if everyone can't get their story straight or agree on what they saw, he's a free man.

Sam materializes at the edge of the aisles and seems to stare into the boy's soul. "Young man, please step aside."

Ace looks like the cat that ate the canary as he moseys up to the counter and slaps the box of cherry cordials down. He buys a cherry sucker at the last second, not seeing it at first. "Thanks, Sweets!" Ace winks at you as he strolls out with the bag.

Sam nearly scares him out of his skin, leaning against the wood just outside the door. Ace finally feels the tug of shadows on his feet. "Speaking of sweets," Ace flinches and hides his ear with his blazer, groaning as Sam hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him into his chest sternly. "I understand your frustration, Little Imp. Young love is adorable in all it's wiles! But mark my words, Little Imp: if you lie about wrongdoings in my shop again, you will not come back. Clear?"

"Yes sir." Ace gulps.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Little Imp."

---

Trey isn't really surprised to hear what he just did. 'Boys will be boys', as the saying goes. Frankly, he's disappointed. He's heard smarter things come out of his little brother and sister.

He adjusts his glasses, mentally trying to relax the knot between his eyebrows.

Should he say something? Of course he wants to. It's you! He's been on the other side of the counter plenty of times and has had vivid daydreams of sticking a customer in a stand mixer. But, then again, he has a reputation to uphold and anything he does could reflect back on Riddle.

And send Riddle into a fit, giving him something else to handle.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd have the element of surprise. People--especially men--don't cook enough to know how much arm strength it takes to lift twenty pound bags of flour on the regular. Or the stamina it takes to walk said bags from Sam's shop to Heartslabyul. Even the small five-pound bag of sugar in his basket would suffice as a weapon; the sugar was packed enough to hit like a brick if he lobbed it.

Trey's running the options through his head, almost settling on just saying 'how much for you to stop?' when he sees the end of a sucker rolling between the guy's teeth. Too easy, Trey pushes his glasses up on his nose, hand hiding his smile and the quiet incantation for "Paint the Roses".

All of a sudden the guy is gagging and running for the door. You and everyone else are wondering what the hell just happened. He doesn't come back in. One brave soul suggested he had a really bad gag reflex and the sucker did him in. Only Trey knows it was a mix of sour milk and the pungent soy sauce tart nightmare he tricked Riddle into making once.

"Just this, please. Oh! And what Sam had on hold for me." Trey hands you the sugar, relishing in the brush of your hands.

"Candied violets and a bag of sugar. Twenty thaumarks, please."

"Thanks." Trey smiles at you, laying the sugar flat so his delicate, delectable candied violets don't get crushed.

"Thank you." you smile brightly, handing him the change.

----

Cater wants to gag. Normally Valentine's confessions are cute and IN THE RIGHT SETTING pickup lines are amazing. This? This is a tragedy. Mostly because there is ZERO chemistry and you look #uncomfortable.

He's big on consent since he's always looking for collabs and people to pose with on Magicam so maybe that's why this scene bothers him. Aside from the fact that you're out of this guy's league, obviously. Like, it's really an insult to your time.

'How much do you cost?' Really? You're #priceless.

His brows furrow, lips thinning as he wonders what to do. He plays with the idea of Split Card and creating a small crowd of copies to boo and jeer the guy but the store would be even more packed than it already is. Cater's green eyes twinkle as it hits him. Turning his phone longways, he zooms in on the guy and tells him to keep going because he's live on Magicam. "Don't worry! I've already got all the V-day tags on there! Everyone will see it!"

He's friends with practically everyone at NRC so this guy will be seen by everyone.

Something sick and unfriendly and satisfied swirls in him as the guy's face pales in real time. If he zooms in a little, he can get the beads of sweat in there. "I'll, uh--another time, okay?" the guy darts off and abandons his handful of candy at the register.

"Haul coming later! 'K, bye!" Cater sends a peace sign to the camera, smiling at his own face. He swipes the little chocolates into his basket nonchalantly. He's not even the biggest sweets person but those are his now!

"Gonna have a spicy Valentine's Day, huh?" you ring up the cups of spicy ramen.

"You know it!" he laughs.

"I get it. You have to balance out how sweet you are." you smirk up at him. "Twenty-four thaumarks, please."

#in love. #kiddingnotkidding. #sendhelp. #downbad.

----

Leona doesn't even know why he bothered to show up to Sam's. He could just send Ruggie to get whatever he wanted. The variety of jerky was somewhat tempting but he could just as easily take the bus and get a proper meal off campus. And yet, he stood there with a gloved hand in his pocket, tail swishing back and forth in mild agitation. His green eyes sweep over the winding line until they land on you at the front.

His cheeks warm a little and he scoffs at himself, pretending to pick through the hanging strips of sunflower seeds as the line moves. Every step gets him closer to this soft, powdery scent with just a hint of sweetness. He starts to blame it on all the chocolate and candy and sugary shit exploding out of every possible spot in the store but there's this unmistakable undertone of skin.

Your skin.

He's only caught the scent a million times while hiding from people in the Botanical Gardens. Or when he's forced to attend class, catching a hint of you in the halls.

Leona's not sure why he cares anything about you because you're not magical. You're not interesting.

You shouldn't be, but you are.

You're literally the only person he's ever met from another world. You have no context for the Sunset Savanna or the hierarchy of it. To you, everyone is impressive. He can be something to you.

Why does that matter? He doesn't even know. That's what he tells himself, anyways. You say you have no magic but Leona thinks you can read minds. The look you always give him isn't a pitying one, but a curious one that seeks to dissect him and force him to face everything he keeps shoved deep down inside himself.

Part of him is waiting for the day you pull the right thread and he comes undone in the way he knows he need but can't find the strength for. Somewhere in that knotted mess is his true feelings for you. The stuff he can't admit.

You stand admirably on your own two feet, roughing it out like Ruggie, but you're so far from the intimidating women of the Sunset Savanna. You're approachable and soft; you're built like prey but you have the quick thinking of a predator.

Something in your demeanor changes--your hands pause and flutter nervously--and he's on alert. He's careful to relax his grip lest he crush the box of protein bars for Jack. His ears sling forward and his eyes narrow as he catches that half-baked flirting attempt. Leona doesn't even bother to hide the sneer twisting his face.

Just the thought of you with that hopeful schmuck is nauseating.

Suddenly the scent of all the males around you is overwhelming. Disgusting.

"If you have to ask about the price, you can't afford it. Haven't ya ever heard that before?" Leona 'hmphs' triumphantly, one hand on his hip as he bends down slightly to stare the chump in the face. "Askin' about the price is tacky."

"Wh-what was my total again?"

All Leona had to do was stare at the back of the human's neck. Humans, much like prey animals, grew really squirmy when a predator stared at them too long. Or encroached on their space, much like he was doing. It was for the hell of it at this point.

Leona made a mental note of the guy's face as he scampered off like a terrified cub and looked forward to the day he could send a stray spelldrive disk in his direction.

"Hey Herbivore," Leona plunked the basket down unceremoniously.

"Hey Leona," you looked down at the random stuff in his basket, trying not to smile at what just happened. Something warm and--dare he say it?--proud welled up in his chest when he realized you were happy about him scaring the guy off.

The heart-shaped stickers he kept finding on everything when he got back to Savanaclaw helped, too.

----

Ruggie lived for the holiday specials at Sam's. He was a bit put out that he wasn't picked to staff the Valentine's shift but the in-store discounts were a small consolation. It'd be better if he could stack them with an employee discount but he'd take what he could get! His mouth started watering as soon as he entered, sniffing out deliciously fluffy donuts.

Hopefully people would be distracted with the lollypops and chocolates and leave his donuts alone!

He choked down the occasional nervous whine when people gravitated too close to the donut display, distracting himself with the decor and wondering what would be most profitable to flip. His eyes began to wander to the people in front of him; Ruggie tsk'd at how casual and unguarded they were. Ripe for the picking, he looked at their wallets and fistfuls of thaumarks just out in the open.

If he wasn't worried about being banned from Sam's and losing some gigs he'd--

"How much do you cost?"

EXCUSE ME?! Ruggie freezes, eyes going wide and ears twitching when he hears that. The dude said that and LIVED?

Oh, right. You're not a Savanna girl. The girls back home would beat him up and make him pay them to stop. Or just smack the shit out of him hard enough to put him in a coma. Maybe break his jaw so he can't drop anymore awful lines.

Women are to be respected! Not treated like something you can purchase!

Given that you weren't a Savanna girl and were bound by the rules of 'I'm currently on the clock', Ruggie took things into his own hands. You could just treat him later!

"Laugh with Me!" Ruggie hisses, backing into the closest display. It was a little bump to him but far more to the guy up front. He waved his arm around, skimming the bags of gummy candies while the guy at the register knocked down a whole tower of balloons on a stick. Bending over just enough to line the guy's head up with the counter, Ruggie lunges forward.

WOMP!

Oh it was so satisfying. The guy is hopelessly, helplessly stunned. He gathers his bearings and Ruggie slides his foot out; the guy loses his footing and slams into the counter again.

Only two times before he gives up? Kind of weak-willed, Ruggie thinks with a little smirk as he side-steps the disoriented guy and waits patiently to check out. Sam tends to him while you get the donuts he's been craving.

They'll taste even better because they smell like you. Happy Valentine's Day to him!

-----

Jack is usually very stoic but a lot of people mistake his stoic observation for irritation. He would blame it on his intimidating physique but he's not sorry and takes great pride in his appearance. He's a beastman--a Howl!--he's supposed to be intimidating! Intimidating appearance aside, Jack is also a very helpful soul.

A good boy, if you will.

The only reason he's in Sam's is on Ruggie's behalf. He was tasked with picking up a few things and was more than happy to help out his senior. They were from the same dorm, after all! Practically a pack! You have to help your pack!

He's not really bothered by the amount of people, more focused on keeping his tail out of people's way and making sure he doesn't knock anything over. All at once, the atmosphere changes a little. There's a hint of sour in the air and a noticeable hike in someone's pulse.

It's your pulse. You look...distressed? Why are you distressed? Where is the threat?

Whatever it was, he missed it and he's cursing himself.

His ears swing forward as he catches bits and pieces of conversations. Some people are complaining the guy is taking too long, other people are laughing at his crappy pickup line. Some people are wondering if it's going to work.

This was a weak display if he ever saw one. The guy didn't even look confident in himself! All of your body language has now firmed up into rejection but the guy's not getting the hint. He's trying the 'oh, c'mon!' thing his siblings do when they want to play.

You don't know it, but you've been feeding Jack when he trots by in wolf form. He likes to finish off his morning jogs in wolf form to really stretch his joints and obliques. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, him following the tantalizing aroma of food to your door. Your cooking is fantastic and while you don't know that you're a pack mate, you're a pack mate!

You're just a pack mate who feeds him and gives him occasional pets. And these to die for scratches that he'd kill to feel with his real skin instead of fur. Any touch would be fine, really. Not that you'd ever know.

Jack doesn't even know he's growling until people start moving out of his way. The growl crescendos as he walks towards the guy. Tail bristling, Jack opens his mouth to show off sharp canines. "Get lost! They're not interested in you! They're just trying to work!"

As expected, the guy tucks tail and runs. Jack snorts, licking his lips that have suddenly become dry. His ears don't know what to do, caught between catching all the murmurs behind him and wanting to press down in embarrassment.

It's quiet but he hears it. "Thank you, Jack."

"Don't mention it," he crosses his arms, looking everywhere but you as you scan his items. He was avoiding looking at you directly but he notices you slip a few extra beef sticks into his bag. He blushes.

Yeah, don't mention that either.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twstd wonderland #twst x reader #Riddle Rosehearts x reader #Ace trappola x reader #Deuce Spade x Reader #Cater Diamond x Reader #Trey Clover x Reader #Leona Kingscholar x reader #Leona x reader #Ruggie Bucchi x reader #Jack Howl x Reader #Heartslabyul #Savanaclaw

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wonysugar · 21 hours ago

Note

g!p sugar mommy giselle🫦🫦🫦

g!p.... sugar mommy...... giselle..... ANON. holds you by the neck dearly thank you for this. also! it’s barely even mentioned at all but just know giselle is like 37ish and reader is in her mid-twenties. :]

cw : age-gap!

giselle as the sugar mommy you randomly met on your day to day minimum wage job at a fast food place MHMMM LET ME COOKKK..... having her be a regular who always comes in like once a week, always wearing something super fancy.. like a black prada trenchcoat or sometimes even a dolce & gabbana blazer. point is, she immediately stuck out like a sore thumb among the rest of the crowd.

plus, you found her undeniably gorgeous as soon as you laid eyes on her, so it's not like she'd go unnoticed otherwise, either.

she often approached you at the register and made small talk, as stupid as it often was. she'd find some stupid excuse not to use the self checkout machine and would find a lame conversation starter while you're watching her pull out a dior purse, proceeding with the payment of her order. that often lead to you asking her questions of your own.

"why do you eat here? you look like you have other.... better places to be eating at."

she'd chuckle at your words, finding them amusing, before answering in a gentle tone, "trust me, i do. my niece doesn't seem to think the same way i do, however, as she seems to really like this place. i appear to be the only one indulging her."

soon enough, you'd warm up to her with each visit of hers and the conversations would get much, much longer. so much so that, often times, your manager would have to step in and remind you to get back to work prompty. it got annoying quickly, as the conversations were just getting good; chatting about studies, travel plans, ambitions and goals, etc.

so, wanting to have these incredibly interesting exchanges in a more comfortable and relaxed setting, aeri asked for your number.

naturally.

who cares that she was like, ten years older than you. it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend… right?

numerous nights of friendly-texting-turned-flirty later, you two quickly agreed on a set date and location, which turned out to be a friday evening spent in the very expensive restaurant right across the block from your workplace. it was a date! she informed you to come in 'appropriate' attire, whatever that meant. how would you know? your closet consisted of hoodies, sweaters and some t-shirts as well as your work uniform. that being said, you showed up to the date wearing a low cute dark blue dress you found laying around in the darkest depths of your drawer for probably more than seven years. saying you were nervous would be nothing but a huge understatement.

she, on the other hand, came wearing a creamy white turtleneck under the black trench-coat she was usually seen wearing when ordering food at your job, the look topped off by wide legged black pants and really expensive looking black leather heels.

what the fuck are you doing.

getting cold feet, you nervously sat down at the table and bowed your head in her direction. intimidated by the light yet impacting amount of makeup she had on her face, you avoided eye contact as much as possible. she was breathtaking.

she told you to choose whatever you’d like on the menu and to not look at the price, as she insisted you not to worry at all about the bill. you, of course, felt guilty so you proceeded to pick the least expensive thing on the menu and attempted to convince her that you genuinely loved the dish, hence why you’d pick it among everything else.

who were you kidding though, you couldn’t even pronounce whatever fuckass french name it was that you picked to the waiter. she smiled at you as you finished ordering, making you turn red in embarrassment.

“you know y/n, i couldn’t bring myself to mention it in a place as unflattering as your workplace, no offence,” she started as you shook off the statement, practically agreeing with her before she continued, “but i must say that i think you are absolutely adorable.”

it gets to a point. and at this point you’re just short-circuiting at her words and intense eye contact, finding it difficult to even act properly in front of her!

she noticed that, of course, especially in times during the conversation where she called you endearing names such as “darling”, “love” and “honey”.

that wasn’t much different in bed, either.

as it turns out, you really did want her to fuck you at the end of the night! honestly, how could you not when she’d been opening every single door for you, insisting on paying for the entirety of the bill at the restaurant and offering to drive you home despite it only being a 10 minute walk?

she’d done nothing but drive you crazy all evening with her sexy and gentle manners, it’s only natural you gave her a sloppy handjob whilst she drove her grey lexus lx back to her own house with the pure intention of fucking the shit out of you.

…and she did! very well, at that!

two of her fingers deep into you, she circled your clit with her thumb and left gentle kisses on your jaw down to your collarbone. slow and steady pumps of the digits, she thrived in hearing your soft whimpers.

that didn’t last long, however. she was getting impatient, and her dick was aching to feel you.

ass up face down, you’re getting pounded relentlessly into the mattress before you know it. getting treated like nothing but a queen all night only to be later fucked like a depraved slut… it had to be the best thing you’d ever felt in a while. of course, you let her know of that with guttural moans that left your body with each thrust of her cock. she didn’t care, her house was big enough to muffle your screams, after all.

she whispered obscenities into your ear whilst you did so, gripping a fistful of your hair and humming at each sound that came out of your mouth. talking about how tight your cunt was for her, about how good it felt, how she couldn’t wait to use it every other day, about how she would kill to take care of a pretty little thing like you.

gripping onto your sides and ramming into you shamelessly as she drove you to your climax, you bit your lip until you felt like it was bleeding. her breathier heavier and each of her moans slightly higher than the previous, you both orgasmed together, a wave of euphoria washing over the two of you immediately.

oh and, you know what she said about ‘taking care of a pretty little thing like you?’ yeah, she meant every word.

soon enough, she’s taking you on dates every other weekend, referring you to a slightly better paying, less agonizing job thanks to the connections she possesses, sending you excessive amounts of money she labels as your ‘monthly allowance’ and overall spoiling you with whatever your heart desires. hell. she even payed your university tuition! she finds it endearing to see you always so shy and embarrassed to accept the money she gives you; you always go on about how ‘you don’t give her anything back’ and how it isn’t fair.

but to her, you do give back. your happiness and joy is what aeri does it for, and you give her great amounts of that. not only that, but you also give back by whoring yourself out and looking pretty for her. giving her unwarranted boners by sending her risky pictures and videos while she’s at work, having you wear the lingerie she buys you, knowing you use the toys she got you whenever she’s too busy to take care of you, etc. aeri could name nothing better than having you be the beautiful doll she gets to play with every now and then. :]

#anon asks #anon #smut #kpop gg #female reader #aespa smut #giselle hard thoughts #aespa giselle smut #aeri uchinaga smut #aeri uchinaga #uchinaga aeri x reader #aespa giselle x reader #giselle x fem reader #giselle smut #giselle aespa smut #giselle thoughts

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gojougf · 2 days ago

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convergence theory — teaser

pairing ⸺ tutor nerdjo! x student! reader

summary ⸺ desperate to pass your maths subject required for you to pass your psych major, you reluctantly accept satoru gojo's help after a botched tutoring request. what starts as a mutually beneficial arrangement—he needs your uncle's influence for an event, and you need help with calculus—quickly turns into something more complicated.

teaser word count ⸺ 1.5k

expected word count ⸺ 15-20k (the banter alone has taken up about 8-9k so...)

release date ⸺ not sure yet, hopefully in the next few days or by the end of next week bc i wanna finish it before uni starts

warnings ⸺ smut, p in v sex, virgin!gojo (he acts like a total arrogant, cocky and conceited asshole in this but he's actually a virgin HSHSHGS), oral (both m and f receiving), you basically give him his first blowjob and teach him how 2 be a munch :3, college AU (except i'm australian so my perception of college in american dominated college au's in fanfic is quite limited), nerd!gojo, gojo is like really fucking annoying, switch gojo!, will probably continue to update the warnings the more i write but it'll be so good... trust...

“This is simply not enough, (name). If you want to pass, you need at least 50 percent. I’ll let you retake the required modules and assessments, but I strongly suggest hiring a tutor.”

Your professor sighs, rubbing his temple as you grimace in displeasure.

College math.

The bane of your existence.

Why you needed to pass a math module just to earn extra credit for your psychology major was beyond ridiculous. You had never been particularly good at math, always gravitating toward English or science-related subjects. Nothing too sciency, though. Psychology made sense—it was theory-based, more about understanding people than crunching numbers. It wasn’t the kind of science that required you to calculate how many moles of carbon were left after a reaction or figure out what would happen if a car crashed into a wall at 60 km/h.

“I can personally recommend last year’s top student—full marks in every assessment and module. He might be available, assuming he doesn’t already have a full roster of students. If you can wait a little longer, he’ll be here soon to pick up last week’s student projects. He’s my TA this semester.”

Your professor’s voice takes on a rare note of approval as he talks about this so-called star student—someone impressive enough to earn the admiration of a man who had docked half your marks over the method rather than the answer.

You nod stiffly, setting your bag down beside you before sinking into the chair across from his desk. You could wait—had to wait, if you wanted even the slightest chance of scraping a pass in this godforsaken breadth subject. The measly 40% scrawled across your paper seemed to mock you, glaring up at you as if it, too, had given up on your ability to solve for x.

Tuning out the professor’s ongoing praise of this so-called star student, you try to focus on anything else. Honestly, how much more could he go on about this guy? It was getting exhausting. You weren’t here to listen to a TED Talk about some math genius—you were here because your GPA was hanging by a thread, and apparently, this person was your last hope of saving it.

Now, by no means were you dumb. Far from it. Some people just weren’t built for numbers, and unfortunately, you happened to be one of them. But when it came to the subjects you were good at? You thrived—aced every exam, topped your classes, excelled in ways that made professors take notice. Just… not in math. Never in math.

And yet, here you were. Waiting.

At least your waiting was cut short when he walked in.

White hair gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the professor’s office, strands falling effortlessly over cerulean eyes framed by almost impossibly pale lashes. He was tall—really tall—with an easy, unshaken confidence that made it clear he was fully aware of the attention his presence commanded. A navy-blue sweater hung loosely over his broad frame, the soft fabric contrasting against the sharp tailoring of his crisp black slacks. And—were those dress shoes?

Yeah. Okay. You could admit it—this guy was hot. But it wasn’t just his face (which, to be fair, looked like it belonged on a magazine cover). It was the way he carried himself, the unbothered ease in his posture, the quiet yet unmistakable I-know-I’m-better-than-you energy that radiated off of him.

And suddenly, you understood why your professor held him in such high regard. He didn’t just look like the type of person who aced every exam—he looked like the president of some elite quantum mechanics club, the kind of person who thrived on things like advanced calculus and theoretical physics for fun.

Great. Just great.

“(Name), this is Satoru Gojo. Satoru, this is (Name) (Last name).. She’s struggling with the content this semester and needs extra help if she wants to pass alongside her major. I was just telling her how brilliant you are and hoping you might have the time to tutor her—of course, only if your schedule isn’t already full.”

You try not to visibly flinch at the way your professor phrases it, as if you’re some hopeless case in dire need of salvation from this so-called prodigy. Seriously? He could’ve at least sugarcoated it a little in front of Satoru.

But as your professor speaks, his voice takes on a warmth that’s… weirdly affectionate. And when you glance over, you’re met with the absolute worst thing you could have imagined—your professor, practically beaming at Satoru, eyes practically glittering with admiration.

What the hell is this? Why does he look at him like that? Is this normal?

You barely manage to mask the horrified expression on your face, but it doesn’t matter—because Gojo sees it. And worse, he revels in it. His smirk stretches just a little wider, his cerulean eyes twinkling with amusement as he watches your silent suffering.

You think you’re gonna implode.

And then, with an exaggeratedly pitiful look, he turns back to the professor. “Sir, you know I’d love to help,” he says, voice practically dripping with faux sincerity. “But I’ve recently been asked to assist the research team for the theoretical physics paper. It’s a big opportunity—could really help with my master’s application—so I’m going to have to politely decline.”

Ah. So your hunch about him being some physics nerd was right.

He casts what might’ve been intended as a respectful bow in your direction, though it comes off more like a lazy spasm. You don’t even think he realizes how condescending it looks.

Yeah. He definitely doesn’t give a fuck.

“Oh. Well, (Name), it looks like you’re going to have to figure things out on your own,” your professor sighs, rubbing his temple. “Satoru was the best option—probably the only person who could actually help you pass. But maybe check out some tutors outside of campus? I’m sure there are professionals willing to help.”

Oh hell no.

Your heart plummets. Does he hear himself? Like it’s just that easy to hire a tutor? You’re a broke college student, barely surviving on instant noodles and coffee, and now you’re supposed to drop a fortune on private tutoring? Absolutely not.

Campus tutors were your only shot—they charged significantly less since the experience boosted their academic records, helped them secure internships, and all that nonsense. You were counting on that.

And now?

Your only remaining option was the physics nerd with the condescending smirk and ridiculous dress shoes.

You sigh internally, steeling yourself. If this guy is your last resort, then fine. You’ll grovel if you have to. Because there’s no way in hell you’re letting this godforsaken subject be the reason you don’t graduate.

“Please. Is there… um, any way you can fit me into your schedule?” You finally break the silence, your voice betraying a hint of pleading that makes you cringe internally. You hate that you’re begging. You can already hear your female ancestors rolling in their graves, disappointed that their descendant is down on her knees—metaphorically—asking a man to help her pass a stupid class.

You try not to let the thought sting too much, but it’s hard to ignore the gap in experience and expectations that separates you from him.

Curse this subject. Curse these grades. Curse my professor. Curse Satoru Gojo.

Satoru, meanwhile, looks mildly entertained by your discomfort. You stand, your bag hanging across your shoulder, trying your best to meet his eyes with a mixture of irritation and a clear, no-nonsense look that says, I see right through you.

But can you really blame him? He’s Satoru Gojo—head of the Physics Society, on the verge of completing his master’s, practically guaranteed a spot in the university’s elite PhD program thanks to his perfect grades and the top-tier references from his research. Of course he doesn’t have time for a tutor request from a girl who, from his perspective, probably couldn’t even define a limit, let alone solve one. Yeah, no.

“Sorry, no can do! As I said, I’m extremely busy right now—” Satoru starts, his tone dripping with smugness, but you cut him off before he can finish, not even caring that your professor is witnessing this desperate spectacle unfold.

“Please. I don’t think you understand—I need to pass this unit to fulfill the requirements for my major. Please consider my request…” You bow slightly in his direction, one hand fiddling with the hem of your dress, a trickle of sweat rolling down the back of your neck.

For a moment, he just stares. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he leans back, crossing his arms. “Fine. I’ll see if I can make time. But you’ll have to wait at least a week for my response—I’m extremely busy.”

Your eye twitches. What a dick. But this is your last shot, so you grit your teeth and let it slide.

“I appreciate it,” you say stiffly. “Well—I'll get going now.” You give a polite nod to both Satoru and your professor, already itching to leave.As you turn to go, you briefly catch his gaze raking over your form. It’s quick—so quick you might’ve imagined it—but something about the way his eyes linger sends a small, unfamiliar twinge through your body. You shake it off, more focused on willing this pretentious motherfucker to actually make space in his schedule for you.

God, you really fucking hate math.

a/n: i hope you guys liked the teaser!!!! this fic is lowkey eating my ass, i literally had to pull out my old battered copy of my advanced math textbook from highschool to write about some of the calculus concepts satoru explains, which was so funny to me because i never got higher than a 40 percent on an assessment during hs and i dropped math halfway through my final year, but here we are!

if you'd like to be tagged in the full fic once it comes out, you can comment down below, since i think my ask box doesn't work.. (*≧ω≦*)

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mariasont · 1 day ago

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One Clean Shot - A.H

summary: it’s a standard training session, until hotch steps behind you to adjust your stance and suddenly your biggest problem isn’t your aim pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warning tags: suggestive content, hotch accidentally touches your tits, r shooting a gun, hotch shooting a gun, r kinda objectifying hotch (i showed my friends then we high fived), dbf!hotch, age gap wc 1.6k

"Oh, for the love of—"

You bite down on the words, trapping them before they can tumble out as something truly impolite. You fire. Left. Again. Another shot. Too high. Again. Too wide.

The gun jerks in your hand, unforgiving and indifferent. Gunpowder starts to scratch at your throat, your lungs, your patience even. You were starting to believe that it was a possibility that you were just inherently biologically incapable of aiming correctly. Bad aim genes, perhaps.

You try to picture your father holding a gun, arms stiff, stance awkward, probably muttering something about how in his day, disputes were settled with a well-worded legal argument.

Yeah, okay, that might explain a lot.

Except no, you passed all your quals. You aced them.

It was just an off day.

A specific, very tall off day named Hotch, who was currently standing behind you, radiating silent judgement at a level so intense it should be considered a supernatural ability. He was probably analyzing every micro-movement, taking note of every error, mentally drafting a performance review that would start with you're doing fine and end with a perfectly professional but somehow soul-crushing but you can do better.

You try to steady your hands and you fail and you think maybe you should just hand him the gun and let him execute your dignity at point-blank range.

It's fine, you tell yourself. It's not like your entire self-worth is balancing on the edge of his nonexistent expression. There's a chance he's not even thinking about you. He could be mentally going over his grocery list or calculating how much paperwork he had left to do today.

Or there's the more terrifying chance that he is watching you and wondering why you aren't better, why you aren't like him—like your father, wondering why you aren't meeting expectations.

And it's humiliating, really. How much you want to impress him. How much you want to make him proud and maybe even—

"You're anticipating the recoil."

You turn too fast, the world tilting for just a second, your vision narrowing to the sharp angles of Hotch's face.

"Here."

The word is barely out of his mouth before his hands are everywhere—no, not everywhere, everywhere, just your vest. But they might as well be, because your nerve endings aren't capable of knowing the difference.

He grips your vest at the shoulders, jerks the straps tight, a firm pull that rocks you just slightly forward, just slightly into him. Then his fingers skate down, adjusting the collar, smoothing over the bare skin where fabric meets flesh, his knuckles barely grazing the dip between your collarbones.

And then lower. Over your chest. Between. The back of his hand ghosts along the swell of your breasts, then right where your ribs curve inward, where his palm would fit if he just—just—slid an inch lower.

It's fast. Nothing. Over in a second. But your stomach is tight, your breath is tight, you are tight. And you swear if he lingers a moment longer, you might melt into a indecipherable puddle on the floor.

Your pulse is all over the place, skipping, tripping, betraying. Heat rushes to your cheeks, slow at first, then all at once, like a delayed newsflash that your body apparently has opinions about this.

Because this is stupid. Stupid. It's not like he meant to touch you there. It's not like he noticed. Did he notice?

No, absolutely not because that would imply things, and there are not things.

This is just your problem. Your rogue nervous system. Your tragic inability to be normal about anything. You are making this a thing when it is very much not a thing.

But you felt the way your stomach knots around something you don't even have the vocabulary to name, the way your nipples pebbled like they had some vested interest in ruining your life.

It's—what? Hormones? Static electricity? Some kind of spontaneous full-body malfunction? Because you didn't want to think about it being him, a side effect to prolonged exposure to Aaron Hotchner. (Should you warn the others?)

And still, he keeps going, cinching straps, flattening fabric, all broad (very broad) hands and no-nonsense efficiency. Like you're just a piece of gear to fix. You, on the other hand, are actively considering the logistics of just dropping dead on the spot. It seemed feasible.

"Shoulders back."

The instruction comes at the same time as he moves in behind you, a hand landing between your shoulder blades, and pushes, forces your spine straighter, like you're something to be molded, adjusted, put into place.

Then his hands moves to your waist, shifting your stance just a hair, just enough to make you brutally of the size of his hands. How they fit against you.

Then—oh. His foot nudges between yours, then hooks your ankle, kicking your stance wider.

His palm finds the space between your shoulder blades again, pressing down just enough to remind you where you are, who you are, what you're supposed to be doing instead of, well, whatever this is.

"Breathe."

Oh. Right. Breathing. That's a thing.

You suck in a sharp breath, only now realizing you'd been holding it captive in your chest.

"A lot of people hold their breath when they shoot," he explains, his other hand pressing into your ribs as if to make sure you were following his instructions, as if you'd do anything else. "It feels instinctual, like bracing will make you more controlled. But if you hold your breath, you lock up. Tension works against you. Breathing through the shot keeps everything loose. It makes the release smoother."

You weren't sure when everything became so hot, pressing in from all sides. But you felt like you might be sweating because no one should be allowed to say things like that, in a voice like his, with hands like his, and with zero self-awareness of what words like release can do to a person in your position.

You try to focus, to take another breath, but even that feels like a trap, because you are suddenly mortifying aware of the way your chest rises, of the heat dissipating between you, of how close he is.

His arms come to frame yours, surrounding in a way that makes everything else feel smaller. His hands go over yours, his chest is against your shoulder, his forearm skimming yours, and his breath is now tickling your ear.

"Your thumbs need to be higher," he says, adjusting them with his own, the rough pad of his finger dragging along the side of your hand. "You're gripping too far down, which throws off your alignment. Keep them forward, parallel with the slide. It'll help keep the recoil controlled, make your follow up shot faster."

His fingers tighten over yours, making sure you feel it. "And support your hand, it's doing too much. The pressure should be between both hands. If you squeeze harder with one than the other, you'll pull your shot without realizing it."

You nod, because you always nod when he speaks. Because you listen. Because learning from him is something you like, something that makes you feel good, something that makes you feel seen. And maybe that's why your hands are shaking.

He steps back and it's immediate, the rush of air, the space, the clarity that surely wasn't there before. Your chest expands, lungs finally taking what they were denied.

"Try again."

You exhale, reposition, adjust your stance the way he taught you. His instructions replay in your head, and you obey, thumbs high, pressure even, breathing.

You fire. And it's improved, smoother, more controlled, exactly like he said.

"That's it. Better."

You smoother the feeling those two words give you, shove in into the pit of your stomach where it can't cause problems. Where it can't mean anything. You're pathetic.

"Watch."

He steps in, you step back, and—oh.

You try to focus on the technical aspects, really, you do. On how he grips the gun, on how his fingers rest perfectly in place, on how his stance is exactly what he just told you to correct. But your brain is completely uncooperative.

Your brain apparently has priorities, and right now, those priorities are his arms, the way his muscles shift beneath tight sleeves, the flex of his shoulders as he raises said gun.

And then lower, corruptfully lower, to the curve of his waist, where the fabric of his shirt strains, the way his belt rests just above the curve of his—

Absolutely not.

You blink hard, inhaling sharp, mentally shoving that thought into a vault labeled inappropriate. Do not open. The worst part, however, is that you can't tell if you're more mortified by the fact that your brain went there, or by the fact that, now that is has, you're not sure how to get it to stop.

"Focus."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "I—I am."

He doesn't look at you. Not once. But the way he reloads, it's like he's giving you time to wallow in the moment. And there's something, something, in the slight pull of his mouth, in the tiniest shift of his expression that's almost, but not quite, a smirk.

"Not on the right things."

His fires. One clean shot. Straight to the heart.

The paper doesn't resist, it just takes it, the force ripping clean through the center, leaning nothing but a perfect, gaping wound. It was precise in a way that shouldn't be surprising but still is.

It's a clean shot through something inside of you, too.

And you have no idea how to patch it up.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x sweetheart reader #aaron hotchner x sweethear!reader #dbf aaron hotchner #dbf!aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner one shot

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gdinthehouseee · 2 days ago

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Valentine's: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: a steamy valentine's date with ji-yong in his penthouse

word count: 6397

tags: fluff, mature (for spice? steam? there's no actual smut)

ao3 link

It was finally Valentine’s day. You had spent the night back at your own place, something you haven’t done in probably months ever since you started dating Ji-yong—practically already moved in together at his place instead. Last night, he told you he wanted this day to be special, so you figured you would go home for the night in order to put some real effort into your look tonight. Naturally, this morning, you spent hours making sure everything was perfect: everything from your outfit to the gift you bought him. At least it was easier to hide that.

Finally, the sun had set and it was time for the real fun to begin.

The scent of something rich and savory fills the air as you step into Ji-yong’s penthouse, the warm lighting casting soft shadows across the sleek interior. Your eyes immediately land on him—standing by the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, a soft smile playing on his lips as he stirs a pot on the stove.

“You’re just in time, aein.” He says smoothly, glancing over his shoulder to give you a once-over. His gaze lingers a little longer than necessary. “Did you dress up just for me?”

You scoff, setting your bag down. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who looks like you’re about to seduce someone.”

“Maybe I am.”

Before you can fire back, he closes the distance between you and reaches for your hand, guiding it to his chest dramatically. “Feel that? My heart’s racing already. You really do have that effect on me.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You roll your eyes, but your expression betrays you as you keep your hand over his heart.

“You know you love it,” he teases, tugging you closer until you’re nearly flush against him. “Now, if you’ll behave and keep me company, I might even let you taste what I’m cooking.”

He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief and flickering towards your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Or, you could just taste me instead. Your choice.”

“Ji,” you whined. “What’s gotten into you?”

Thankfully, your bashful smile let him know that you were both enjoying his boldness. No matter how much you rolled your eyes or tried to act unaffected, the soft curve of your lips gave you away every time. Ji-yong lived for that—watching the way your defenses crumbled under his charm, the way your gaze flickered between playful defiance and quiet surrender. It was a game he loved playing, pushing just enough to make you flustered, but never too much to overwhelm you. And judging by the warmth creeping up your cheeks, he was winning.

“Am I not allowed to flirt with my girl?” He jokingly pouted, one hand remained over your hand on his chest while his other hand found its home at your waist.

“Of course you are.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said before pressing a quick peck to your lips. “C’mon, let my cooking impress you instead.”

The countertop is lined with ingredients, a simmering pot sending out a rich, mouthwatering aroma. You watch as he moves effortlessly around the kitchen, confident in every step. He grabs a spoon, dips it into the sauce, and turns to you with that signature smirk still plastered on his face. “Here. Taste.”

You lean in slightly, expecting him to hold out the spoon properly, but instead, he lifts it higher—forcing you to tilt your head back as he guides it between your lips. The warmth of the sauce spreads across your tongue, but all you can focus on is the way Ji-yong’s gaze drops to your lips, his smirk deepening.

“Good?” He asks, his voice lower now.

You swallow, trying not to show how flustered you suddenly feel. “Yeah. It’s really good.”

He hums in satisfaction, but instead of stepping back, he raises a finger and swipes it across the corner of your lips. “You had a little something…” He brings his finger to his own lips and licks it off, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. “Can’t waste it.”

You scoff, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he muses, tilting his head, “you’re still here.” He leans in just a fraction closer, his voice dropping. “Does that mean you like it when I tease you, jagiya?”

You roll your eyes and turn toward the counter, forcing yourself to focus on something—anything—other than the way he’s looking at you. “You clearly need supervision, so I’m helping.”

“Helping? That’s cute.”

“I know how to cook, you know.”

“Sure you do,” he teases, stepping behind you so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. Before you can respond, his hands slide over yours, effortlessly guiding them to the knife on the counter. “Let me see, then.”

Your fingers tighten slightly on the handle, heat radiating from his body behind you. “Ji-yong.”

“Hm?” He rests his chin on your shoulder, completely unfazed. “I’m just helping, right?”

You exhale sharply, trying to ignore the way his voice drips with amusement. “I don’t need you hovering over me.”

He hums as if considering your words, then suddenly reaches around you, grabbing an ingredient from the counter—brushing against you just enough to send a jolt up your spine. “Ah, my bad,” he murmurs, lips dangerously close to your ear. “Didn’t mean to get in your way.”

You whip around, intending to glare at him properly, but the moment you do, he lifts a small piece of fruit to your lips. “Open up, aein.”

“What—”

“Shh.” He taps the fruit against your bottom lip, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Be good and try it.”

Despite your attempt to act like you were annoyed with him, you open your mouth, and he places it on your tongue, his fingers lingering a little too long. His eyes flicker down, watching the way your lips close around it.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he murmurs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You chew slowly, refusing to let him see just how much he’s getting to you. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He grins. “Of course I am.” He picks up another piece, twirling it between his fingers. “The question is… are you?”

You swallow, willing yourself not to fall into his trap. Instead, you decide to turn the tables. Two can play this game. With a slow, deliberate movement, you step closer, reaching past him to grab a piece of fruit for yourself. He watches, amused, as you bring it to your lips—but instead of eating it right away, you pause. You roll the fruit lightly between your fingers, letting your lips hover just above it, pretending to inspect it. “Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully, glancing at him through your lashes. “I don’t know… do you think I should try it, Ji-yong?”

His smirk falters just slightly—his eyes flicker to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. You don’t give him a chance to recover. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, you bring the fruit to your mouth and take a bite, your lips just barely brushing your fingers. Your tongue flicks out to catch the sweetness, and you swear you hear Jiyong’s breath hitch.

You let out a small, pleased hum as you chew, tilting your head. “Mmm. You were right. It’s good.”

His smirk is still there, but his jaw tenses slightly. “Glad you approve.”

You take another bite, even slower this time, then reach up with your thumb to wipe the juice lingering at the corner of your lips. His eyes track the movement immediately. For the final blow, you bring your thumb to your lips—just like he did earlier—and suck the sweetness away, holding eye contact the entire time.

Ji-yong stills. You see it—the exact moment the teasing backfires on him. His smirk wavers, his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, you even heard the way his breath hitched. For once, he doesn’t have a witty comeback.

Satisfied, you tilt your head. “Something wrong?”

Jiyong exhales, slow and measured, before abruptly closing the distance between you.

“Oh, aein,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with just two fingers. His gaze is dangerously dark now, heated in a way that makes your stomach flip. “You really wanna play this game with me?”

You blink innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He chuckles, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. His hand doesn’t drop from your chin—instead, his thumb brushes along your jawline, slow and teasing.

“You’re cute,” he murmurs, his lips so close you can feel his breath. “But you should know better than to tease me, princess.”

Before you can react, his other hand suddenly slides down, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your breath catches, and he grins, fully aware of what he’s doing to you.

“Now,” he says, voice nothing but smooth velvet, “let’s see how long you can keep up, hmm?”

Oh. You’re in trouble.

His grip on your waist tightens, holding you exactly where he wants you. His smirk is still there, but there’s something darker behind it now—something that makes your pulse skyrocket. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t finish this game he started. Not that either of you want to stop playing.

“You’ve been getting bold,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your hip. “Teasing me like that. Acting all innocent when we both know you’re not.”

You refuse to back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, keeping your voice steady despite the way your heart is slamming against your ribs.

Ji-yong lets out a low, knowing hum. “No?”

Before you can react, he shifts, caging you in completely—his arm sliding around your lower back, his other hand pressing flat against the counter beside you. He leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

“Then why,” he murmurs, voice rich with amusement, “do you look like you’re about to melt?”

You inhale sharply, trying to keep your composure. But it’s impossible when his presence is so overwhelming—the scent of him, the heat of his body, the way his lips are hovering over your skin, never quite touching, but making you ache for it anyway.

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, challenging him right back. “If anyone’s about to melt, it’s you,” you whisper.

Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose—a laugh, but barely. His grip tightens, his body pressing into yours just enough to make you shiver.

“Oh?” He muses, tilting his head. “That so?”

His hand on your waist slides lower, fingers grazing over the curve of your hip—slow, deliberate, teasing. He’s watching you, studying the way your breath catches, how your fingers clutch at the counter behind you.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you is gone.

His lips brush against your jaw, featherlight, before ghosting down your neck. It’s barely a touch, but it’s enough to make your stomach tighten. However, he can’t help himself as he begins to kiss your jawline. Slow and soft pecks trailing down your jaw and your neck, until he reaches your collarbone.

“Still think I’m the one melting?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice so dangerously low it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers instinctively grip his shirt, as if holding onto something solid will keep you from completely losing yourself in him. Of course, he notices, and he grins against your neck.

“You’re already falling apart for me.”

Your head is spinning, your breath uneven, but how could it not be? Ji-yong is right there, pressing against you like he has no intention of letting go—and God, he looks unfairly good doing it.

The dim lighting casts soft shadows over his sharp features, highlighting the mischief in his eyes, the slight smirk tugging at his lips, the way his hair falls messily over his forehead like he was made to look this effortlessly perfect. His jaw is so sharp it could cut, his skin so frustratingly smooth it’s unfair, and then—those lips. Lips that are so close to yours now, parted just slightly, so warm against your skin as he teases you without even trying. His scent—clean, expensive, intoxicating—wraps around you like a slow-burning haze, making it impossible to think of anything but him. And then there’s his hands—warm, and so damn sure of themselves, holding you in place, fingers pressing just hard enough to make your stomach tighten. His confidence, the way he looks at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, has you completely undone before he even touches you properly. How is it fair that someone can look this good and know exactly how to use it? And worse—how are you supposed to survive it?

And then—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP!

A loud, obnoxious timer shatters the moment.

For a second, neither of you react—both frozen, caught in the tension that had been building like a slow-burning fire.

Then, he exhales sharply, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he lets out a deep, frustrated groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, his grip on your waist flexing like he’s resisting the urge to just ignore it altogether.

You, on the other hand, are biting back a grin. “Ji-yong,” you say, feigning innocence, “I think something’s burning.”

His fingers tighten just slightly before he finally pulls back, shooting a glare toward the kitchen timer like it personally offended him.

“I hate that thing,” he deadpans, jaw clenching as he forces himself to step away from you.

You laugh, still breathless, but can’t help the way your lips curve in satisfaction. “You were the one who insisted on cooking.”

His eyes darken again instantly, and suddenly, you realize teasing him right now might be dangerous. He lets out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back like he’s trying to shake off the tension that had just settled so thickly between you. His jaw is still tight, and you don’t miss the way his fingers flex before he finally forces himself to step away.

“You’re lucky I care about feeding you,” he mutters, tossing a glance your way as he checks on the food.

You cross your arms, watching the way his back muscles shift under his shirt as he moves around the kitchen. It’s almost unfair—even when he’s frustrated, he looks good enough to ruin you.

“I don’t know,” you muse, leaning against the counter. “Seemed like you cared about something else a lot more just now.”

Ji-yong pauses. For a moment, he just stands there, hands braced against the counter, before he slowly—so slowly—turns to face you again.

“Oh?” His voice is deceptively light, but his gaze? Dangerous. “Are you saying you’d rather skip dinner?”

“Didn’t say that.”

He hums, his eyes still too intense as he starts plating the food. “Good,” he murmurs, sliding a plate in front of you before leaning in just slightly. “Because you’re gonna need the energy later.”

Your stomach flips, and you hate how easily he turns the tables back on you. He grins, knowing exactly what he’s doing, before grabbing his own plate and nodding toward the dining table. “C’mon, aein. Let’s eat.”

You exhale, trying to calm the warmth in your cheeks, before following him.

He lights a few candles, their soft glow casting warm flickers of light across the sleek tabletop. The ambient dimness makes the setting feel far too intimate, like something straight out of a private five-star restaurant. He places the plates down with precision, adjusting them like an artist perfecting his masterpiece. A bottle of expensive wine appears next, because of course he has that on hand, followed by two glasses that catch the light just right. He even adds a small vase with a single rose—a dramatic touch, but so undeniably him. When he finally steps back, admiring his work, he catches you staring and smirks. “What?” he teases, tilting his head. “Didn’t think I’d put in the effort?”

Your gaze flickers back to Ji-yong, who’s watching you with that infuriatingly smug expression, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“I just…” You trail off, lips parting slightly as you glance at the setup again. “I wasn’t expecting all this.”

He leans casually against the chair, his smirk only growing. “You wound me, aein,” he sighs dramatically. “Do you really think I’d invite you over for dinner and not make it perfect?”

“Perfect, huh?”

He shrugs, stepping closer—too close. “Well,” he murmurs, eyes glinting as he reaches for the wine, “it’ll be perfect once you sit down and let me pour you a drink.”

You finally sink into your chair, still feeling a little dazed from how effortlessly Jiyong managed to make this dinner feel so special. He pours you a glass of wine first, his fingers steady and graceful, before taking his own seat across from you. For a moment, there’s a comfortable silence. The soft glow of the candles flickers between you, casting shadows over his sharp features. He watches you as you take the first bite, eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

“Well?” He asks, resting his chin on his palm, waiting for your reaction.

You pretend to consider, chewing slowly as if deep in thought.

His eyes narrow. “Don’t even—”

Before he can finish, you let out a dramatic sigh, setting your fork down. “I guess it’s okay…”

Ji-yong scoffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s amusement flickering behind them. “You’re such a brat,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Give me that.”

Before you can stop him, he reaches across the table with his own fork, stealing a bite from your plate. His expression shifts almost immediately—satisfaction mixed with pure smugness.

“Yeah,” he hums, chewing slowly. “Tastes like perfection. Just like I thought.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “You really know how to fish for compliments, huh?”

He tilts his head, a lazy grin forming. “I don’t need to fish for them. I already know I’m amazing.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

But as you glance around the table—the candles flickering, the way he watches you between bites, the small, intimate details he put into everything—you realize something: he didn’t have to do all this. When it comes to showing his love for you, Ji-yong loves extravagance, sure, but this dinner? This was different. This wasn’t for show. This wasn’t for anyone else. This was for you.

Your heart softens, and without thinking, you murmur, “Thank you, Ji.”

He pauses mid-bite, blinking at you like he wasn’t expecting that. “For what?”

You shrug, nudging a piece of food around your plate. “For this. For making it special.”

His smirk falters for just a second before something warmer takes its place. He leans back in his chair, watching you closely, his teasing tone now laced with something softer.

“Of course, aein,” he murmurs, lips quivering. “You deserve it.”

And just like that, your heart is completely gone.

Dinner continues at a slow, unhurried pace, both of you enjoying the food and each other’s company. The teasing ebbs into easy conversation, laughter spilling effortlessly between bites, and for a while, it’s just… nice. Comfortable. Like the world outside doesn’t exist. He watches you fondly as you take another bite, his elbow resting on the table, chin propped up on his hand. He’s been staring at you like that for a while now—like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“What?” you ask, lips twitching as you meet his gaze.

“Nothing,” he says, swirling his wine glass lazily. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How cute you look when you’re enjoying your food.”

A flush creeps up your neck before you can stop it. “Oh my god, Jiyong—”

He grins, setting his glass down. “What? It’s true.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table as his voice drops just slightly, just enough to make your stomach flip. “You make the smallest happy noises when you like something. It’s adorable.”

Your mouth opens—ready to argue, ready to defend yourself—but then you realize you can’t even deny it. He must’ve been paying such close attention to notice that. And that realization? It makes your heart ache in the best way.

You clear your throat, playing with the stem of your glass just to avoid looking directly at him. “You notice too much.”

Jiyong exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I just notice you.”

The words settle between you, gentle but weighted, sinking in like warmth spreading through your chest. There’s no teasing in his voice this time. Just honesty. That’s more dangerous than any flirtation. For a moment, you just look at him—this man who could have anyone, who could be anywhere, but right now, he’s here. With you. Watching you like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to.

“…You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” you finally murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He starts grinning as if he had just won something. “Oh, I know.”

“Unbelievable.” You groan, tossing a napkin at him.

But even as you shake your head, you can’t stop the softness creeping into your smile. By the time dinner winds down, you feel light, warm, and completely at ease. The teasing has softened into something quieter, something closer, as you sit across from Jiyong in the glow of candlelight, your empty plates long forgotten.

Ji-yong finishes the last sip of his wine, then sets his glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Not bad for a home-cooked meal, right?”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “Mmm… I guess you can keep your title as a decent chef.”

He scoffs, clearly unimpressed by your lack of enthusiasm. “Decent?” He stands, making his way over to you, his smirk lazy but his eyes holding something softer. “Jagiya, you practically moaned over that food.”

Your jaw drops. “I did not—”

He laughs, reaching out to take your hand. “Come on,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, quieter. “I have something else planned.”

Before you can ask what, he tugs you up from your seat, guiding you toward the spacious living area. The city skyline stretches out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a breathtaking backdrop to the moment. But it’s not what captures your attention. It’s the way he holds your hand so naturally, like he was always meant to.

“What are we doing?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Dancing.”

He reaches for a remote and clicks a button. Within seconds, soft, slow music fills the space, blending seamlessly into the ambience of the night.

Your breath catches slightly. “You planned this?”

Ji-yong’s fingers thread through yours, his other hand settling lightly at your waist. His touch is warm, steady—so sure of itself, like he’s been waiting for this.

“I told you,” he murmurs, leading you into an easy sway. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

Your heart stumbles, warmth spreading through your chest like honey. How does he do this? How does he make you melt with just a few words?

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease, but your voice is softer now, barely above a whisper.

He grins, pulling you just a little closer. “And you love it.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t deny it because right now, wrapped up in his arms, your bodies moving in slow rhythm beneath the dim glow of the penthouse lights, you can’t remember a time when you felt this safe. And when Jiyong’s hand slides up your back, his touch gentle but grounding, you know—you don’t want this night to end.

His grip on your hand tightens just slightly before he lifts it, guiding you into a slow, effortless twirl. You let yourself spin under his touch, the motion making the hem of your outfit shift slightly, your hair catching the light just right. For that brief moment, everything feels weightless—dreamlike. But when you turn back to face him, you catch the way he’s looking at you. His gaze roams over you slowly, deliberately, like he has every intention of memorizing you. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, his dark eyes drinking in every single detail as if seeing you for the first time.

Warmth rushes to your face as you clear your throat, shifting slightly under his stare. “What?” you ask, trying—and failing—to sound unaffected.

He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his expression as he tugs you closer again, resuming your slow sway. His voice drops, low and utterly sincere.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches. Not cute. Not pretty. Beautiful. And the way he says it—so effortlessly, like it’s just a fact—makes your heart stumble.

“Getting shy, are we?”

You groan, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “You are so—”

“Charming? Handsome? Completely smitten with you?”

You huff, looking away, but that only makes him grin wider. And then, in a move that’s entirely unfair, he leans in, his lips brushing just beneath your ear as he murmurs, “Don’t look away. I meant it.”

Your stomach flips.

Oh, he’s serious. So serious.

He pulls back just enough to look at you again, his expression warm, unreadable, and maybe even a little too tender. His hand lifts, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a touch so gentle it nearly undoes you.

"You should hear it more often," he muses, voice low and honeyed.

Your lips part, but no words come out—because how are you supposed to respond when he says things like that?

He watches your reaction, his teasing smile softening. His arms tighten around you as he spins you playfully again, stealing another lingering glance before pulling you back into him. His gaze is nothing short of adoring.

The soft melody still lingers in the air, but you stop moving first.

Ji-yong’s brow lifts as you take a step back, though his grip on your waist tightens, like he’s not ready to let you go. His lips curl. “What, done with me already?”

You grin, tilting your head. “Maybe.”

His smirk falters. Just slightly. You take advantage of the moment, slipping from his hold to retrieve something from where you’d hidden it earlier. You don’t miss the way his eyes follow you.

“Relax, I’m not leaving,” you tease, casting him a glance over your shoulder. “I just have something for you.”

When you turn back, holding a small, neatly wrapped box, Jiyong looks genuinely surprised. His gaze flickers between the gift and your face, and for once, he seems… speechless.

“You got me something?” He finally asks, like the idea never occurred to him.

You smirk, stepping closer. Close enough that he has no choice but to focus on you.

“Of course,” you murmur, trailing a finger down the front of his shirt, just to see his reaction. “What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t?”

Jiyong inhales, but his smirk returns—a little slower this time. “That’s what I normally say.”

“Not anymore.” You grin, pressing the box into his hands. “Now, open it.”

He watches you for a second longer, like he’s trying to figure out what game you’re playing. Then, finally, he pulls at the ribbon and lifts the lid.

The moment he sees what’s inside, his smirk fades.

The bracelet inside is sleek, but there’s a personal touch—a custom engraving on the inside. Jiyong’s thumb drags over it, his eyes lingering.

“You really know me, huh?” His voice is softer now.

“Obviously.”

His gaze snaps back to yours immediately. This time, there’s something different—an intensity that wasn’t there a second ago. For the first time tonight, you feel like you have him cornered. Slowly, you reach for his wrist, lifting it between both of yours. “Here,” you murmur. “Let me put it on for you.”

His fingers twitch slightly when your fingertips brush against his skin. You don’t rush. Instead, you take your time. He exhales slowly as you fasten the clasp, his usual teasing nowhere to be found. His gaze stays locked on your face, but there’s a flicker of something else. Something like anticipation. Restraint.

“You’re quiet.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Am I?”

“Mmhmm.” You run your fingers over his wrist deliberately, letting your touch linger. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

His jaw tenses. Oh, this is fun.

You let your fingers trace the bracelet just a little longer than necessary, then glance up at him through your lashes. You can see it now—the tiniest hint of pink dusting his ears. He knows what you’re doing. And he can’t stop it. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his voice coming out a little rougher than before. “You’re playing with fire, aein.”

You smile innocently. “I have no idea what you mean.”

His gaze darkens—and just like that, the shift happens. His fingers catch your wrist mid-movement, grip firm but careful. His smirk is back, a little lazier now, a little more dangerous. “You think you can tease me?” he murmurs, tilting his head. His thumb brushes against your pulse point, slow and deliberate. “That’s cute.”

Your breath hitches—not because of his words, but because of the way he says them. He steps closer.

“I should give you something too,” he muses. His grip doesn’t loosen. “Something to match.”

Your brows furrow, but before you can even question it, he releases you and disappears into the other room.

And when he returns, dangling from his fingertips, is a delicate necklace.

The necklace swings in Jiyong’s hand, glinting with the soft lighting as he holds it just out of reach. There’s a predatory look in his eyes, the glimmer of amusement dancing across his features as he teases you.

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, your voice playful but filled with challenge. “You really think I’m just going to beg for this?”

His smile widens, his gaze darkening slightly. “I don’t think you will. I know you will.” His voice drops an octave, dripping with confidence as he steps closer.

You refuse to back down, crossing your arms, determination flooding your veins. “I’m not begging.”

“Oh, but you will,” he murmurs, stepping closer. There’s a dangerous edge to his voice now, though the smile never fades. “You’ll ask. In your own way.”

You scoff, but there’s a flutter in your chest, excitement mixing with the heat he’s radiating. “You’re not getting ‘nice’ from me.”

The corner of his mouth tilts upward, a silent challenge flickering in his gaze. “We’ll see about that.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into his chest in one swift motion, your back hitting him hard as he spins you around. You gasp, slightly disoriented, but you’re quickly steadied by his hands on your waist. You try to steady yourself, trying to resist the pull of his magnetic presence. “I’m not begging.”

Ji-yong’s lips brush against your ear, his voice low. “You don’t have to beg, but you do need to ask. Nicely.”

He’s testing you, pushing your limits with every word. The coolness of the necklace rests in his hand, so close you can practically taste it. But he doesn’t make a move to put it on you just yet. Instead, he slides the necklace slowly between his fingers, watching you with that quiet intensity. His lips graze your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You’re fighting to maintain control, to keep your composure, but it’s hard with the way he’s acting.

“You know, princess,” he whispers softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

You try to focus, but his hands slide down your arms, slow, deliberate, every touch purposeful. He leans in, his lips just barely grazing the back of your neck as he savors the moment, lingering for far longer than necessary.

“I’m not begging,” you murmur, but the words are shaky now, losing their strength.

He laughs, soft and rich, a sound full of dark amusement. He moves back slightly, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you two. You try to take a deep breath, but he takes his time, the necklace still dangling loosely from his fingers. Every second feels like an eternity as he looks you over—taking you in, analyzing you.

“Say please,” he demands suddenly, his voice cool and commanding, forcing you to look at him. You try to hold your ground, but the way he’s looking at you—like he’s already won—makes it impossible. His eyes flash darkly as he leans in again, his lips grazing your skin with a lingering kiss along your neck. The warmth of his breath makes your pulse quicken. The tension between you two only grows thicker, more suffocating, until you can’t keep your composure anymore. You shiver slightly, trying to breathe through the moment.

Finally, unable to stand the pressure any longer, you whisper it: “Please, Ji-yong.”

The second the word leaves your lips, his hand moves, quick and sure, as he slides the necklace around your neck. The cool metal is the only thing that cools the fire spreading through your veins. But even after he places the necklace carefully around your throat, his fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary. He adjusts the chain slowly, his fingertips grazing your skin with each touch, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

The way he looks at you now—the satisfaction in his gaze—is almost enough to make you forget everything else.

“Good.” He looks down at you, eyes dark with desire, lips curling just enough to show the power he’s taken from you. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

As he waits for your response, his eyes still locked on yours, you can’t help but smile, your fingers gently brushing over the delicate chain of the necklace he just put on you. The way the soft sparkle catches the light makes you pause, admiring how it fits perfectly around your neck, just like it was made for you.

You tilt your head slightly, your fingers lightly grazing the pendant as you gaze up at him. "You know," you start, your voice soft and filled with admiration, "I can’t stop looking at it."

He watches you, clearly intrigued. "Yeah? You like it?" His voice carries a hint of pride, but there’s something vulnerable in his eyes, too. It’s like he’s hoping you truly appreciate it.

You smile, your fingers gently tracing the necklace, and your eyes lift to meet his. "I love it," you say, your voice warm, sincere. "You really know how to pick the perfect gift."

Ji-yong's gaze softens, his earlier teasing gone as he watches you with a fond expression. "I’m glad," he murmurs, stepping a little closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. "It’s all for you, princess."

For a moment, you both just stand there, the sweet sincerity of the moment filling the space between you. The tension from before fades away, replaced by something softer, more intimate. You catch his eyes again, a small smile on your lips, feeling the weight of the gift and the gesture behind it settle in. You then continue to gaze at the necklace, your fingers tracing its smooth, delicate pendant as you let out a soft sigh. The way it catches the light only seems to make it more beautiful, but it’s not just the gift that’s leaving you speechless—it’s the gesture, the care behind it, and the way Ji-yong’s eyes are locked onto you, full of affection.

"It’s perfect," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as you lift your gaze to meet his. You’re so focused on the warmth in his eyes, the way he’s watching you, that it’s almost like everything else disappears for a moment.

He steps closer, his hand gently brushing against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you softly. It’s tender, almost too gentle for the electric tension building between you. You can feel the heat of his body pressing into yours, and when he pulls back, his voice is low, almost growling with desire.

"You’re perfect," he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours. "But I need you now."

Ji-yong doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. As soon as his words sink in, he’s on you again, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that sets your skin ablaze. His hands move with purpose, gripping your waist, pulling you against him until there’s nothing left between you but heat. His kiss is demanding, his tongue sweeping past your lips as he takes everything you’re willing to give—and more.

A soft gasp escapes you as he presses you back against the nearest wall, his body molding to yours, his hands roaming your curves like he can’t stand a single inch of space between you. One hand cups your jaw, angling your face so he can deepen the kiss, while the other slides down, gripping your hip before tugging your thigh up against his. The sheer need in the way he holds you, in the way his fingers dig in just enough to make you gasp, sets your pulse racing.

His kisses grow more urgent, more desperate, as though he’s trying to drown himself in you. He pulls away for just a second, his breath warm against your lips, his eyes dark and full of heat as they flicker over your face. Then he’s back again, kissing you harder, deeper, as if he never wants to stop. His fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp thrill down your spine, and the sound you make has him groaning against your mouth.

"You're driving me crazy," he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and rough. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

“I could say the same about you,” you whisper back, no longer being able to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. You try to squeeze your thighs together for some sort of friction, and he notices. Of course he does.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah—”

“Good. Because I’m craving something much sweeter.”

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#kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #gdragon #bigbang #bigbang x reader #kpop #kpop x reader #happy valentines #valentines day #fluff #steamy #ao3 writer #ao3 link #ao3 #kpop fanfic

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dindjarindiaries · 2 days ago

Text

Pulling Punches

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: "Look, I know I probably should have backed off and I apologize." "No, honestly it was kind of hot." "What?"

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

You sighed and set your hands on your hips, leaning close enough so that your muttered words could only be shared between the two of you. “Din, honestly. I’ll be fine in there.” You gestured with your head to the cantina’s threshold. “Just stay out here and watch my back. Okay?”

Din shifted his weight between his feet and flexed one of his gloved hands. The other rose to adjust his vambrace. With a heavy exhale of defeat and a swing of his helmet, he relented. “Fine.” His visor found you again. “Just—.”

“Be careful.” You huffed and gave his armored shoulder a playful punch. “I know. I can handle myself.” You turned towards the door and spoke to him over your shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few.”

With that, you strode forward. The door slid open for you, and you felt Din’s gaze lingering on your back until the closing door made it impossible for him to see you any longer.

You rolled your eyes. Honestly, for a man who had yet to even mention the idea of being with you romantically, he was so unnecessarily protective.

The cantina on this world was crowded that night, practically shoulder-to-shoulder as you wove your way towards the actual bar. You were soon close enough to spot the familiar blue skin of the Twi’lek bartender, and after raising your hand and keeping your eye on them, you caught their attention. The Twi’lek woman smiled and waved you forward.

“Sorry.” You smiled sheepishly as you stepped up to greet the bartender. “I know I’m a bit late.”

The Twi’lek raised an unimpressed brow, despite the glint of fondness in her gaze. “‘A bit’? It was two full rotations.”

You shrugged. “Kark happens.” You subtly scanned your surroundings and lowered your voice. “Do you still have it?”

The Twi’lek hummed a positive note as she finished pouring a drink. “It’s in the back.” She picked up the glass in her hand and nodded. “I’ll go grab it.”

Your face softened in gratitude, even as your fists tightened on top of the bar. You wouldn’t feel much better until the datacard was in your hands.

Just as you watched the blue Twi’lek disappear into a back room, the man on your left started to speak to you. “Never seen you here before.”

You huffed and cut your gaze at him. “Moved off world a few cycles ago.”

“Makes sense.” He shuffled closer to you. “I’d remember a face like yours.”

You let out a low chuckle and glanced over at him, amused. “Oh, yeah?”

The man hummed his agreement and gave you an obvious once-over. “What brings you back here?”

You offered him a shrug. “Just visiting an old friend.” You gestured with your head to where the bartender had gone.

“Well…” The man’s hand slid closer to yours on the bar top. “I’m glad you did.”

Your eyes narrowed as you looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not staying long.”

His brow rose slowly. “I won’t need long.”

You frowned and pulled your hand closer to yourself. “Okay, then let me make myself clear: I don’t want whatever you’re trying to offer me.”

The man chuckled. “Playing hard to get? Really?”

You crossed your arms, but kept your hands pulled tight into fists, ready to punch if you had to. “I’m not ‘playing’ at all.”

The man lifted his hand as if he was about to set it on your shoulder. “Then let me help you—.”

Whatever else he was saying was lost in the shuffle of someone stepping in between the two of you so quickly that you nearly jumped into the person on your right. The flash of silver was all you needed to see to identify who it was that had grabbed the man’s wrist so hard that you audibly heard it crack.

The man gasped in both pain and surprise, but Din didn’t release his wrist, not even as he spoke. “Lay a single hand on them, and I’ll cut it off.”

The man sputtered before he tried to snatch his wrist away from Din. “Alright, alright! Relax.”

“This is me relaxed.” Din still didn’t relinquish his grip. “You don’t want to see me when I’m not. Do I make myself clear?”

The man huffed indignantly. “Yeah, yeah! Whatever. Just let me go!”

You observed the attention you were suddenly getting and sighed. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes. “Let him go, Din.”

Din hesitated, but you soon heard movement as he dropped the man’s hand. You reopened your eyes to see the man cradling his bruising wrist and glaring between both you and Din. His words were directed towards you when he spoke again. “You could at least fight your own battles.”

You were ready to do exactly that, but Din beat you to it. He slammed his elbow into the back of the man’s head, forcing his front half to fold over the bar top, and then punched the man’s gut to make him fall back a few steps. Din’s final hit was an uppercut that had the man knocked out in seconds.

The man hit the floor, and the cantina froze for a single moment in time as Din flexed both his hands and spoke to the limp body underneath him. “They don’t have to.”

You should’ve been mortified by his actions, and part of you was, but mostly… you were hit with a rush of warmth that brought a fond smile to your lips. Din was always protective, sure, but this was something different. This was a fight to protect your honor.

Like he had said, a battle you could have fought on your own, but you didn’t have to, because he wanted to do it for you.

Din then shook his helmet as if pulling himself out of a trance and turned around to face you. He took a step closer, as if he was about to start speaking, but your attention was pulled away by the bartender returning.

“Here.” The Twi’lek woman handed you the datacard, and you thanked her quietly. Her gaze fell to the man on the floor, and her brow raised as she let out a relived exhale. “Oh, finally. Someone took care of that guy.”

You frowned in confusion. “What?”

The bartender nodded at the body. “Guy’s been harassing our patrons for weeks.”

“Oh.” You looked down at the man and kicked his limp foot with your boot. “Good riddance.”

The Twi’lek huffed in agreement and only briefly looked between you and Din. She smiled and nodded towards the door. “Be safe out there.”

“And you be safe in here.”

With those words and a small smile of your own, you turned towards the door and started making your way out. It was admittedly easier, though, with Din at your side, as he had no trouble pushing people out of the way for both of you.

As soon as you were making your way back to the ship, Din began to speak. “Look.”

He let out a soft breath as his visor glanced over at you.

“I know I probably should have backed off.” He looked down at the fist he’d punched with and flexed it. “I apologize.”

You hummed, pretending to consider his apology. “No. Honestly…” You shrugged. “It was kind of hot.”

Din’s helmet whipped towards you so fast that you’re surprised he didn’t actually trip a step. “What?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you bumped your side against his. “I’m being serious!”

Din’s helmet tilted at you. “But you’re laughing.”

“Because it’s funny.”

Din sighed. “What’s funny?”

You nodded at him. “You being so shocked that I find you attractive.”

Din stiffened in clear embarrassment as he focused on the way ahead. “Are we really doing this here?”

You pretended to be disappointed. “So, you’re saying you didn’t do what you did because you find me attractive?”

Din’s helmet turned towards you again. “I never said that.”

Your teasing smile was impossible to fight. “Then you do think I’m attractive?”

Din suddenly stopped in his tracks, letting out an exhale heavy enough to make you hold back a laugh. He took you by the arm and pulled you aside to keep you out of the way as he responded.

“Clearly. How many more people do I have to punch to make that obvious?”

You blinked at him before you burst out laughing again. "Din, there has to be a better way for you to tell me how you feel."

Din shrugged. "I was raised a fighter."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Not a lover?"

"Jury's still out."

You snorted in amusement. Din, however, was quick to shift gears, his hand lowering from your arm to your back as his visor gave your surroundings a cautious glance.

"Now, can I please get you back to the ship safely, and then we can discuss this more properly?" He tilted his helmet at you. "Or, in your case, laugh about it."

You gave your eyes a playful roll, though the smile on your lips told a different story. "Fine." You nodded towards the way ahead. "Just try not to punch anyone else."

Din huffed and gave your back a gentle tap. "No promises."

Given what additional insight you had now regarding Din's motivations, you found your smile widening as you stayed close to his side, at last fully grateful to be within his protective reach.

#happy valentine's day! a new din piece has been long overdue <3 #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #prompts #dindjarindiaries

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authorhjk1 · 2 days ago

Note

Choi Sooyoung Blood Red Dress

https://search.app.goo.gl/EqoAcpe

Blood red

(Sooyoung X Male Reader)

Sooyoung lets out a moan as you lean down to kiss her neck. Her husband and his parents are eating in the living room, while you have your hand up his wife's dress in the middle of the hallway. You press her against their bedroom door behind her and let two fingers slip inside her pussy. The two or you were planning to do this in their bedroom, but you stopped in front of the door, unable to keep your hands off her for much longer.

"I need to use the bathroom."

A shiver runs down your spine when you hear Sooyoung's father in law's voice. Finally, the two of you slip through the door behind her and a moment later you hear footsteps in the hallway. Sitting on the bed, you watch how Sooyoung gets on her knees and quickly undoes your belt and pants.

"Isn't this so exciting?"

Her mischievous grin makes you reach for her head and guide her towards your now exposed cock.

"I never thought you'd be such a slut for your husband's boss."

"Guilty."

Sooyoung whispers against your tip, already making your breath hitch, before she even starts sucking you off.

The faint voices in the living room are reduced to a minimum as Sooyoung doesn't care about making noises. She's quickly taking your cock in and out of her mouth, her head bobbing up and down in your lap. Your dick is getting coated in her saliva in the process. You're just about to take her head into your hands and start to fuck her face, when the door suddenly opens.

You look up, suddenly way too aware of what you're doing. Sooyoung lets your cock fall out of her mouth, before she turns around, her eyes wide in surprise.

"I should've known it wasn't my son's idea to invite your boss."

Your surprised by her father in law's amused smile and your confusion rises when he steps into the room and closes the door behind.

"You probably don't know this..."

He is talking to you as he takes his pants off. You're still aware that Sooyoung's hand is wrapped around your wet cock.

"but me and Sooyoung have fun from time to time as well. Isn't that right?"

He leans down and to you watch how she licks her lips as she pulls down his boxers. She takes his cock into her mouth and you feel her hand beginning to move up and down your length. You knew Sooyoung was a slut for sleeping with you. But you never expected her to be this bad.

"Good girl."

He groans, his hand stroking her hair while she sucks him off.

You stand up as well and Sooyoung eventually moves her head to wrap her lips around your cock. You stand next to her husband's father while Sooyoung gives the both of you head.

"This dress looks amazing on you."

He says while she's sucking you off, her hand stroking his cock. He reaches down to reach into her cleavage, groping her tits.

"I picked it."

You admit, amused by how big of a slut Sooyoung is.

"Great choice."

He groans when she takes him into her mouth again and you feel her hand gliding along your length.

"Although I prefer that tight pink one. She wore it for my birthday."

You chuckle.

"Yeah, she looks amazing in that."

"Do you guys want to fuck me or keep talking?"

Sooyoung looks up at the both of you with one hand each stroking your cocks.

"Why not both?"

Her father and law jokes and you help Sooyoung to her knees.

You're curious if her husband or her mother in law are ever going to look for the three or you. You can't tell how long it has been since you went into her bedroom.

"Right there."

Sooyoung moans around his cock, while you keep thrusting into her from behind. She's on all fours on her husband's bed, getting fucked by his boss and his father.

"Keep going, slut."

He takes her head in both his hand and now starts to fuck her face, while you thrust in and out of her pussy. You never expected to share Sooyoung with anyone. But here you are now. You can tell how horny she is. Her pussy is dripping wet and she tries her best to suck her father in law off. Her dress is lying next to her on the bed and you decide to start spanking her ass. Every hit on her butt cheeks makes his head roll back, probably because she moans and groans around his cock.

After the two of you switch positions, you know you won't be able to hold on for much longer. You're surprised her father in law has this much stamina while spit roasting her, but even he seems to be close to finishing.

"God, your throat feels amazing."

You groan, but Sooyoung can't answer. Your cock is buried deep inside her throat, while keeps fucking her, forcing her even further onto your length.

It finally ends with the both of you standing on the mattress with Sooyoung kneeling between you two.

"Come on, guys. All over my face."

She has this mischievous smile on her lips that screams pure lust. It feels like she's the definition of a slut as she jerks both of you off, pointing your cocks at her face.

"Fuck, gonna cum."

He groans, leaning back a little. You watch how he climaxes, his cum erupting all over Sooyoung's face. Her cheeks and nose are covered, some got on her lips and she moans in satisfaction. Trying to taste him, she sticks out her tongue and licks her lips clean.

"So damn delicious."

She sighs and focuses on you.

You can't believe that she is jerking you off, kneeling naked on her husband's bed, her father in law's cum already all over her face.

"Ruin my face completely."

She can feel your cock pulsating, so she closes her eyes and opens her mouth.

You see stars as you orgasm. Your own cum mainly hits her eyes and mouth, slightly mixing with his cum, while Sooyoung takes it all.

"Oh my god. So much delicious cum."

Instead of wiping her face clean, she leans forward and takes both of your cocks into her hands again. She cleans the both of you with her mouth, making sure she doesn't miss a drop.

#ask #anon #kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #snsd sooyoung #snsd smut #snsd #girls generation sooyoung #girls generation smut #girls generation

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mrrharper · 1 day ago

Text

Fitting Into The Gear

The funniest thing? He wasn’t planning to buy anything.

He just wandered into the store selling motorcycle gear to look around. He planned to get a license in the near future and wanted to check how much would he have to save for the gear alone.

So he walked in and looked around, surrounded by the rich smell of brand new leather and plastic. He was quickly joined by a staff member, a beefy bro type, who very enthusiastically started explaining to him all the details he should focus on while searching if he wanted to get the best and sickest looking gear for himself.

All this talk made him want to try on some stuff, see how it looked on him. He ended up with a helmet and a mid range motorcycle suit, which he brought into the changing room located in the back of the store. He took off most of his clothes and began the process of putting on the suit, which took him a moment as he had never worn anything like this before. When that was done, the leather was clinging to his body more tightly than he expected, but thankfully it wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling.

Then came the helmet, which was another hurdle. It was supposed to sit tight on his head, or so the bro biker told him earlier, which meant that putting it on also took a while.

When he was finally done he turned around and faced the full-body mirror on the back wall to see how he looked. And he didn’t look half bad. Pretty good even. Yes, the leather suit was a bit too large for his lanky frame, but the helmet added a certain… something to his appearance which he found almost hot. Yeah, really hot.

Hot… wait, was he getting hotter? Yes, his body was now feeling significantly warmer than just a few moments before. But that must have bean because of the suit, which was all leather and thus probably good at capturing the heat radiating off of his body.

But then he moved a bit and he felt it. There was something wrong with his body and he was certain it wasn’t the suit or there helmet. His body felt different. He looked down and furrowed his brow. Did his chest look… larger? Actually, his arms looked bulkier as well. And his midsection too… his legs also! What the fuck? Why was his body expanding? And was it actually? He quickly pulled the zipper of the suit and got out of the upper half, then froze. His t-shirt was no longer there. Instead, he was now wearing a Nike compression shirt that… holy fuck, he was jacked! He had visible, quite meaty pecs! And these biceps and forearms… the fuck? How could this happen? This mush have been a hallucination, this was not real!

He was about to run out of the changing booth when the visor of his helmet started glowing and he just couldn’t look away. So he stood still as his mind began reshaping itself, his personality, thoughts, emotions, habits, all shifting, disappearing and appearing again. His brain was like clay and the helmet was remaking him into someone else.

That someone else was an obnoxious biker bro. He worked in the store, selling motorcycle gear to dudes who wanted to be just like him - jacked, with a sick bike between their legs. In the evenings he worked out or ran away from the cops with his brahs. His life was simple, as his thoughts focused on two things only, riding and lifting. There was nothing else that felt was necessary for him. He was hot as fuck after all, dudes like him weren’t supposed to worry about shit. He’d just flex and drive away on his black-and-white Ninja 700, leaving only a few skid marks on the asphalt behind him.

#personality change #nerd to jock tf #biker tf

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milunalupin · 2 days ago

Note

❤️ with the prompt “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.” please!! thank you nicole ily <3

my lovely lovely san happy valentine's day !! thank you for the request ily so much <3

— do you wanna know a secret ?

remus lupin x reader ♥︎ 845 words

The air in the common room was thick with the excitement of Valentine’s Day. Some students were exchanging notes, others were planning for the dance that night, and a few were simply enjoying the sugary sweets scattered across the tables. You, however, found yourself hiding in a corner with your textbook, trying to focus on your charms homework. It wasn’t that you disliked the holiday—it just felt like a reminder of what you didn’t have: someone to share it with.

Of course, there was someone you'd like to spend it with. Remus, your best friend who always seemed to know exactly what you needed, whether it was a laugh, a kind word, or just a quiet moment together.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Remus appeared in the doorway of the common room, his messy hair falling over his eyes, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his cardigan. He caught sight of you almost immediately, and that familiar, warm smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that made your heart beat a little faster, but you pushed the feeling away. He was your best friend, and that’s all he could ever be, right?

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

You looked up from your book and tried to smile. “Just, uh, trying to get some work done. You know, not everyone is celebrating Valentine’s Day with a dance or chocolates. I’m just not in the mood for all the… fuss.”

Remus nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “I get it. The whole day just feels like a lot of pressure, doesn’t it?” He sat down next to you, shifting a few of your books to the side. “But, you know… if you want, we could just skip all that and hang out. Maybe take a walk around the lake, or—”

You blinked in surprise, cutting him off. “Wait, Sirius isnt forcing you into another double date?"

Remus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I wasn't really interested in her, it wouldn't have been fun for either of us."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. “Oh,” you said, awkwardly fiddling with a pencil. “Well, you don't have to just sit here with me. I mean, you could always ask someone else…”

“C'mon,” He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “like I need an excuse to spend time with you. Besides, I don’t need anyone else.” His voice softened at the last part, and his eyes lingered on yours just a moment longer than usual.

For a brief moment, the world felt very still. There was something in the way he said it, something in the way he was looking at you, that made your chest tighten. You’d always known Remus as your closest friend, the person who could make you laugh without even trying, the person who always seemed to understand you in ways no one else could. But hearing those words took you by surprise.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah,” you said softly. “A walk sounds nice.”

The two of you left the common room, walking through the nearly empty corridors. The castle seemed quieter than usual, many couples having gone to Hogsmeade to celebrate the holiday. As you reached the entrance hall, Remus turned toward you, his face more serious now, as though he were gathering the courage to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice hesitant. “Maybe I haven't been as obvious as I thought, but.. I care about you, more than I probably let on. And I guess I’ve been wondering if you.. feel the same?”

Your heart raced at his words, the question hanging in the air between you. It was all so sudden, but somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of the moment in your chest. “Remus,” you said softly, “I’ve always cared about you. You’re my best friend.”

There was a pause, and then, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, Remus reached out, gently taking your hand in his. His touch was warm, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“I think I want to be more than that,” he murmured, his thumb lightly brushing over your knuckles.

You felt your breath catch. For a long moment, you just stood there, looking at him, trying to reconcile the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. And then, with a soft laugh, you squeezed his hand.

“I think I want that too,” you said quietly.

Remus smiled, a mixture of relief and happiness in his expression. And just as the first snowflake of the evening drifted down from the sky, he leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead in a tender, quiet kiss—an unspoken promise.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You smiled back, feeling more content than you had in a long time. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Remus.”

#nicole's conversation candies #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader #remus x you #remus imagine

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ssour-apathyy · 2 days ago

Text

✧˚ · . mechanic!vi x streetracer!reader headcannons

a/n; this is actually probably really bad but i've been stuck at work with nothing to do except think about Vi, so. is this even headcannons? is this a drabble? WHO KNOWS, because it's not me

𖤐 the second you pulled up to her shop ranting and raving about the blown head gasket on your E30 M3, talking like a mechanic yourself, she was rendered speechless

𖤐 she's so used to pretty girls arriving who are the clueless "can i get premium air?🥺" types that she has to pinch herself to make sure this isn't a dream

𖤐 it took you waving your hand in front of her face with a raised eyebrow for her to snap back to reality, clearing her throat with a light dusting of pink on her cheeks as she takes a closer look

𖤐 the poor girl almost passed out when you said that you were considering swapping the engine for an M20 anyway

𖤐 you guys had stood and discussed the engine swap for a full hour, poking around the engine bay to make sure that everything was compatible, before she had convinced you that you absolutely have to turbocharge it. it would be a crime not to

𖤐 since Vi gets parts at a cheaper price than retail, it would have been rude of her not to offer to get everything delivered to her shop for you. that was definitely the reason. not because she wanted to see more of you your car

𖤐 so after she closed the shop, you stayed for a bit. both of you huddled in front of the computer monitor, browsing for upgrades that would work with your setup. she even found a second hand engine not far, haggled the price down AND took you to collect it in her pickup. isn't she sweet?

𖤐 you kept coming back day after day to work on the car, and Vi found herself getting distracted by the sight of you stripping and re-building the engine. so much so, that she put a pause on accepting new customers just so she could give you a hand

𖤐 the two of you had settled into a routine, spending the majority of the day working on the car and flirting up an absolute storm with each other, getting takeout in the evening (you took turns in choosing), before bidding each other goodnight

𖤐 she actually found herself disappointed when the build was finished, and maybe she considered sabotaging something just so you would stay longer (sue her)

𖤐 she tried to refuse payment from you, but it took just one expression of 'absolutely the fuck not' before she settled on just charging the cost of the parts

𖤐 "well, speed racer, you ever blow up another engine, you know where to find me" she had said once you had everything ready to leave, and she couldn't even hide the sadness in her voice behind the thin layer of teasing

𖤐 and she swears that she actually died for a moment when you reply with "sure. or i could come back at, say, 7 tomorrow and we can go get actual dinner somewhere nice? my treat"

𖤐 and if she did a little happy dance after the dust left by your wheels had settled, it's nobody's fucking business

#𖤐 ssour-apathyy.#✧ katt scratch.#vi x reader #mechanic!vi #modern au #arcane #arcane vi #vi arcane

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captain-huggy-bear · 9 hours ago

Note

How does Jack ask you to be his valentine ?

Oh he's a sweetheart but also pretty conventional as well. I think he goes with your standard ideas of flowers, and chocolates, probably turning up at your door on the day itself because that's traditional and he just smirks and asks. The sort of lazy confidence in him that says he knows you're going to say yes, that it would be impossible for you to say no.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

It's still new, this thing you have with Jack, early days as it were. Not quite boyfriend and girlfriend yet, but not just two strangers who've been on a singular date either. Talking wasn't the right term and dating was maybe closer to it, figuring out whether this was going to be something long term or just a drop in the ocean. So you didn't really expect anything from him on Valentine's day, especially not when he'd said he had a game that night and wouldn't be able to take you out in the evening like he wanted to. You'd accepted that because at the end of the day you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to the very first date with him. Hockey meant things wouldn't always go as expected, not all events would be commemorated. It also wasn't a given considering the early nature of your relationship.

It's why you're not expecting it when your front door bell rings and you're certainly not expect to look through your peephole to see Jack Hughes standing on the other side in a suit and tie holding what might be the largest bouquet of pink roses you'd ever seen. So large that they'd block out his entire head and shoulders if he held them upright.

"Jack?" You open the door to him, feeling decidedly underdressed in your casual everyday clothes when compared with Jack and his suit. The black one that he's matched with a black tie like he's going to a formal event rather than standing in front of your house on the 14th February in the cold.

"Hey..." The smile he gives you is nearly a smirk, that confidence that first drew you to him, firmly in place. His hair has grown longer at the moment, nearly reaching his shoulders, tucked behind his ears.

"What are you doing here? I thought you'd be at the rink for morning skate...?"

"Already been, decided this was more important than my post practice nap." It makes you feel warm all over, the way he says that so easily, like it's a given that seeing you is more important than his routines and rituals, things you know hockey players hold dear to their hearts.

"Oh?"

"Here," He hands you the bouquet that takes up your entire arm space, larger than a toddler and smelling sweetly of rose. He'd picked the scented roses, ones that smell strongly too a little detail that you can't help but take note of. "I picked the pink ones, thought it'd be a little less cliché."

You can't help the soft smile you give him because it really is sweet and unexpected. More romantic than any of your past boyfriends had ever been and he's not even in a relationship with you yet.

"They're lovely, Jack...you really didn't have to..." You feel bad knowing you hadn't expected anything and so hadn't got anything for him.

"I wanted to. I can't exactly ask you to be my valentine without flowers now, can I, angel?" Your positive reception of the flowers has him relaxing further, a smile turning into a smirk, leaning closer to you, arm leaning against your door frame. The invasion of your personal space makes you nervous in the best sort of way, giddy.

"You want to be my valentine?" You can't actually remember the last time you were actually asked to be someone's valentine...it makes butterflies flutter about in your stomach.

"Sweetheart, who else would I ask?"

You shrug, pursing your lips as you look up at him from under your lashes, all of a sudden unsure and lacking confidence because neither of you ever said you were only seeing each other. That you were exclusive. While you certainly weren't seeing any other guys, it would make sense for someone like Jack, popular and famous, to have a whole roster of girls waiting on him. It wouldn't surprise you if he had other girls he was testing the waters with, figuring out who was the best fit.

He seems to sense that your thoughts have gone that way, or maybe he just has good timing.

"You're the only girl I'm seeing and the only one I want to see, angel...I've not gone on a date with anyone else since before our first one." He doesn't like that it's clearly shocking to you, the way you look up him like he's just given you the world. Jack thinks it should be obvious to you that he's all in, that he's completely taken with you and has been since the first date. He's only waiting to ask you to be his girlfriend because he knows you need a little more time, not because he's not ready or doesn't want to.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Why waste my time with anyone else? They wouldn't be you." It's simply really. You're perfect for him. You're kind, you're caring, pretty and smart. You're understanding of his schedule and his moods. You get along with Luke and you treat him like Jack, just Jack. Not Jack Hughes, hockey superstar. Why waste his time on girls who fawn and giggle over his title, his status but don't really like him for him?

"Jack..."

He diffuses some of the heavy tension with his next question, not wanting to make things too serious too fast, not wanting you to feel pressure to respond in kind, "You still haven't answered my question. Will you be my valentine?"

"Yes, I'll be your valentine." You smile up at him all giddy and sweet and he wants to kiss you all over your cheeks, lift you until you're giggling uncontrollably, but he controls himself. Jack has to remind himself you're not his girlfriend yet, he's trying to take this slow, easy for you, a love confession might be a bit much 3 months in.

"Good because we have a lunch date, so go get changed into something nice." Not that you don't look nice, you always look nice, but he knows you'll feel self conscious if he takes you into a nice restaurant in casual clothes while he's in a full suit and tie.

"A lunch date?"

"Well, I can't take you out for dinner because of the game, but I figured lunch would work?" Your hesitation has Jack questioning himself, starting to second guess if this was a good idea, maybe you already had plans, "Or...you don't have to, we can stay here or...or I can go?"

"No, no! Lunch sounds...it sounds perfect."

The smile you receive is enough. It's more than enough, you think you might just do anything to be on the receiving end of that smile.

#huggy bear writes #jack hughes x reader #huggy bear lb #jack hughes/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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cece693 · 2 days ago

Text

My Vampire

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: reader is a vampire, takes place after they fall off the cliff, nursing back to health, hannigram feel jealous, but everything is resolved, just something silly I came up with

You’d never planned on crossing paths with Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. In truth, you avoided humans whenever possible, preferring the deep shadows of the forest and the quiet hours of the night to any bustling crowds. But that unspoken, secret life you lead—sustained by blood and centuries of solitude—proved itself impossible to hide when you found the two men collapsed at the rocky bottom of a steep cliff.

In the silvery glow of the moon, you saw them: Hannibal, impeccably dressed even in disarray, and Will, painfully crumpled, a halo of curly hair matted with blood. They had fallen—or been driven—off the edge. Your acute hearing picked up the faint beating of two frantic hearts. Against your better judgment, you acted swiftly.

The moonlight guided you as you carried both unconscious men to the safety of your home, deep in the forest. Turning on the lights revealed modest furniture, shelves of ancient texts, and the paraphernalia you’d collected over centuries: strange artifacts, historical relics, a few odd trinkets you found comforting in your long life.

You prepared beds for them in separate rooms. First, you stabilized Hannibal—a fractured rib, sprained wrist, cuts along his temple. More concerning was Will: several bruises, probable concussion, shock. With careful touches, you cleaned and dressed their wounds. Under the same roof with two delicate, thrumming pulses—it took everything in you to keep a tight leash on your most primal instinct. But you did. You always did.

Their condition demanded something more than standard human medication. You whispered ancient incantations under your breath, letting the faint threads of supernatural energy flow from your fingertips to their broken bones. Even as your thirst roared, you continued your strange, secretive healing, pressing over bruises and fractures with hands that never seemed to warm.

Days passed. You listened to the soft stutter of Will’s pulse and the steady cadence of Hannibal’s. At first, they roused only in fleeting moments, eyes glassy, speech slurred. You offered them water and soups thick with herbs that carried subtle restorative properties. They ate without protest, too weak to question anything. Eventually, Hannibal’s eyes found yours in the dimness of his room.

“You saved us,” he murmured, voice quiet yet controlled. There was a ripple of curiosity beneath the gratitude. You simply gave a small bow of your head, your lips curving in a gentle, almost secretive smile. He studied you: your unnaturally still posture, the unearthly pallor of your skin that seemed to glow faintly in the low light. You turned away from his searching gaze, easing a blanket higher over his chest with a careful gesture. There were questions you expected, but for now, Hannibal simply closed his eyes, content to rest in your presence.

Will took longer to regain consciousness, drifting in and out of feverish dreams. When he finally startled awake, he looked around with wide blue eyes, instantly on edge. You carefully stepped forward so he could see you—a kind face, arms raised in a gesture of peace.

“It’s all right,” you soothed, voice soft and resonant. “You’re safe here.”

His gaze flickered around, searching. “Hannibal?” he asked, voice tight with concern.

“He’s here as well,” you reassured him, stepping aside so he could see the figure through the open doorway. “He’s recovering.”

Will’s tension ebbed, replaced by relief. He slumped back onto the bed, nodding to himself. Then, quietly: “You saved our lives.”

You nodded, pressing a cloth damp with cool water against his forehead. “I did what needed to be done.”

Over the next several days, you stayed close, quietly tending to their needs. You brought them more comforting meals, teas laced with your own subtle magic, and changed their bandages as their injuries healed at a pace slightly faster than normal humans—your clandestine influence, though you never openly acknowledged it. As Hannibal and Will grew stronger, the two men observed you in unspoken unison. They’d share glances from across a room, as though exchanging telepathic notes about you. Eventually, curiosity overcame them.

One afternoon, while preparing more of your herb-laced soup in the cabin’s small kitchen, you found yourself under Hannibal’s direct stare. The man approached with a measured step, Will close behind. “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Hannibal started, voice like velvet, “but I must admit, your hospitality is extraordinary.”

You allowed a smile to cross your lips. “I live alone. I have the space to share, and you needed help.”

Will glanced around at the eclectic collections on the walls and shelves—maps older than any living memory, candelabras that looked straight out of an antique store from centuries past, and your library of old texts. “You’ve traveled a lot?” he guessed.

“I’ve wandered,” you answered enigmatically. The silence that followed was taut.

“We’re grateful,” Will said softly. “We want you to know that.” In return, you simply nodded. You didn’t expect anything from them beyond eventual departure. Yet something stirred in your chest—an unaccustomed warmth of companionship you hadn’t felt in decades.

The days slipped by like dusk over water. You found yourself engaging in quiet conversations with Will in the evenings, while Hannibal read through your old tomes. Sometimes, you’d glance up to catch both men looking at you with an intensity that made your long-dead heart flutter in a dangerously human way. One night, you were startled when you heard Hannibal and Will murmuring to each other by the fireplace:

“He’s different,” Will said. “I can feel it.”

Hannibal’s voice was thoughtful. “Yes, there’s a presence to him. A calm and hunger, perhaps. Subtle, but there.”

Hunger. You swallowed. The faint thirst you spent centuries controlling was, indeed, always present. They were so perceptive.

Soon, little signs around the cabin began to raise suspicions: the heavy, iron-bound chest in a dark corner that you never let them open, the wine bottles you kept in a locked cupboard (though the contents were not wine at all). Once, Hannibal caught sight of you striding silently across the moonlit porch late at night, eyes glinting, your form almost inhumanly poised. Then there was the evening Will found a solitary pale figure in the forest, sipping from a small deer’s wound. You vanished before he fully comprehended the sight.

But what truly fueled their jealousy—though it blossomed in them before they knew the truth—were the small hints of a partner. A second set of clothing in a trunk, a pair of shoes that didn’t quite match yours, an engraving on a ring hidden in a wooden box. They caught glimpses of these things and exchanged wary looks, uncertain if you belonged to someone else. And why did you keep such personal belongings locked away?

Neither man dared to confront you outright. Yet their longing to be near you, to share these stolen pockets of tenderness, was obvious in every word, every gesture. When you approached either of them—asking about their injuries, smoothing the hair from their faces, offering small, tender assurances—you could feel their hearts quicken.

It happened one late evening, on the porch overlooking the forest. The sky was clear, starlight bright. You stood beside Hannibal and Will, who were both healed enough to walk carefully outside. They sipped from porcelain cups of your herbal tea, scanning the tree line where the moon gilded every branch.

Hannibal spoke first, voice low and calm, “We’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Will added gently. “We owe you so much. But we can’t keep burdening you.”

A pang flitted through you at the idea of them leaving. In them, you felt the pull of companionship, even desire. You’d seen the way their gazes lingered on you, felt the gentle brush of their hands when you passed something between them. They were drawn to you in ways neither had dared say.

“You don’t have to leave,” you murmured. “At least not until you’re fully recovered.” You paused, eyes searching the forest. “My home is safe if you need it.”

Hannibal watched you closely, seeing something in your eyes. “There’s more to you than kind hospitality, isn’t there?”

A fleeting grin tugged at your lips, an age-old secret behind your eyes. “I’m not like you,” you admitted softly. “I’m something else.”

Will shifted, the memory of seeing you in the woods late at night still burning in his mind. “I’ve seen glimpses,” he ventured. “But I—I don’t understand.” You inhaled, feeling your chest tighten with apprehension. Never, in all your years, had you willingly revealed your nature to humans. Yet these men—there was something about them that felt like an inevitability.

“I was born human once,” you started quietly, “but that was a long time ago.” You steeled yourself. “I’ve lived many lifetimes since. Surviving on blood, fighting the thirst, wandering from place to place.”

Hannibal’s expression was one of fascination rather than fear. “A vampire?” His tone lacked the disbelief you’d grown used to. Instead, it was curious, tinged with admiration.

You nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yes.”

Will set aside his cup, stepping closer, his eyes flicking over your face. The moonlight made him look almost otherworldly himself. “You saved us from that cliff. You healed us. And you never...took our blood?”

“I’m not a monster,” you whispered. “And I found your lives worth preserving.” You paused, swallowing the remnants of your fear. “The items you found—those things that made you think I had a partner—are old memories of someone I lost centuries ago. Not a current lover.”

Hannibal and Will exchanged glances, a faint bloom of relief apparent in both their eyes. Will exhaled a soft laugh, pushing a nervous hand through his curls. “We thought…We weren’t sure.”

Hannibal’s refined voice cut in, “We may have been jealous.” There was a wry, knowing smile curving his lips. “A foolish notion, given your generosity.”

Heat—or the memory of it—rose to your cheeks. “There’s no one else now,” you said quietly.

As the truth came to light, the shift in your relationship was palpable. Neither man showed fear or disgust. Instead, an unexpected acceptance lingered, twining you closer. Will still found you in the kitchen late at night, but now he’d quietly slide in beside you, leaning against the counter, eyes full of curiosity. He’d ask about your life in hushed tones: your travels, the centuries of knowledge you’d collected. You answered in half-truths or occasional full confessions, depending on what you felt ready to share.

Hannibal, too, found ways to join you in your quiet moments. He appreciated your old texts, marveled at the archaic languages you could read. Something in his own brilliant mind was stimulated by the very notion of a creature who had lived through so many eras. He’d ask you sophisticated questions with an almost reverent tone, and you’d see the faint glint of desire flicker across his features—desire, not just for your body, but your timelessness.

And between them, there was a synergy you’d never witnessed among humans. You caught it in how Will would pass Hannibal a knowing look or in how Hannibal’s fingers would gently skim the small of Will’s back. They were bound to each other, yet somehow, they extended that bond to include you.

After dinner one evening, the three of you lingered around the fireplace, sharing a bottle of fine wine Hannibal had found in your cellar (the real wine, not the blood you kept hidden). The conversation drifted, warmth glowed across your faces. Will was the first to break the comfortable silence. “We’ve been talking—Hannibal and I.”

“Oh?” you prompted, resting your forearms on your knees.

“We feel drawn to you,” Hannibal continued, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “When you saved us, nursed us, you offered an unspoken intimacy. We have begun to care for you in ways that aren’t entirely platonic.”

You set the wine glass aside, heart beating in a way you hadn’t felt in ages. “I care for you both as well,” you admitted, voice quiet. “I was prepared to let you go, if that was what you wanted.”

Hannibal’s hand slid across the small couch to cover yours. Even after all your time in the darkness, the tender heat of a human touch could still set your veins aflame. You felt the weight of both men’s gazes, their presence so near, so achingly real.

Hannibal’s voice was a low murmur, “We have no intention of running away from this…from you.”

Will’s shoulder brushed yours, and you turned to see him looking at you as if you were some delicate miracle. “Stay with us,” he whispered. “Let us stay with you.”

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