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edenesth · 1 day ago

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ATEEZ as Hogwarts Students

Pairing(s): hogwarts student!ateez x hogwarts student!reader

Word Count: 9.8k

A/N: Oh my gosh, thank you all so much for helping me reach 2.3k followers! To celebrate this, I'm back again with another one of these! Once again, special thanks to my one and only, my pookie, @itstheghostofmypast, for helping me confirm which houses some of the members should be in💘

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Gryffindor

The Poor Prefect That Nobody Takes Seriously

"I swear to god, if I see another damn chocolate frog loose in the dorm, I'll—" Before Hongjoong could even finish, a cheeky first-year passing by stuck his tongue out at him. "What are you gonna do? Run off to cry to Professor McGonagall again?"

The seventh-year's jaw dropped, his blood pressure spiking, but the kid was gone before he could even scold him. Two years—he'd been a prefect for almost two years now, and still, no one ever took him seriously. Thinking back to his early days as an optimistic prefect, eager to bring order and discipline to his rowdy housemates, he knew now how impossible that dream was.

But was he going to stop trying?

Not a damn chance.

Hongjoong had chosen to become a prefect the very moment he was eligible in his fifth year. Professors had always praised him as reliable, a natural-born leader, and he'd believed that wholeheartedly. He'd pictured himself bringing order to his dormitory, respected by his housemates for his efforts to keep things in line. But the reality? Gryffindors, as he was learning, could be a lot harder to control than he ever expected.

Unfortunately, his "small but mighty" reputation didn't exactly translate into authority. He'd start off with a firm tone, reminding them of the rules, only to watch them twist his words into a rallying cry for their next scheme. His attempts at seriousness somehow only fueled their chaotic Gryffindor spirits, making him seem more like a mascot for daring antics than a figure of discipline.

While the academic staff continued to commend his commitment, his classmates saw him as the "cool" prefect—the one who'd cover for them more often than not, a little too forgiving to actually be feared. Some nights, he'd even find himself dragged into the very pranks he was supposed to be preventing, swept up by the contagious energy of his friends.

Despite everything, Hongjoong couldn't bring himself to truly give up. Every morning, he'd tell himself that today was the day he'd put his foot down, that he'd be the prefect his professors always said he could be. He knew the odds weren't in his favour, but in true Gryffindor fashion, he wasn't about to back down from the challenge.

Today's the day—I can feel it in my bones.

Letting out a determined breath, Hongjoong's gaze fixed on the notice board, now littered with doodles, silly notes, and questionable "decorations." With a purposeful nod, he crossed his arms and cleared his throat, catching the attention of the Gryffindors lounging around the common room. "Forget the frogs then. How many times have I told you all not to vandalise the notice board with your nonsense? It's used solely for—"

"For important announcements. Yes, we get it," piped up a cheeky third-year, eyes glinting with mischief. "But there are no announcements at the moment, so is it really so bad if we, y'know, decorate a little?"

And there it was again—the quick responses that left him speechless every time. Hongjoong tried to keep his expression stern, but a tiny part of him could almost see their point. Was it so bad to have a bit of fun? No, he reminded himself, that's not the point. But as he felt his resolve waver, he knew a miracle wasn't going to happen today. Why couldn't he be both firm and likeable, just like—

"Oh, so you want to test if it's bad?" your voice cut through, sharp but calm, as you stepped down from the spiral staircase. You'd been listening long enough to hear their usual defiance, and you were not about to let them undermine your boyfriend's authority. "How about we invite the professors to take a look at your 'artwork' and see how much they'd appreciate it, hm?"

Like you.

Hongjoong released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, grateful for your support. You, with your knack for balancing authority and approachability, were everything he wished he could be as a prefect. If he could just learn how to be firm, like you, maybe Gryffindor's antics would finally come under control.

"You heard her," he added, finding a bit of confidence again as he nodded in agreement. "Clean it up. Now."

The students exchanged glances, sighing as they reluctantly began peeling off the doodles. He couldn't help but grin a little as he glanced your way.

"Thanks, babe," he mouthed.

You shook your head, smiling as you nodded toward the remaining Gryffindors lounging around. "I'm heading to the Great Hall first. I'll leave it to you to get everyone to breakfast on time, Joong. Think you can handle it?"

Hongjoong nodded enthusiastically, eager to make you proud. "You bet. They're going to see a whole new Prefect Kim this year," he declared confidently.

You laughed, both amused and a bit sceptical. He'd nearly caved to their antics just moments ago, but that was part of his charm. You loved how different he was from you—how he helped you loosen up when you were too serious, just as you helped him stay firm when he got a little too lenient. Together, you two were like yin and yang, balanced and perfectly matched, as everyone in the house always teased.

Squeezing his hand, you gave him a playful smile. "Show 'em, tiger," you winked before turning to leave, catching a glimpse of his cheeks turning pink.

The moment you were out of sight, the common room burst into whistles and smirks around him. Snapping out of his trance, your boyfriend rolled his eyes, trying to keep his composure.

"Alright, folks," he called out, clapping his hands. "You heard my girl. Let's cooperate for once and head to the Great Hall on time—don't make me disappoint her!"

The Gryffindors grinned, shuffling toward the door without a fuss, eager to play along. He smirked, pleased with their obedience whenever you were mentioned. Maybe he'd always need your presence to keep this difficult crowd in line, but he didn't mind at all. He knew they didn't have to fear him for him to be a good prefect. Deep down, he knew they all adored him, and he was pretty sure that, rule-breaking aside, they wouldn't truly make things difficult for him. They just loved teasing him—because, honestly, he might just be their favourite prefect.

Seonghwa ↠ Hufflepuff

The Goody Two Shoes and Teacher's Pet

"Oh, Seonghwa, my boy! What brings you here on a weekend? Shouldn't you be off enjoying Hogsmeade with your girlfriend?" Professor Sprout asked, pleasantly surprised as her star student stepped into the greenhouse, notebook in hand. The seventh-year smiled brightly, giving her a respectful nod before approaching.

"Good afternoon, Professor! I just came by to check on my mandrake—I'm determined to cultivate one to maturity for my latest Restorative Draught. And, uh… my girlfriend, she'll be here to join me soon," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink at the mention of you.

Professor Sprout's expression softened, a smile touching her lips. "You're too hard working for your own good, both of you," she gently chided, pride swelling as she glanced at the Hufflepuff sigil pinned proudly on his denim jacket. Even on a day when house representation wasn't required, Park Seonghwa wore his Hufflepuff loyalty openly, reminding everyone where his heart belonged. She knew he had a bright future ahead, and if she were to ever consider early retirement, he would be her top choice to take over as the next Herbology professor.

As if on cue, you pushed open the greenhouse doors and stepped inside. "Hwa, are you here already?" you called, glancing around before your eyes landed on your boyfriend and Professor Sprout.

Seonghwa, who'd been focused on his mandrake, looked up at the sound of your voice, a soft smile lighting up his face. In the presence of authority, he resisted the urge to rush over and hug you, his restraint both endearing and unmistakable. You bit back a laugh, amused by his adorable attempt at composure.

"Oh! Good afternoon, Professor!" you greeted, nodding respectfully. "Are we disturbing you? We can come another day if you need the greenhouse for your work."

She smiled warmly, waving off your concern. "Not at all, dearie. I was just on my way out. You two enjoy your little date," she added with a knowing wink. "And if you're in the mood for a treat, there are some extra Every Flavour Beans on the top shelf—please help yourselves."

"Thank you, Professor!" you and Seonghwa chimed in unison, exchanging a look of warmth and shared gratitude. As the elderly woman left, he gently took your hand, pulling you close enough to place a soft kiss on your forehead. You leaned into him with a contented sigh. "How embarrassing—now she's certain we're dating," you murmured, unable to hide your own smile.

He chuckled, his eyes dancing with affection. "Is that such a terrible thing, love? Maybe it's time the whole world knows you're mine."

You gasped in mock scandal, playfully nudging his shoulder. "How improper," you laughed, but a blush crept into your cheeks. Though you'd never formally announced your relationship, it was hardly a secret—everyone must have guessed by now with all the time you spent together. But for the sake of his reputation as the model student, you'd both kept things understated, not feeling the need to broadcast your love. Now, though, there was a new spark in his eyes, a hint of the Slytherin heritage running through his veins, as if he suddenly wanted the world to see what his heart had always known.

Seonghwa, after all, was the first Hufflepuff in a long line of Ravenclaws and Slytherins—a surprise his family hadn't quite anticipated. But their surprise had never bothered him. Instead, it had only strengthened his resolve to prove that Hufflepuff was as noble and worthy as any other house. Consistently at the top of his class in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, he'd gained the admiration of professors for his quiet dedication and high moral standards. Always the first to lend a hand to new students or submit his assignments, he was as dependable as they came.

Yet as much as he wanted to honour his house and his achievements, his heart now longed for something deeper. For the first time, he wanted his family—and everyone else—to see you, the one who had believed in him through every challenge and celebrated every victory, who had loved him exactly as he was. He knew that letting you into his life so openly would be the proudest badge he could ever wear.

"So," he began, biting his lip as he shifted his focus from the mandrake to you, who was busily jotting down notes about its latest growth. "Should we spend some time in Hogsmeade after this?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant, and your eyes widened slightly, your actions faltering as you locked gazes with him.

"You're joking, right? All our friends are there—" you started, but he shook his head, his expression earnest. "I'm serious, love."

The weight of his words sank in, and you realised he wasn't joking at all. A rush of emotions washed over you. "I... I don't know why it took me so long, but I don't want to hide my feelings for you anymore. I want to openly show my affection and be like every other couple in school. It's already our seventh year, and we haven't even been on a proper date. Can we make this the first of many more? Would you like to... go on a date with me?"

Placing your pen down, you blinked, your heart racing at his sincere proposal. This was a big step. Once the truth was out in the open, there would be no turning back—everyone, including his family, would know about you two. But as you looked into his eyes, you felt a rush of warmth. If he was ready for it, then so were you. You knew he would always protect you, no matter what.

With a shy smile, you nodded, feeling butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "Thought you'd never ask."

His face broke into a radiant grin, and the world around you seemed to melt away. Seonghwa stepped closer, allowing your head to rest against his shoulder, enveloped in the warmth of his presence like a cosy blanket. "I can't wait," he murmured softly.

"Me too," you replied, a wave of excitement bubbling in your chest.

In that greenhouse, surrounded by vibrant plants and warm sunlight, you both felt the first tender blooms of something beautiful—a love that was finally ready to thrive in the open, with all the joy and light that came with it.

Yunho ↠ Hufflepuff

The Popular Triwizard Champion

"Well? Have you managed to figure out the next task, golden boy?"

Yunho's head snapped around at the sound of your voice, his wide eyes betraying his surprise. Before he could respond, a few stray water droplets from his damp hair splashed onto you, drawing a squeal from your lips.

"Oh no! Angel, I'm so sorry!" he stammered, hastily brushing at your sleeve, his genuine concern making you laugh. He held the golden egg tightly, now safely shut after his latest round of inspections. "But seriously, what are you doing here? You'll be in trouble if anyone finds you sneaking into the prefect's bathroom!"

You snorted, though your heart melted at the way his brows knitted with worry. "Well, I could say the same for you, Yuyu. You're not a prefect either," you quipped with a grin.

He chuckled, the sound echoing in the steamy room as he swam closer to where you sat at the edge of the bath, your legs lazily dangling in the water. Gently, he set the golden egg beside you, then rested his arms on your thighs, gazing up at you with a playful smirk.

"The difference is, I'm a Triwizard Champion," he teased, his grin widening, "and you're not."

Rolling your eyes, you booped his nose with a finger, earning a soft laugh from him. "True, I'm not," you replied, sticking your tongue out cheekily. "But I am your girlfriend, so that grants me a special privilege, doesn't it?"

Yunho's gaze softened as he beamed up at you, water glistening on his face like tiny jewels. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and affectionate. "It definitely does."

With a tender smile, you reached out to brush the water from his face, gently pushing his damp hair back from his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat when he instinctively leaned into your touch, his warmth grounding you despite the growing tension in your chest.

"You haven't answered me yet," you reminded him softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Have you figured out the answer to the second task?"

He nodded, his hand lifting to cover yours on his cheek, holding it in place as though it anchored him. He gave your fingers a soft, reassuring squeeze. "I have," he murmured, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. "But... I don't want you to freak out. Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

Despite his comforting tone, the knot in your stomach tightened. You tried to mask it with a cheeky smile, nudging him lightly with your foot in the water. "Suuure, Yuyu. I totally believe you when you say these tasks will get easier. I mean, it's not like the first one involved dragons or anything."

Your boyfriend sighed, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. You knew he was thinking about the moment his name had been announced as the Hogwarts champion—the wave of fear that had gripped you as the Great Hall erupted in cheers.

He had submitted his name on a whim, more as a joke than anything. He hadn't thought for a second he'd actually be chosen. But of course, you should've known better. He was Jung Yunho—the school's golden boy. Everyone adored him, from his endless optimism to his natural charm. He could light up any room he walked into and never turned away anyone in need. His wild card selection had shocked everyone, but he had embraced it with the same unshakable enthusiasm he brought to everything in life.

For him, the Triwizard Tournament was an adventure, a chance to make memories and new friends. For you, it was a constant worry. You knew the dangers far too well, and it terrified you. Still, when he had emerged victorious after the first task, his joy had been contagious, and you told yourself you had to let your fear go. You couldn't hold him back from greatness. He needed your support, and you were determined to be the girlfriend he deserved.

Leaning forward, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips, hoping it would reassure him as much as it did you. "Alright," you whispered, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "So tell me. What's the second task?"

Before you could pull away, he held onto you, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his forehead against yours. His voice softened, steady but laced with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"The Black Lake," he said quietly. "I... I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but the conviction in his eyes made you hold your ground. Whatever this task demanded, you knew one thing for sure: you'd face it together.

And his predictions couldn't have been more accurate—he and the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had an hour to retrieve something that had been stolen from them from the merpeople's village beneath the Black Lake.

The lake was eerily silent, its surface shimmering under the overcast sky as Yunho broke through the water, gasping for air. His strong arms cradled you protectively, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. The tension that had gripped him since the start of the task finally began to ease now that you were safe in his embrace.

You coughed violently, expelling the icy water from your lungs, your breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts. The fragments of what had happened began piecing themselves together in your mind—the haunting stillness of the underwater village, the muffled echo of water all around, and your boyfriend's words from the prefect's bathroom resurfacing with a jarring clarity: "I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

He had been right.

The task wasn't just about retrieving an object of value—it was about recovering the most precious thing stolen from them.

For Yunho, that had been you.

"Oh thank god, you're alright," he murmured, his voice thick with relief as he guided you onto the shore. The cheers and applause from the crowd were a distant hum in the background, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. Grabbing a towel, he draped it over your shoulders, enveloping you in its warmth before pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you securely, as though anchoring you back to him and shielding you from the chill that clung to the air.

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, his familiar scent grounding you amidst the chaos of the moment. Despite the lingering cold, a soft smile crept onto your lips. Your voice, though weak, carried an unwavering sincerity. "How could I not be? You'll always save me… my hero."

His grip on you tightened at your words, his heart swelling with emotion as he buried his face in your hair. "Always," he whispered, his voice steady but laced with the weight of his promise. "Now I understand how hard it is for you to worry about me. I promise I'll make it out alive, every time—for you."

The announcement of his second-place finish barely registered. Everything seemed insignificant in the face of what truly mattered. All that filled his mind was the undeniable fact that you were safe, right here in his arms—the one person he cared for most.

Yeosang ↠ Ravenclaw

The Annoying Ace

"Hey, Kang! What'd you get for Potions? There's no way you aced it this time—it was brutal, and you barely studied before the test," a fellow Ravenclaw called out, pulling Yeosang from his thoughts. He glanced up, a small, nonchalant smile gracing his lips as he held up his graded paper. "You're right, it was tough. I only got an A- this time."

The room fell silent. His classmates stared at him, their jaws nearly hitting the floor. Was he serious? Most of the class had barely scraped by, even after endless hours of revision. Seventh-year Potions was no joke, filled with the most complex and challenging formulas known to the wizarding world.

"Only an A-? Are you kidding me? Did you bribe the professor or something?" someone blurted out, their voice tinged with disbelief.

You, seated next to your boyfriend, shot them a sharp glare. "Say that again in front of Professor Slughorn. I dare you," you retorted, crossing your arms.

The student huffed indignantly, muttering under their breath. "Whatever. You probably cheated with Felix Felicis or something."

Before you could unleash another scathing comeback, Yeosang gently placed a hand on your shoulder, his calm demeanour soothing your rising temper. His ever-composed smile didn't waver as he addressed the accusation. "Well," he began, his voice light but laced with quiet confidence, "if we were skilled enough to brew the Liquid Luck flawlessly and effectively, wouldn't that alone prove we deserve our grades?"

The remark landed with perfect precision, leaving everyone speechless. They knew he had a point. Brewing the luck potion wasn't just difficult—it was borderline impossible for most, requiring six months of meticulous preparation and risking catastrophic failure if done even slightly wrong.

The room buzzed with unspoken thoughts. If you and Yeosang could pull off such a feat, would the Potions exam have been challenging for either of you?

Your lips quirked into a satisfied smile as you exchanged a glance with your boyfriend. That was just like him—always shutting down his doubters with quiet brilliance, never needing to raise his voice to prove his worth.

"Man, I really need to learn how to be as effortlessly cool as you," you teased, giving his shoulder a playful nudge as he led you by the hand out of the classroom and toward the courtyard for some fresh air.

He glanced at you, his usual relaxed grin softening into something fonder. "You're already the coolest person to me," he replied casually as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you lightly smacked his arm, looking away as you bit your lip to hide the spreading blush. Even now, you could hardly believe he had accepted your confession back then—and that he was now your boyfriend. To you, he had always seemed so distant, so untouchable, like a star out of reach.

That was, until the day he noticed you struggling with a potion after class and offered to help. You hadn't known it at the time, but that small moment of kindness would lead to something far greater.

Yeosang is that Ravenclaw—the one who always seems lost in his thoughts yet somehow aces every test with ease, charming every professor in the process. He's the envy of his classmates, who burn the midnight oil studying while he effortlessly secures perfect scores. His calm, almost ethereal demeanour only adds to the intrigue, making him a bit of a mystery to everyone around him.

No one can figure out how he manages to zone out during Potions lessons and still brew flawless draughts, but they're too in awe (and slightly frustrated) to ask. It's just him—an enigma wrapped in quiet confidence, and somehow, he was yours.

"But seriously, Yeo, have you actually managed to perfect your luck potion? Don't think I didn't notice Professor Slughorn sneaking glances your way. He really did trust you to brew some for him, didn't he?" you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder, fingers gently squeezing his where they were intertwined with yours.

He hummed softly, the sound vibrating against you as he rested his head atop yours. With a flick of his wand, he cast a subtle charm to deflect a stray prank from a group of cheeky Gryffindors playing with products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The spell stopped the flying object just before it could land anywhere near you. Your heart fluttered at his nonchalant protectiveness, and you couldn't help but notice the envious sighs from a few girls nearby.

"I'll answer that," he murmured, his tone teasing, "when you tell me how you managed to brew such a flawless Amortentia draught."

You blinked, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "The love potion? What are you talking about? I've never even tried to make one."

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Are you sure about that?"

You furrowed your brows, your confusion deepening. "Yes, I'm sure," you replied, your tone laced with scepticism. But before you could press him further, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss, leaving you gasping softly in surprise. Your hand flew to your lips, cheeks aflame as you tried to process what just happened.

Yeosang chuckled at your flustered reaction, his arm slipping securely around your back as he guided you to keep walking. "Then explain how you managed to make me so hopelessly enamoured with you," he said, his voice low but teasing. "It's the only logical explanation for how smitten I am."

"Oh, obviously. That's the only logical explanation," you burst out laughing, playfully trying to push him away, but he held firm, his grip steady yet gentle.

He chuckled along with you, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "Exactly, my love. You've clearly bewitched me, and I have no intention of breaking free."

"The feeling's mutual, my darling genius."

San ↠ Slytherin

The Intimidating Head Boy Who's Secretly a Softie

"Oh, come on, Pumpkin! When will you learn to leave the Monster Book of Monsters alone?!" San groaned in exasperation, his eyes following his mischievous cat as it darted around, narrowly avoiding the snapping Care of Magical Creatures textbook that was now chasing it across the yard. The naughty feline had somehow managed to unclasp the book—again. "Come here, you stubborn little thing!" he called, swooping in to scoop up the cat.

With practised ease, he approached the wild book, stroking its spine gently until it calmed and locked itself shut, just as Hagrid had taught. Of course, San was probably the only one who had actually paid attention to that particular lesson.

A dramatic gasp caught his attention, and he turned to find you standing nearby, a teasing grin plastered across your face.

"Well well, who would've thought? The scary and intimidating Choi San names his cat Pumpkin? And a cat, no less? I always pictured you with an owl or a crow. Guess you're a softie after all. Wait till the rest of the house finds out."

He rolled his eyes but smirked, settling back into his seat behind Hagrid's hut. "Go ahead and tell them, sweetheart. It's not like I asked anyone to see me as the 'mean and cold Slytherin.' If they want to believe that, then that's on them."

You chuckled and took a seat beside him, watching as he cooed at his cat and peppered it with kisses. "So, what's a big bad boy like you doing out here, hm?"

"Detention, obviously," he deadpanned, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Fits my reputation, doesn't it?"

You shook your head knowingly, the corner of your lips curling upward. "If that's what you're calling it, sure. But Hagrid told me you were out here for some extra lessons on Hippogriffs when I passed him earlier."

He feigned a pout, resting his chin on Pumpkin's head. "Damn, you caught me. There goes my big bad boy image. Boohoo."

You burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

San had always been an enigma to those around him. With his sharp, commanding presence and role as Head Boy, he had a reputation for being unapproachable. First-years practically scrambled out of his way in the corridors. But those who dared get to know him soon discovered that beneath the piercing gaze and confident swagger was a playful, caring soul who adored magical creatures.

And you? You were supposedly his rival—his female counterpart, according to your peers. With your equally composed demeanour and role as Head Girl, it wasn't uncommon for people to pit the two of you against each other. But those who looked closer would've seen the truth: you were far from rivals. If anything, you were two halves of the same warm, hidden flame, especially when it came to each other.

"Well, I hope you don't mind me joining you on your little detention, Choi," you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He hummed thoughtfully, nuzzling his head against yours. "On one condition."

"And what's that?" you glanced up at him.

He bit his lip, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let me take you to Hogsmeade this weekend, Head Girl."

"Alright, alright. None of that in my class," Hagrid's booming voice cut through the moment, startling both of you as you quickly pulled apart, clearing your throats in unison.

San shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck while you tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh.

Hagrid folded his massive arms across his chest, his bushy eyebrows raised knowingly. "We're only doing this if you're both serious, okay? This isn't some fun little date idea."

You nodded earnestly, though the corners of your lips twitched with amusement. "Of course, Professor. We're serious about this."

But Hagrid wasn't done.

Turning his attention to the Head Boy, he added, "But please, do take her to Hogsmeade, lad. I've heard more than enough from you about how much you like her."

San's eyes widened, his cheeks instantly flushing a deep crimson. "H-Hagrid!" he stammered, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

You couldn't hold it in anymore, bursting into laughter as he glared at you half-heartedly. "Oh, you're never living this down," you teased, nudging his arm.

"I—uh—yes, sir," he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he stared down at the ground, clearly flustered.

The professor chuckled, giving a hearty clap to the young man's shoulder that nearly made him stumble. "That's what I like to hear, Choi. Now, back to work, both of you. Those Hippogriffs aren't going to train themselves."

As Hagrid lumbered away, you leaned closer to San, grinning. "So, how much do you like me, Choi San?"

He groaned, his hands covering his face. "Can we just focus on the Hippogriffs?"

"Not a chance," you replied smugly, your laughter ringing out as his ears turned an even brighter shade of red.

The journey back to the common room was filled with quiet comfort, but as you both stepped through the entrance, his demeanour shifted instantly. Gone was the flustered boy from earlier; in his place stood the stoic and commanding Head Boy, his sharp gaze sweeping over the lounging students.

"Keep it down," he said curtly to a group of rowdy second-years, his tone leaving no room for argument. They immediately quieted, murmuring apologies.

You bit back a smile, watching his transformation with newfound amusement. After seeing the playful, gentle side of him during the lesson with Hagrid, this intimidating persona of his now seemed more endearing than imposing. It was his way of keeping the chaos in check, and you couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he switched between the two sides of himself.

As you trailed behind him, snippets of hushed whispers reached your ears.

"Did they come back together?"

"Isn't that the Head Girl?"

"Are they… you know?"

You glanced at San and caught the slight gulp he tried to conceal, his stiff posture giving away his unease despite his poker face.

When you both reached the point where the dorms split, you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. He stood tall, keeping his expression neutral, though you could see the faintest flicker of nervousness in his eyes. The room fell silent, the curious gazes of your housemates fixed on the two of you.

You smirked, breaking the tension. "So, Hogsmeade this weekend, right?"

His eyes widened, and a soft gasp rippled through the common room. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure as he met your gaze. "You… accept?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, though the playful glint in your eyes betrayed your amusement. "Well, you did say I could only join you earlier if I agreed to this. Seeing as we've already finished the lesson, that clearly means I've accepted, no?"

For a moment, his carefully constructed mask faltered, replaced by a grin so wide and boyish that it made your heart skip a beat. He didn't care about the whispers anymore as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to give yours a gentle squeeze.

"It's a date then, Head Girl."

You smiled back, your voice light but teasing as you replied, "Sounds good, Head Boy."

The room erupted into murmurs and low cheers as you turned and walked toward your dorm, feeling his gaze follow you until you disappeared from sight. If San had been worried about his reputation before, it was clear now that he didn't care.

Not when it came to you.

Mingi ↠ Ravenclaw

The Son of a Famous Wizard Scientist

"Going somewhere, Song?"

Mingi cursed under his breath, reluctantly pulling the invisibility cloak off his frame to face you. You sat casually in one of the Ravenclaw common room chairs, a book in hand and an amused smirk playing on your lips. He looked thoroughly defeated. "How do you always figure me out?"

You chuckled, closing your book and setting it aside as you straightened up. "It's not that hard with your lack of stealth. I feel the breeze every time you pass by. Honestly, the real mystery is how Filch hasn't caught you yet."

He crossed his arms with a huff, a pout forming on his lips. "Ugh, what's it gonna take for you to pretend you didn't see me? My dad cannot find out. Name your price."

You tapped your chin, standing to your full height and eyeing the Marauder's Map in his hands. "I want in on whatever you're up to."

His brows shot up in surprise. "You? But aren't you like... the model Ravenclaw? Goody two shoes, follows every rule, reads for fun? Why would you risk your squeaky-clean image for something like this?"

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Let's just say I'm curious about what the great wizard scientist's son is always sneaking off to do instead of, I don't know, living up to everyone's—and your father's—expectations."

He sighed in defeat, lifting his left arm to gesture for you to join him under the cloak. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. Just make sure you can keep up. And for Merlin's sake, please tell me your stealth skills are better than mine. You really don't want to run into Mrs. Norris."

"Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it," you replied, ducking under the cloak with him, your heart racing at the prospect of finally joining him on one of his adventures.

And so, that night marked the beginning of an unlikely yet thrilling partnership: you and Song Mingi, partners-in-crime navigating Hogwarts past curfew.

For someone as studious and rule-abiding as you, it was a surprising twist to find yourself sneaking through hidden passageways, clutching an invisibility cloak, and dodging prefects alongside someone like Mingi. But there was something irresistibly intriguing about him—the way he effortlessly balanced his rebellious streak with a sharp intellect, and how his lighthearted demeanour contrasted with the heavy expectations placed upon him.

You see, unlike your ordinary self, his life was all about finding his own path despite the pressures of his family name. As the son of a renowned wizarding scientist, expectations for him to follow in those illustrious footsteps were high. But Mingi? He wasn't interested in being defined by anyone else's legacy.

Sure, he had the smarts for it—his insights into magical theories often surprised you, even when they were thrown in casually during one of your late-night escapades. But instead of shouldering the weight of those expectations, he found joy in simply being himself. He explored magic for the sake of curiosity, not obligation.

Of course, it was hard for someone like him to truly fly under the radar. With his tall frame and infectious laugh, he had a knack for drawing attention no matter how much he tried to avoid it. He'd always play it off with an easy grin, though—effortlessly charming his way out of trouble (well, most of the time).

And now, here you were, walking beside him in the dead of night, laughing softly at his whispered commentary about the portraits on the walls. It was a side of him most people didn't see—carefree, thoughtful, and incredibly warm.

"Alright, where to next, partner?" you asked, barely containing your grin as you reached a fork in the corridor.

He glanced at the map, his finger tracing a path. "A secret stash of sweets hidden near the kitchens. Wanna check it out?"

"Only if you're willing to share," you teased, bumping his shoulder lightly.

He smirked, holding the cloak open as you ducked beneath it again. "Deal. But only because I need you to distract the house elves if we get caught."

With that, the two of you disappeared into the night, laughter echoing softly down the empty hallways. It was the start of a friendship, and perhaps something more that, against all odds, just worked.

On one of the slower days at school, the two of you lounged in the Great Hall, a wizard's chessboard between you. The usual hum of scattered conversations and the clinking of goblets provided a quiet backdrop as Mingi hunched over the board, his tall frame bent in concentration. His eyes darted between pieces, plotting his next move with a focus that made you smirk.

"I've got an idea," you said, leaning back with a teasing grin. "Whoever loses has to take on a dare during tonight's adventure."

His head shot up, a glimmer of intrigue lighting up his eyes. He grinned, his expression a mix of mischief and admiration for the rebellious streak you seemed to save just for him. "Oh, it's on."

The match stretched out with calculated moves and sly counters, both of you pouring focus into claiming victory. But when your queen finally cornered his king, you leaned back with a triumphant grin. "Checkmate," you declared, watching the realisation dawn on his face.

He groaned theatrically, throwing his head back. "Noooo!"

You laughed, folding your arms smugly. "Now, about that dare..."

He straightened in his seat, narrowing his eyes as he tried to guess your plan. "Alright, hit me with your worst."

A mischievous gleam danced in your eyes as you leaned forward and whispered, "Tonight, when we sneak out, you have to charm Moaning Myrtle with your best pickup lines."

His jaw dropped, his ears turning an amusing shade of red. "You want me to flirt with a ghost?!"

"That's the dare," you said, grinning wider.

He blinked at you in disbelief, then let out a booming laugh, shaking his head. "You're insane. But fine—a deal's a deal."

As the two of you packed up, you noticed a flicker of something softer in his gaze. He clearly enjoyed this side of you, the playful daring you didn't often let others see.

The night was quiet as you snuck through the dark hallways, huddled beneath the invisibility cloak. The close proximity made it impossible to ignore the way your shoulders brushed, or how you could feel his breath softly against your ear as he whispered directions. You tried to focus, but the warmth radiating from him and the faint smell of his cologne made it difficult.

He wasn't faring any better. His movements felt unusually cautious, his arm brushing against yours more often than necessary, his voice a little lower than usual when he whispered, "Careful where you step."

Ironically, it was his warning that broke your concentration. Your foot landed on something uneven, and before you could stop yourself, you tripped, sending a potted plant toppling from its perch.

The crash echoed loudly through the corridor. "What was that?!" Filch's voice screeched in the distance, sending panic shooting through you both.

"Move!" Mingi hissed, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the nearest room. The door creaked shut just as the school caretaker's hurried footsteps grew louder.

You realised, to your dismay, that the "room" was a cramped broom cupboard. The two of you were squished together in the small space, the invisibility cloak still draped awkwardly over your heads. Your breathing was ragged from the sudden sprint, and you both struggled to keep quiet as Filch's grumbling grew nearer.

"Stupid kids sneaking around… I'll catch them sooner or later," he muttered as his footsteps faded in the opposite direction.

Only when the sound of his boots disappeared entirely did you dare to speak. "We're safe now," you whispered.

"Yeah," Mingi murmured back, his voice quieter than usual.

That's when you noticed just how close you were. Your heart stuttered as you looked up, your nose grazing his. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and shallow, mingling with your own. Neither of you moved, the air between you was charged and heavy.

He swallowed hard, his hand slowly brushing against yours beneath the cloak. "I know I lost the game," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But... is it alright if I flirt with someone else tonight?"

Your breath caught, your thoughts spinning as he leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing yours.

"That depends on who it is," you whispered back, your voice shaky.

He smiled softly, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "You."

Your heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, your hand slid up to grip the collar of his shirt as you murmured, "Fine."

Then, closing the final distance, you pressed your lips to his. When you finally pulled away, the world felt different as you stayed close, foreheads touching. He let out a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "Best dare I've ever lost."

You smiled. "Guess I'll have to keep challenging you then, Song."

"Guess you will," he whispered, leaning in for another kiss.

Wooyoung ↠ Gryffindor

The Talented Quidditch Beater

"Woo, you got it! That's my boy!"

The sound of your voice rang out across the pitch, instantly catching Wooyoung's attention. A grin lit up his face as he turned mid-flight on his Nimbus 2000, his eyes sparkling as they met yours.

"I'll make you proud, babe!" he called back, his tone brimming with confidence.

"Not if you can't keep your eyes on the game," his teammate—another Beater—shouted, swooping in just in time to deflect a bludger barreling toward him.

His eyes widened at the close call before a sheepish, boyish grin spread across his face. "Thanks, mate. That was a little too close!"

He turned his attention back to you, throwing you a playful wink and blowing a kiss in your direction. "Love you," he mouthed with a quick smirk, clearly revelling in the way your worried gaze softened into a smile.

And then, just like that, he was off again, zooming across the pitch like the fearless champ he was, ready to win not just for his team, but for the person cheering him on from the stands.

Pride swelled in your chest like a warm, unrelenting tide as you watched your boyfriend play. It was almost surreal to think about how far the two of you had come—especially since there was a time when you couldn't stand him.

Back then, Jung Wooyoung was everything you couldn't tolerate: loud, attention-seeking, and constantly wreaking havoc with his pranks. He was the popular Gryffindor Quidditch star with a magnetic grin, always surrounded by friends and admirers. Meanwhile, you were his polar opposite—a shy, studious student with no interest in shenanigans, focused solely on excelling in your studies and making your parents proud.

It all started when one of his pranks nearly ruined your Transfiguration assignment. Furious, you'd confronted him in front of half the common room, calling him reckless and immature. Wooyoung, never one to back down, had retaliated with a smirk, calling you boring and stiff. That marked the beginning of your rivalry—petty remarks, pointed glares, and intentionally getting on each other's nerves became routine.

But everything changed the day he overheard a group of Slytherins mocking you. Their cruel taunts about your Muggle heritage—and the word "Mudblood" slicing through the air—left you reeling. Before you could even muster a response, he stepped in, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something sharp and unyielding.

"What did you just say?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. The bullies faltered under his glare, and though they tried to brush it off, he didn't let them escape unscathed. He stood firm, defending you with a conviction that left you stunned.

From that day on, the dynamic between you shifted. He made it clear that no one was to mess with you—not even his own friends, who had occasionally targeted you with harmless pranks. In return, you stopped berating him for his antics, accepting that his mischief was simply part of who he was. Over time, you found yourself laughing at his jokes, and he discovered a softer side to you that few others had ever seen.

Years passed, and that fragile truce evolved into friendship. Somewhere along the way, the friendship blossomed into something deeper, something neither of you could ignore. And now, here you were, standing in the Gryffindor stands, cheering him on with every fibre of your being.

Only after being with him did you truly understand why so many adored him for his talent. On the pitch, he was in his element. As a Beater, he thrived on adrenaline, his bat swinging with precision as he sent a bludger hurtling toward the opposing team. He was a natural showman, hyping up the crowd with daring plays and cheeky winks. Though his mischievous nature was ever-present, he became fiercely competitive during matches, his focus unshakable when it came to leading his house to victory.

You smiled as he executed a flawless manoeuvre, his laughter echoing across the pitch when the crowd erupted into cheers. He was so different from the boy you had once disliked, yet so quintessentially the same. His charm, his energy, his ability to make everyone around him feel alive—it was impossible not to love him for it.

"Watch this, babe!" he called as he rocketed past the stands, his grin wide and unrestrained. He was a whirlwind of passion and joy, and he was yours. And somehow, you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Aaaand Gryffindor wins!"

The roar of the crowd filled the stadium as the Gryffindor Seeker triumphantly held up the golden snitch, the tiny wings glinting under the bright sun. Cheers echoed through the stands, Gryffindor flags waving wildly in celebration. You cheered, knowing that much of this victory was thanks to your boyfriend, who had spent the game clearing the path for his teammate with skilful swings of his bat.

Amid the chaos, Wooyoung's sharp eyes immediately sought you out. Despite the throng of screaming fans and his own teammates clamouring to celebrate, all he could see was you. Without hesitation, he veered his broom in your direction, ignoring the unmistakable warning glare from Professor McGonagall.

Hovering in front of you, he flashed his signature grin, his chest rising and falling from the adrenaline of the match. Before you could say a word, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips warm and slightly chapped from the cold wind. The crowd's cheers seemed to fade as you felt his smile against your own, your cheeks heating with the realisation of how public this display was.

When you pulled away, your voice was barely above a whisper. "That's enough, Woo. You don't want detention now, do you?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I wouldn't mind it if you were there too." With a wink, he flew off to join his team, leaving you blinking sheepishly under Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze.

You cleared your throat, attempting to smooth down your robes as you mumbled, "Sorry, Professor."

To your surprise, her expression softened, and she gestured for you to walk with her as the stands began to empty. "Don't be," she said, her voice measured but kind. "You're a good motivator for him. We appreciate it. I won't lie and say our victories haven't increased since you came into the picture."

Her words left you blushing furiously as you followed her down the steps. Did that mean even she shipped you and Wooyoung? The very thought had you hiding a bashful smile behind your scarf, the cheers of the Gryffindor team still ringing in your ears.

Jongho ↠ Slytherin

The Scary Prefect Who Commands Respect

"There he is! Shhh, keep it down!"

Your friends scrambled to settle into their seats, hastily lowering their voices and pretending to focus on the books in front of them. You followed their lead, keeping your head down as the most intimidating prefect of Slytherin entered the library. Choi Jongho's very name was enough to make most students sit up straight, and his imposing presence only amplified that effect. His silence carried more weight than words ever could, commanding obedience and respect effortlessly.

You swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the text in front of you, but your focus wavered the moment his footsteps stopped—right beside you. Your heart raced as you eyed his polished shoes, unsure if you'd done something wrong. Too nervous to meet his gaze, you froze in place, waiting for whatever came next.

"Here. I think you dropped this," he said, his voice low yet unexpectedly warm.

Your eyes widened at the gentle tone, and you glanced up to see him holding out your late father's pocket watch. The faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—so fleeting you wondered if you'd imagined it.

"O-oh, thank you," you stammered, taking the cherished item from him. A spark shot through you when your fingers brushed against his, leaving your heart fluttering in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"You're welcome," he replied simply, his voice kind yet measured, before continuing on his patrol.

As you watched him walk away, a realisation settled in your mind—perhaps he wasn't as fearsome as everyone claimed.

Jongho's reputation was well-earned. As a Slytherin prefect, he didn't need to raise his voice to maintain order. A single stern look was enough to make any student think twice about misbehaving, and his word was as final as it was rare. Yet, those who truly knew him understood there was more to him than his intimidating exterior. Beneath the cool, composed demeanour was a steadfast friend with a laugh that could shatter his usual seriousness in an instant.

And soon, you would become one of the few to witness that softer side of him—though, for now, you had no idea what lay ahead.

It was on a particularly eerie evening that you would come to learn the truth. The air hung heavy with an unsettling stillness as you wandered along the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, seeking solitude to clear your mind after a gruelling week. The low-hanging clouds cloaked the forest in shadows, and the quiet seemed almost too oppressive.

But peace was the last thing you found.

A low, menacing growl rippled through the trees, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your breath caught as you turned, your wand trembling in your hand, to face a pair of glowing eyes cutting through the darkness.

A werewolf.

Your heart pounded wildly as the creature advanced, its snarling lips curling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. Panic seized you. You tried to cast a spell, but fear made your movements clumsy, and the incantation faltered on your tongue. The werewolf snarled again, its deadly intent unmistakable.

You were sure you were doomed.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar shattered the tense silence, startling both you and the beast. From the shadows emerged a massive bear, its fur bristling and eyes blazing with an otherworldly fury. The bear wasted no time, charging at the werewolf with raw power and unmatched ferocity.

Their clash was brutal and swift, the werewolf no match for the bear's strength and determination. Before long, the defeated creature limped off into the safety of the forest, leaving you frozen in place, trembling from head to toe.

The bear turned its attention to you, its intelligent gaze locking onto yours. Despite your fear, there was something strangely familiar in the way it looked at you—almost protective.

And then, to your utter disbelief, the bear began to shift. Its enormous form shrank, fur receding as its features morphed into something distinctly human. In a matter of moments, you found yourself staring at Choi Jongho, his sharp eyes unwavering as they met yours.

"You…" The word barely escaped your lips, your voice a mere whisper. "You're an animagus?"

His jaw tightened briefly before he nodded. "Yes," he admitted, his tone steady but quiet.

You blinked, your mind racing to process what you had just witnessed. It wasn't just the transformation that left you reeling—it was the way he had risked himself to save you. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" you finally managed.

He let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. For the first time, you saw the stoic facade crack, revealing something raw beneath. "People already think I'm intimidating enough," he said, his voice laced with vulnerability. "If they knew I could turn into a bear, they'd see me as a monster. Even if I chose this form to protect, not harm."

Your chest tightened at his words, at the loneliness he must have carried. His stern demeanour suddenly made sense—it was a shield, a way to keep others from seeing the parts of himself he feared they wouldn't understand.

"But it's not a bad thing," you said softly, taking a step closer. "You became an animagus for a noble reason. That says more about who you are than anything else."

His gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing just slightly. "I appreciate that," he murmured. "But not everyone would see it the same way. People fear what they don't understand."

For the first time, you saw through the intimidating exterior everyone else feared. Beneath it all, he was just someone who cared deeply, someone who bore the weight of his secrets quietly for the sake of those around him.

"Thank you for saving me," you said earnestly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. "Your secret's safe with me. I promise."

He nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's my pleasure," he replied, his tone warm yet reserved. "Now, you should get back. It's not safe out here."

"And you?"

"I'll make sure the forest is clear," he assured you, his protective instincts shining through. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

As you made your way back to the castle, your mind was consumed with thoughts of Jongho. The boy who had just saved your life was so much more than the fearsome prefect everyone believed him to be. And now, you carried a piece of his truth, a secret that revealed a depth to him you never would have imagined.

From then on, something shifted.

You became one of the few who dared to hold his gaze, the rare recipient of his fleeting smiles. Where others saw the intimidating Slytherin prefect, you saw the quiet strength and vulnerability he kept hidden beneath the surface. And nothing shocked people more than seeing him sit next to you at breakfast in the Great Hall.

Whispers rippled through the tables, curious and incredulous alike. Choi Jongho, the stoic and fearsome prefect, sitting with someone? A girl? The novelty was enough to turn heads, but what truly caught people's attention was the way he looked at you.

There was something unmistakable in his eyes—a quiet affection, soft and unguarded, as if your presence unravelled the walls he so carefully maintained.

He glanced over at you as you finished your meal, his expression relaxed yet tinged with curiosity. "Where are you headed after this?" he asked, his tone casual but attentive.

You wiped your hands with a napkin, smiling up at him. "The Duelling Club."

His eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "The Duelling Club? But why?"

You bit back a laugh at his incredulity, placing your fork down with an amused shake of your head. "Because someone with a very admirable trait has inspired me," you said, your voice warm with sincerity. "To be stronger, to protect those around me too."

The words caught him off guard, and you watched as his usual composure faltered. He blinked, a faint flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. The sight was endearing, a rare glimpse of boyishness in the otherwise composed prefect.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, reaching for his goblet of pumpkin juice and taking a long sip as if it might steady him. Setting it down, he muttered softly, "You don't have to." His eyes flickered to yours, vulnerable but earnest. "You'll always have me."

Your chest warmed at his words, his quiet promise resonating deeply. He might have been the boy feared by many, but to you, he was simply someone who cared more deeply than he let on.

You leaned forward slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "I know," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "But it doesn't hurt to know how to hold my own, does it?"

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, the corner of his lips curving upward in a rare but genuine smile. "Fair enough," he conceded, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer before turning back to his plate. "But I'm coming with."

Any fellow Potterheads here? Humour this poor author and tell me about your Hogwarts house, your favourite Harry Potter book/movie as well as your favourite character! Most importantly, let me know if you agree with the houses I've sorted the members into!

Hope you enjoyed this! As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 |

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho |

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline |

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1 |

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha |

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte |

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar |

@bunny4yungi @zl-world

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rueclfer · 3 days ago

Note

Can I get a gentle reminder smau with Shigaraki? And maybe with a little excerpt of him checking in on us 👉🏻👈🏻 love your writing, but don’t feel inclined to do this request if you don’t want to :)

ily u r sweet yes u can get some of this soft n tender shiggy

gentle reminder // tomura shigaraki

“keep track of your shit.” tomura says once more, tossing your pill bottle onto your bed, right next to your figure hidden beneath the mass of blankets.

“you see a bottle of pills that looks kinda important, that you know i left in your room since last week and you don’t think to at least notify me?” you huff, peaking your head out.

“i dunno.” he shrugs. “you leave shit in my room at the time. think i have half your closet on my floor.”

you tightly clench the fabric of the blanket up over your nose as heat spikes up to your ears.

tomura doesn’t need an invitation to make himself comfortable in your bed. you feel the shift of the mattress underneath you and hear the rattle of the pills as he shakes it in his hands.

“so this tiny ass pill” he lays on his back, one hand behind his head, the other holding up the small orange bottle to his eyes. “is the one thing that keeps you together?”

“unfortunately.” you sigh, pulling the blanket down under your chin. “can you pass me one?”

you watch him carefully shake out the small pale pill into the palm of his hand. he returns the stare as you swallow the pill dry, returning your head down onto your pillow.

“feel better?” he sets the bottle on the nightstand.

“no.” you laugh at the naivety. “gonna take a little to get used to them again.”

“what do you need then?” he blankly stares at you. “‘cause you can’t do this for another week.”

you two lock into a staring contest while you think for a moment.

what do i need?

you feel like shit. you haven’t taken a proper shower in a few days. you haven’t really eaten anything. your throat is dry. this migraine is pounding its way out of your skull. this is the most you’ve spoken to someone in a week.

“maybe just stay here.”

it takes him by surprise- you see the shock in his eyes.

sure you’ve messed around a bit (a lot), but you’ve never asked him for any sort of warmth and comfort. this is new territory for the both of you.

tomura fully turns on his side and inches a bit closer to you. he’s scared to touch you, so he just invades your bubble a little bit more than he usually would. your breaths intertwine in the stuffy air of your bedroom and you see the room slowly grow dimmer as the sun sets.

“is this helping?” he whispers.

“yeah.” you close your eyes, fingers reaching out to rest on top of the back of his hand, lighting tapping over his fingers. “thanks, tomura.”

“just don’t be stupid and forget again.” he sighs, switching your hand positions, his now firmly laying flat over yours.

“maybe it’s all a ruse to get you in my bed.” you tease.

“not that you need a ruse. it’s you. i’m always available.” he scoffs. “idiot.” he quickly adds on.

tomura’s glad the sun was almost set at this point. you wouldn’t be able to see his growing flushed face and chewed bottom lip as he continues to stare at your slight smile, and tousled hair from laying in bed all day.

he’ll make a mental note to make it a habit to stop by your room and remind you to take your meds from now on. he doesn’t realize until now that this piece of solitude in each other’s presence has been something he’s been craving, almost like an insatiable hunger.

tomura scooches closer now, letting himself in the cocoon of your blankets. you accept him in between your arms, letting him rest his head against the crook of your neck.

“thank you, tomura.” you mutter against his hairline.

“yeah.”

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ivaalo · 2 days ago

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That reminds me of a story of mine, on Tumblr, 2015.

There was that time where Tumblr was really extremist. And forget about "Men are trash", it was was about openly calling to bully cis person because they were cis. Of course, I was shocked. I have cis friends (while I'm enby). Just like I'm offended when I see transphobic bigotry.

Tumblr calmed down a bit. A year passed and I saw a video on feminism on YouTube, that the real feminism wasn't about hating men and all, but seeking equality. This video was a trap. But it wasn't wrong. But the trap came from associating LGBT+ people with radical feminism on later videos. Thankfully, I was able to get out and question the author.

Yeah, this is comforting to understand that your friends are not a burden just because they're men. Nobody is a problem for their identity, as long as it's a part of self, and not a justification to use violence.

The left treats men the same way politicians treat migrants. Like they're a problem for existing, like they have a debt to pay.

(And of course, I'm all for safe space and all, as long as this doesn't radicalize people)

Before lecturing someone with a forced education they might not be in the current mood for, let's welcome them first, and thank them for being there in the first place. Depending of their education, it can be a lot to unlearn. I'm AMAB and even tho I haven't had a very gendered education, I noticed some toxic pattern I accidentally learned from being privileged.

Toxic masculinity is a prison. When you want to abolish prisons, make sure to not target prisoners. When changing a system, target the system, not the citizen.

"Oh you men have a weak ego" Everybody has a weak ego, when targeted.

Welcome, don't gatekeep. Educate, don't blame.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

#politic

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fuctacles · 2 days ago

Text

<<😺😺😺😺😺😺😺

"Yes? Hello, officer? There's a man in my apartment."

Eddie stirs awake, his surroundings coming back to him in hazy waves.

"What?" he slurs out, blinking to clear his vision.

"Oh, I was just telling the officer that I've found a man sleeping on my couch," Stephanie says with a troubled expression, hovering over him.

Over the couch that he fell asleep on.

He sits up so suddenly he loses his balance and falls back against the cushion.

"I'm so sorry, please don't call the cops—!"

Stephanie immediately shakes her hands, which are free of a phone.

"I was joking, I was joking!" she reassures him quickly. "I'm sorry." She smiles apologetically, taking a seat next to him. "I guess that wasn't the best way to wake up someone."

"No," Eddie chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Especially not an ex-drug dealer," he huffs dryly.

Steph cocks her head with a surprised "huh" and only then does Eddie realize what he has just blurted out.

"Ah, shit. Am I ruining my good neighbor status?" he winces.

"Not at all," Steph shakes her head, and gently pats his knee. He zeroes his focus on her hand when she decides to rest it there on his jean-clad leg.

"I know my nice neighbor Eddie, not the drug dealer one," she smiles reassuringly. "What made you turn around? If you don't mind me asking," she squeezes his knee and retrieves her hand to lean back more comfortably on the couch. One of her cats, Garfield, jumps on her lap for a greeting, and Eddie realizes she's still wearing her jacket. He looks at the clock on the wall and realizes it's almost midnight.

"Sorry, I'm holding you back, you're clearly tired," she backtracks quickly, watching his eyes dart around. But Eddie shakes his head.

"Nah, I just took an invigorating nap." She laughs at that and he can't help but smile as well. "I'd assume you're tired after traveling."

"I took an invigorating nap on the bus," she smiles, petting her cat. Arwen finally decides she's not above greeting her human and jumps in next to her as well, occupying Stephanie's other hand.

Eddie reminds himself not to get jealous of felines.

"I managed to graduate," he says and when Steph looks at him in confusion, he adds: "I dealt in high school to save money for my band, thought that was my only route. But then I did graduate, on my third try, and the art teacher pulled some strings, asked around, and told me I could go study music. The guys forced me to go for it," he smiles at the memory. "My band, I mean. They said at least one of us should know some theory," he chuckles.

"That's very nice of them," Stephanie comments.

"Yeah. The bastards followed me after high school too." He grins.

"And I still haven't heard your music," she sighs wistfully.

"I'll bring a tape next time," he promises.

"You better."

They sit in silence for a while, only the cat's purring filling the night ambiance.

"Want some tea?"

"I guess I should go."

They speak over each other, eyes wide when they meet awkwardly. They chuckle, and Eddie can feel his cheeks warm up.

"Or I can get us a beer? Since you're not an old lady," she offers, spotting the empty bottle on the table. "Unless you really need to go."

"Beer sounds good. Considering there are no old ladies here," he smiles charmingly, daring her to protest.

Steph doesn't say anything, only rolls her eyes and gently nudges Garfield from her lap onto the couch cushions. She scratches Eddie's head when she passes, thankfully missing the way it causes his whole body to shiver.

"Won't your uncle be worried where you are?" she asks from the kitchen, giving Eddie the space he needs to collect himself.

"I told him I'd wait for you," he answers, scratching Garfield and trying to forget how good it felt when done to him. "Also, I don't have a curfew anymore. Never had, in fact. Not with Wayne."

"Lucky you." She steps back into the room, handing him a chilled bottle. "How long have you been living with him?"

"Since high school," he answers before taking a swig. "Spent a short time in a halfway house before that. My parents couldn't handle me anymore, but they managed to reach my uncle and he took me in."

"The hell do you mean 'couldn't handle you'?" Steph asks with a frown.

Eddie chuckles at her immediate offense.

"They got into legal trouble, and couldn't afford the house anymore, I think my dad spent some time in prison too. Tax fraud and shit, never cared enough to dig into it and Wayne doesn't like talking about them either. He's a better parent they'd ever be anyway."

"Yeah," Steph softens. "I'd love to have had someone like him back in the day." Then, she deflates with a sigh. "Though even the nicest people can turn out to be bigots. Not Wayne, of course!" she rushes to add. "He knows about Robin and he's really cool about it."

Eddie sees his opening and feels comfortable enough to use it finally.

"He better be, since his nephew is bisexual," he says with a little huff.

"He is?" Steph picks up curiously.

"Yeah," Eddie scratches his cheek, suddenly sheepish. "Turned out I wasn't watching Indiana Jones for the plot."

"I think that sweaty chest is plot enough," she says and they both laugh.

"Have you dated a guy, then?" Stephanie asks next.

"Only one for real," Eddie admits. "But it's not like I've dated many girls either, though it is easier."

"A young bachelor like you?" Stephanie raises her eyebrows in surprise. "You should be swarming with marriage proposals, the way your uncle describes you."

Eddie groans, throwing his head back against the cushions.

"What nonsense is he telling about me?"

"Only that he has a talented, smart boy in Indy, who's always helpful and protective of his friends and family. Also, he has really frizzy hair."

"Excuse me?"

Eddie picks up his head to look at Stephanie. She's suddenly closer than before, rubbing a lock of his hair between her fingers.

"When was the last time you had your hair done?"

"Uh." He looks between her hand and her face like he'll find the answer there. "Never? Probably? At least not that I remember."

Stephanie's mouth purses with displeasure.

"I can fix them for you. For taking care of my cats."

Eddie wants her hands in his hair so badly, but he raises his beer like a dumbass.

"But I already got a beer," he points out.

She shakes her head.

"I share beers with friends for less. I'd usually buzz Wayne too, and you'd be doing me a favor because I can't focus with your split ends right in my face."

She's really playing it up, pout and all, and unfortunately, it's working on him.

But he'd probably do anything she asked for.

"Then, uh... Sure, I guess."

#steddie #crazy cat lady stevie #stevie harrington #stevierything #mine #cw: age gap #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fanfiction #transfem steve harrington

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won4kiss · 2 days ago

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﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ────I’LL WAIT FOR YOUR LOVE.

(🧺) ── 𝓙EONG JAEHYUN﹙정재현﹚ ꒰ 𝓰. oneshot ៸ fluff ៸ f2l ୨୧ㅤㅤ WARNiNGS : not proofread ៸ kissing ៸ lovesick jae❞ best friend! jaehyun x 𝑓! reader ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ꒰ WC : 2.7K ꒱ SYPNoSiS 𐙚 year by year, moment by moment, growing up with jaehyun has led to the love you’ve been waiting for all along .ᐟ ── LiBRARY

─2005

THE FIRST TIME YOU MEET JEONG JAEHYUN,

you’re both eight years old, and it’s the last day of second grade—it’s one of those annoyingly hot afternoons where the sun is brighter than ever, stretching shadows across the playground.

you’re sitting on the swings, your feet barely brushing the sand, when you notice a boy standing nearby, hesitating, as if unsure whether to approach.

he’s holding a small toy in his hands, a little red car with chipped paint, and he’s staring at it with a furrowed brow.

he finally looks up and meets your gaze, and there’s something curious and open in his eyes.

“hi,” he says, his voice nervous but steady. “i’m jaehyun.”

you tilt your head, watching him, and he gestures to the empty swing beside you. “can i sit?” ── 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖫𝖮𝖶!

you nod, and he sits down, gripping the rusty chains of the swing and kicking his feet off the ground in a way that feels awkward, like he’s too big for it already.

for a while, the two of you just sit, listening to the squeak of the swings and the lively chatter of the kids around you.

“i like the swings,” he finally says, his voice quiet. “it feels like i’m flying, like superman.”

you smile, feeling an instant connection to this boy with his shy smile and big dreams. “me too, but batman’s better than superman.”

from that day on, jaehyun becomes a constant in your life.

every day after school, he finds you on the playground, and together, you make up games, share secrets, and talk about everything from your favorite snacks to the names you’d give your future pets.

he tells you he wants to be a singer someday, his face lighting up with excitement, and you tell him that you think he’ll be amazing at it.

─2010

MIDDLE SCHOOL ARRIVES, BRINGING A LOAD OF CHANGE.

suddenly, jaehyun is taller, his voice has deepened, and he’s taken up basketball.

you notice the way people seem to watch him now, like he’s someone worth paying attention to.

but even though he’s growing into himself, becoming the kind of boy who can light up a room, he’s still your best friend.

one autumn afternoon, the two of you are sitting on the grass behind the school, sharing a pack of chips after practice.

the leaves are a vibrant mix of orange and red around you, and the air is crisp, the kind that makes you feel alive.

as you talk, he reaches over and plucks a small wildflower growing in the grass, examining it with a thoughtful expression—without a word, he hands it to you, his cheeks turning pink.

“it reminded me of you,” he says, a little shyly. “small but… strong.”

you take the flower, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest that you can’t quite place your finger on.

you press it between the pages of your notebook that night, letting it dry as a quiet reminder of that moment, a memory of a shift between you, unspoken but deeply felt.

─2014

BY HIGH SCHOOL, JAEHYUN IS SOMEONE EVERYONE NOTICES.

he’s joined the basketball team and fills out his uniform in a way that turns heads—girls pass him notes in class, and he’s always surrounded by people who want to be near him, to bask in his warmth.

but even with all the attention, he never changes around you.

he’s still the boy who waits for you outside your classroom, who finds you in the crowded hallways with an easy smile.

one friday night, there’s a big party, and he convinces you to go with him—the house is filled with people, the music loud and the lights dim.

you feel a little out of place, but jaehyun stays by your side, his arm slung over your shoulder as he introduces you to his friends, laughing and making sure you’re comfortable.

at some point, the noise becomes too much, and you slip outside for a moment to catch your breath.

you’re leaning against the porch railing, looking up at the stars, when you hear footsteps behind you.

“hey,” jaehyun’s voice is soft, and he’s smiling as he joins you, leaning beside you on the railing. “you okay?”

you nod, grateful for the quiet moment away from the crowd. “just needed some air.”

he watches you, his gaze warm. “thanks for coming with me. i know parties aren’t really your thing.”

his words make you feel seen in a way that goes deeper than friendship, and you wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in the stillness.

for a moment, you’re both quiet, the night stretching around you, and you feel a longing settle deep in your chest—a quiet, insistent feeling that you’re almost afraid to acknowledge.

─2016

SENIOR YEAR IS A BITTERSWEET TIME.

the two of you are talking about colleges, dreams, and the future—you’ve applied to different universities, and the thought of not seeing jaehyun every day makes your heart ache.

one afternoon, you’re sitting in the school gym, watching as he practices with the basketball team.

he’s focused, his movements graceful and sure, and you find yourself lost in the sight of him—when practice ends, he jogs over, grinning, his hair damp with sweat.

“thanks for waiting,” he says, a little breathless, he tosses his towel over his shoulder, his smile softening as he looks at you.

“can we go somewhere?” he asks after a moment, his voice quiet.

there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that you rarely see, and you nod, letting him lead you outside.

you end up at the park, the same one where you met years ago.

sitting on the swings, just like you did when you were kids, there’s a feeling of nostalgia between you, a sense that something is ending.

“i’m going to miss this,” he murmurs, his voice soft. he looks at you, his eyes reflecting the sadness in your own.

for a moment, you feel a surge of courage, the desire to tell him everything that’s been building in your heart over the years.

but the words catch in your throat, and instead, you reach over, slipping your hand into his.

“me too,” you whisper.

─2018

UNIVERSITY IS A STRANGE AND LONELY PLACE WITHOUT JAEHYUN.

you both try to stay in touch, texting and calling when you can, but the distance is hard, the busy schedules and new friendships creating gaps that you can’t always bridge.

but you still make time for each other, clinging to the friendship that has been your constant for so long.

one weekend, he comes to visit you—the moment you see him standing outside your dorm, that familiar, warm smile lighting up his face, it feels like coming home.

you spend the day exploring the city, eating at food stalls, wandering through bookstores, laughing and talking like no time has passed at all.

that night, you’re lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark.

jaehyun is beside you, his breathing steady and soft—you can feel the warmth of his body, the comfort of his presence, and you wonder if he knows how much he means to you.

in the quiet darkness, he reaches over, his hand finding yours. “you’re still my favorite person,” he whispers, his voice carrying a vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

you squeeze his hand, the words catching in your throat. “you’re mine too, jaehyun.”

─2021

NOW TWENTY-FOUR,

you’re both navigating the chaos of post-college life, juggling work, bills, and responsibilities.

jaehyun’s career is taking off, his life filled with new challenges, new dreams.

and though your paths have diverged, you still find time for each other, the bond between you as strong as ever.

one evening, he shows up at your apartment, looking exhausted and worn, the weight of his schedule pressing heavily on his shoulders.

without a word, you pull him inside, letting him sink onto the couch.

you make him tea, sitting beside him as he sips it slowly, his eyes closed in relief. “thanks for this,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “i just… needed a break.”

you reach over, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “you don’t have to do everything alone, jaehyun. i’m here.”

his eyes open, meeting yours, and there’s something deep and raw in his gaze, a quiet acknowledgment of everything you’ve shared over the years.

he reaches for your hand, holding it tightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that feels intimate, grounding.

“i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

and in that moment, you know that no matter where life takes you, he’ll always be a part of your story.

─2023

NOW AT TWENTY-SIX,

you’re both a little older, a little wiser, but still tethered by that bond that has carried you through every stage of life.

you’ve shared dreams, heartaches, and countless memories, and through it all, your feelings for jaehyun have only grown, a quiet love that’s been there all along.

one summer evening, you’re at his apartment, cooking dinner together.

the kitchen is a mess, there’s sauce spilled on the counter, the scent of garlic filling the air.

you’re laughing, both of you a little tipsy, the warmth of the wine making you feel bold.

as you sit down to eat, jaehyun looks at you, his expression serious, his gaze soft and steady.

“there’s something i’ve been meaning to tell you, i’ve been putting it off for about a decade though,” he says jokingly, but you could hear the weight behind his words.

your heart skips a beat, and you meet his gaze, feeling the seriousness of the mood.

“i think… i think i’ve been in love with you for a long time,” he confesses, his voice trembling anxiously. “i didn’t know how to tell you, or even if i should. but i can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

tears fill your eyes as you reach for his hand, your fingers entwining. “i’ve been waiting for you to say that for so so long,” you whisper, your voice heavy with emotion. “i love you too, jaehyun.”

in that moment, every doubt, every fear melts away, leaving only the truth that’s been there all along—he’s the love you’ve been waiting for.

and as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close, you know that you’ve finally made it where you were always meant to be.

─PRESENT DAY

NOW, LYING BESIDE JAEHYUN IN THE EARLY MORNING LIGHT,

you feel the quiet peace that comes from being right where you’re meant to be.

the sunlight filters softly through the blinds, gentle rays fill the room and paints jaehyun’s face in warm, golden light.

his arm is draped over your waist, and you can feel his slow, steady breathing, his warmth seeping into you as he stirs slightly, eyes fluttering open.

he blinks, looking at you with a sleepy smile, the kind that’s just for you, a little private thing that makes your heart swell.

his hair is tousled, his face soft with sleep, and you can’t help but reach up, brushing a strand away from his forehead.

“morning,” he murmurs, his voice thick and a little raspy, but filled with a tenderness that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“morning,” you reply, your voice just as soft.

for a moment, you both lie there in comfortable silence, simply watching each other, basking in the warmth of the morning and the quiet intimacy that fills the room.

jaehyun lifts his hand, gently running his thumb over your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours.

“what’s on your mind?” he asks quietly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

you smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you, a joy that’s almost too big for words. “you,” you whisper, feeling your cheeks heat up, even after all these years of knowing him.

his smile widens, a small chuckle escaping as he leans closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss that feels like a promise.

he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes shining with that familiar, deep affection that has only grown with time.

“i really like that answer,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle murmur that echoes the countless quiet moments you’ve shared over the years.

as you lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you think of everything you’ve been through, every stage of life you’ve faced side by side.

from playgrounds to high school hallways, from late-night calls in college to quiet evenings in the kitchen, your lives have been woven together in a bundle of shared moments, small joys, and unspoken promises.

jaehyun sighs, a contented, happy sound as he pulls you closer, his hand trailing up and down your back in a slow, comforting rhythm.

“i don’t think i ever told you this,” he says, his voice a quiet murmur. “but there was always something about you… from the very beginning. even as kids, i knew that you were going to be someone special to me. someone i couldn’t live without.”

you smile, feeling a lump form in your throat as his words sink in—you reach up, cupping his cheek, brushing your thumb along his jawline.

“i think i always knew, too,” you say softly. “you’ve been my best friend, my constant… and now my love.”

a warmth blooms between you, filling the room with a quiet kind of joy that feels both old and new, a love that’s grown through years of friendship and shared memories.

jaehyun presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he whispers, “thank you for waiting for me. for always being there.”

you close your eyes, leaning into his touch, your heart swelling with a happiness that feels almost overwhelming.

“you were worth the wait, jaehyun,” you murmur, feeling the truth of those words settle around you like a warm blanket.

the two of you stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, letting the quiet morning stretch around you.

it’s a moment that feels suspended in time, a snapshot of a love that’s been years in the making, built on a foundation of trust and friendship.

eventually, he shifts, pulling you closer, his gaze soft as he studies your face.

“what do you say we make breakfast?” he suggests, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

you laugh, feeling a rush of warmth at the familiar suggestion. “as long as you don’t burn the food this time,” you tease, poking his side.

jaehyun grins, a playful light in his eyes as he sits up, pulling you with him. “no promises,” he says, his laughter filling the room as he pulls you out of bed and leads you to the kitchen, your hands still intertwined.

as you sit down together, sharing a simple breakfast, you realize that this—these quiet, everyday moments—are the ones you’ll cherish the most.

because after all the years of waiting, all the moments of longing and uncertainty, you’ve finally found your way to each other after all your years of knowing him.

jaehyun reaches across the table, his hand finding yours, his fingers warm and steady around yours.

he looks at you, his eyes filled with a quiet, enduring love that speaks of all the years you’ve shared, all the small moments that have led you here.

and in that moment, with his hand in yours and his smile lighting up the room, you know that every second of waiting was worth it.

every second of waiting for his love was worth it.

NOTE. i genuinely enjoyed writing this sm !! i miss my husband already guys this is so horrendous T-T i was listening to we can’t be friends string ver while writing this i’m literally sobbing ☹️

୨୧ TAGLIST OPEN ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @kiss4noo @nineooooo @loves0ft : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

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moonchild9350 · 3 days ago

Text

Rainy Days, Love, and You

Summary: you and your two boyfriends hearts beat as one, a love you are reminded of daily. Pairing: idol Felix x fab reader x idol Han Genre: established relationship au, fluff, smut-18+MDNI Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: soft dom & sub dynamics, sensual touch, handjob, oral sex (f & m receiving), mxm action, p in v penetration, creampie (don't), nipply play, cum shot, spanking, teasing, orgasm denial, just three people in love lol Notes: wanted to do another jilix fic and here it is. i love the sunshine twins so much omg

If you enjoyed, please consider a like, reblog, or comment as if keeps me motivated! ♡

Divider by @cafekitsune

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

It was a rainy day, the rain pelting the windows as the wind blew, bolts of lightening flashing after every few rumbles of thunder. You were cuddled up with your boyfriend on the couch, watching your usual show. You snuggled closer to Jisung, his arm draped across your shoulder holding you close to his body.

You felt comfort in the smell of his hoodie, the smell of him surrounding you in a wave of vanilla. There was silence between you two, but you didn’t mind, as you were comfortable no matter the situation with him. You knew he had a long day in the studio today as he was preparing hard with the others for their comeback. Your other boyfriend Felix has yet to come home, spending a late night rehearsing.

Time went by, the candles dwindled and rain continued to pound on the windows. Your eyes were set on the tv, until they drifted towards Jisung’s bulge which was prominent through his grey sweats he had changed into.

You licked your lips and decided to tease him as you settled your hand on his thigh. When he didn’t move, you slowly rubbed across the fabric, your hand gently sliding up, down, up, down, trying not to give yourself away.

As time passed, your hand crept higher as you kept up the rhythmic motion. You smirked as you heard Jisung’s breath hitch, a sign he was finally on to you.

You withdrew your hand and rested it on his belly, your fingers splayed out, as it rose and fell with each breath. You let time pass, your focus going back to the tv show.

Deeming enough time as gone by, you began your assault once more, your hand rubbing his leg softly and gently. You watched as Jisung’s cock slowly filled within his sweat pants, the tent getting larger as time went on.

You tiptoed your fingers up to his bulge, your hand gripping the hard member firmly, giving it a squeeze. Jisung jolted within his seat, as he yelped at the pleasure that shot through him.

“Babe, what are you doing?” He whined, his hand that was draped across your shoulder wrapping tighter around you to ground himself.

“Shhh,” you replied, “let me take care of you Sungie,” you cooed, as you stroked his cock through the fabric.

You continued to watch tv as you palyed his length, your ears trained to his little whimpers as you teased him, knowing you had him right where you wanted him. Smirking, you lifted yourself up, looking your boyfriend in the eyes as you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

Reaching for his waistband, you pulled his pants down, Jisung lifting his hips to help you in your quest. His cock slapped up against his belly once freed from its confines, his balls sitting heavy. You wrapped your hands around his cock, your thumb pressing into his slit, gathering the pre-cum that was oozing from the tip.

You slowly stroked his shaft, smiling as you listened to him whimper, his heart shaped lips in a pout.

“You’re so cute Sungie,” you cooed, eyeing your boyfriend as you continued to stroke him.

With your other hand, you fondled his balls, which were heavy in your grasp. Jisung’s breath stuttered, his eyes fluttering close at the pleasure he was feeling from your hands.

You grinned as you gripped the bottom of his shaft, before lowering your head and taking his tip into your mouth, the man above you letting out a moan at the feeling of your warm mouth wrapped around him.

You hollowed out your cheeks and began to bob your head, sliding his thick cock within your mouth until the head hit the back of your throat. You repeated the motion again and again, listening to Jisung whimper and moan above you. He tried not to thrash around beneath you, instead opting to grasp at the threads of the couch with one hand, the other buried in your hair, guiding you up and down his cock.

Lewd sounds filled the room, as your spit dribbled down his member. You let out a moan around his cock, your pussy clenching as Jisung bucked his hips upwards into your mouth, the tip ramming into your throat causing you to gag.

“Mmm sorry... sorry babe, but your mouth…jesus!” Jisung breathed out.

You moaned as Jisung pulled you off his cock, spit dribbling down your chin, as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

“Need to be inside you baby,” he said as he threw you onto the couch.

You landed with a huff, your eyes wide as he grasped the waistband of your panties and hastily pulled them down, tossing them across the room.

"Damn, Sungie. Someone'e eager," you chuckled as you noticed they landed right on the corner of the tv.

"Don't tease me," he groaned as he grabbed your thighs and spread them apart hurriedly.

He gripped the base of his cock, sliding it between your puffy folds before pushing into your pussy in a fluid motion.

Jisung adjusted himself and then began thrusting his hips against yours, his heavy balls hitting against your ass, little whimpers falling from his mouth with each thrust.

“So wet and warm,” he whined, his eyes trained on his cock sliding in and out of your hole, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he noticed the white ring that was forming around his cock.

“Harder Sungie!” You mewled as you grasped your legs, spreading them wider.

You tossed your head back, before looking back between your legs as you steadily moaned. Jisung was drilling into you hard and fast, the boy chasing after his high. You wanted to get him there, more than anything, that's for sure.

“Lemme ride you Sungie, please?” You begged, looking into his eyes as he continued to pound his hips into yours.

Jisung nodded his head and withdrew his cock, scrambling to sit down so you could ride him. Once settled, he patted his thighs, and smiled at you, his big boba eyes shining.

“Your throne awaits my queen,” he teased, chuckling as you rolled your eyes at his quip.

You scooted over to your lover, deciding to play along with his antics.

“Well let me just sit down then, keep that throne warm.”

You grabbed his cock, stroking the appendage a few times before aligning it with your entrance and sinking down. Jisung grasped your hips with a loud groan, his eyes trained on your pussy as you took him to the hilt. You took a few breaths, adjusting to the new angle.

Jisung reached down to remove your shirt, tossing it to the side before grasping your tits within each hand, his fingers playing with your nipples. His mouth attached to the hardened nubs, as he moaned, sucking and kissing your tits, his tongue darting out to lick over the nipple.

You ran your fingers through his curly hair, as you continued to keep his cock warm, little pants falling from your lips at the pleasurable sensation that traveled down to your core.

You could feel your arousal dripping, coating Jisung’s cock, the fluid pooling at the base, coating the hairs there with your cream. You closed your eyes to savor the feeling of his lips on your tits, that is until you felt a jolt of pain, as his hands slapped your ass, the flesh jiggling at the impact.

Your eyes snapped open in shock, your orbs searching his, your eyebrow cocked at his boldness. He withdrew his mouth from your nipple, squeezing the flesh of your ass before slapping it again.

“Bounce baby,” Jisung said, his eyes hazy as they gazed upon yours. “Ride my cock.”

“Mmm Sungie is a little bold today,” you purred, your fingers trailing down his chest until you reached his nipple, your fingers reaching out to pinch the nub hard. Jisung yelped at the sensation, his eyes screwed up in pain and pleasure.

“Mm sorry,” he whimpered, his chest heaving with each breath.

You watched as his eyes dilated, the orbs filled with lust. You cocked your eyebrow, staring at your boyfriend. You decided to tease him further, clenching your pussy around his length, his cock twitching within you. You did it again and again, watching Jisung twitch beneath you, as he whined and whimpered, his bottom lip quivering at the pleasure.

“Please…please baby, ride me. I’ll make you feel good, promise,” he begged with hooded eyes.

You did an experimental roll of your hips, his cock dragging against your walls, smiling as he moaned beneath you. Lifting your hips, your slid off his cock before slamming down again, taking all of him within you. Soon, the sound of skin hitting skin radiated throughout the room as you rode Jisung hard and fast.

You moans matched his as pleasure jolted to your core, causing more of your slick to leak out. You fingers drifted through his hair, your eyes on his face as he let out incoherent sounds, as he switched between moans and trying to annunciate words.

You gripped the strands of his hair before yanking his head back, baring his neck to you as he screamed, his hands gripping your ass harder as you continued to ride him. You licked the expanse of his neck before sucking the skin, alternating between bites and soothing the area with your tongue.

You were lost in Jisung, missing the sound of the door closing announcing the entrance of Felix, your other boyfriend. You looked up as he chuckled, his eyes taking in the scene in front of him.

Felix felt his cock twitch at the sight of the two of you. His eyes roamed your body, as you bounced on Jisung’s dick, watched your tits bounce with each movement, your head tossed back in pleasure. He saw Jisung too, his face scrunched up as he guided your hips over his cock.

Felix could only imagine how Jisung felt, his cock buried deep within your wet pussy, all snug and warm.

“Having some fun without me hmm,” Felix said, his voice husky as he eyed you two.

You turned to look at your other lover, smiling as you beckoned him over. Felix sauntered over to you, a smirk on his face.

You puckered your lips at him, silently asking for a kiss. Felix leaned down and pressed his soft lips against yours, as you sighed, happy to have both of your boyfriends here.

Jisung whined, watching the two of you make out. He didn’t stop but instead mumbled incoherent words here and there, accented with his moans.

You separated from Felix and tsked, annoyed at the disturbance. You stilled your hips, as you glared at Jisung. His eyes snapped open at your lack of movement, his cock twitching in need.

“Why…why’d you stopped?” He whined, as he gripped your hips harder, attempting to get you to move.

You listened to him whine and moan, mumbling something that sounded like he needed to cum. His incessant whining was getting repetitive. Looking at Felix you smirked, the boy grinning like he could read your mind.

“Lix, Sungie won’t shut up. Shut him up for me will you?” You cooed.

“Gladly love,” Felix said as he reached for his sweats, pulling them down hurriedly.

You watched as he rid himself of his boxers, his hard cock angry and red. He walked over to Jisung, whose eyes were big, his gaze going back and forth between you two.

“Up love,” Felix said, helping you get up off Jisung’s cock.

Jisung whined at your departure, a little pout forming on his face.

“Up Ji.” Felix commanded.

Jisung scrambled away, not wanting to disobey. You layed down on the couch, your fingers reaching down to play with your clit. You grinned as you watched Jisung scoot over to you, standing over you, his ass in your face so he could face Felix.

He helped you tuck your legs to your chest presenting your pussy to the two men in front of you. Jisung grasped his cock and sunk within your little hole once more, as he cried at the pleasure and being within your warmth again.

He began to fuck your hole, his whimpers picking up again, that is until Felix brought his cock to his lips, waiting for Jisung to part them. Jisung opened his mouth and took Felix’s cock, his moans and whimpers muffled effectively.

Felix began to fuck Jisung’s mouth as he groaned, his head tossing back in pleasure. Jisung ground his hips into yours, his cock penetrating your walls, the sound of your wet pussy echoing in the room. Felix held onto Jisung’s head as he thrusted his hips into Jisung’s mouth, moans leaving his mouth as he gagged around his length.

You couldn’t see Jisung’s face but you watched Felix’s, smiling as you saw the effect Jisung’s warm, wet mouth had on him. It wasn’t long before Jisung abandoned fucking you, his mind occupied on sucking Felix’s cock. You didn’t mind however, the sight of your lover falling apart turning you on even more.

You knew Jisung was close, his whimpers becoming louder with each passing second. You made eye contact with Felix who smirked and increased his pace, his cock rapidly sliding in and out of Jisung's mouth, strings of Jisung's spit dripping down his chin and onto the couch.

Your hands drifted to Jisung’s ass, giving it a squeeze. Your finger found its way to his puckered hole, letting out a chuckle as Jisung moaned as you pressed the digit against it. You teased the rim, before slowly pushing your finger in, Jisung letting out a loud moan as he came, his body shaking above you and within Felix’s grasp. You let out a moan as you felt his warm cum coating your walls, making a mess as his cum leaked out of your pussy.

Felix helped Jisung down, having him sit down on the empty spot on the couch. He placed a kiss on his lips before rounding back to you as he stroked his cock. You smiled at your other lover, spreading your legs wider beckoning him over.

“Let’s take care of you hmm, love?” Felix cooed, pressing his cock at your entrance.

You moaned at the pressure, your eyes focused on Felix’s.

“Ready for my cock? I’ve missed you all day.” Felix hummed as he stroked his cock within your folds, teasing your entrance and clit.

“Need you Lixie,” you whined, gripping your thighs to present yourself better for him. “Give me your cock baby.”

At your pleas, Felix pushed his cock within you as he groaned, pleasure running through him as you sucked him in. He snapped his hips into yours, slow but hard, his eyes trained on your entrance and the cream that was coating him.

“Fuck me Lix.” You cooed, moaning as he began to thrust faster, the glide made easy with how wet you were.

Your moans mixed with Felix’s as he fucked you, his cock hitting deep within with each thrust. Your hands came up to play with your tits, as they bounced with the force of Felix’s hips snapping into yours.

Felix slapped your hands away and cupped your tits, massaging the flesh as he rutted against you. His fingers ghosted over your nipples, teasing you, grunting as you clenched around him. He brushed his fingers over the buds, flicking them every now and then, smiling as you mewled out in pleasure.

You cradled his head as he bent down, attaching his lips to your nipple, sucking the bud within his plush lips. You felt warmth build up within you, spurred on by Felix’s cock dragging within your walls and the attention he was giving your tits.

You were a mess, your loud moans permeating the room, your slick pouring out of your pussy as Felix withdrew his cock, just for it to be pushed back in as his hips rested against yours.

“Mm close, Lixie, don’t stop,” you whimpered your eyes on his as he leaned back so he could focus on getting you to your high.

You smiled as Jisung appeared next to you, his cock hard and leaking once more, as he pressed a kiss to your lips. He shuffled further down, until he came to your dripping pussy, his tongue licking his lips at the sight.

You yelped as he attached his mouth to your clit, sucking the engorged bud within his lips. You could barely lay still as your legs thrashed at the attention your pussy was receiving from the two boys.

Loud moans rang out from all three of you, as Felix continued to fuck you, his pleasure heightened at the occasional prodding of Jisung’s tongue on his cock. You looked at the two men pleasuring you, Felix’s cock gliding in and out of you, and Jisung’s head between your legs.

The whole scene was a mess, your pussy talking with how wet it was. Your slick was dripping out of your pussy, your walls clamping down on Felix as you felt the warmth spread throughout your core, your belly spasming with each shock.

“Shit!” You screamed as Jisung bit down on your clit before sucking it again, his tongue lashing out to soothe the pain. “Do it again Sungie, make me proud baby.”

Jisung whined against your pussy, his teeth lightly clamping down on your clit before he sucked the bud between his candy lips. His hand sped up on his cock as he stroked it, the sound of your wet pussy bullying his ears.

Felix was close, his high rapidly approaching at watching his lover pleasure you. He sped up his thrusts, your pussy squelching with the force, causing all three of you to moan.

“Don’t stop, Sungie,” Felix grunted, “suck that clit, get our baby there.”

Jisung nodded, increasing his efforts of teasing your clit. Felix loved your pussy. He loved how it was greedy, ready for him at any time. How you creamed just with the sight of his cock. He loved watching the tip disappear within your hole, stretching you out to take him.

He loved the sounds you made as your pussy got wetter as he fucked you, as your warm walls sucked him in, nice and snug. The sight below him was a mess, your pussy coated with cream, the thick white fluid steadily dripping out, mixed with Jisung’s spit as he pleasured your clit.

Your breaths became shallow, your chest heaving as your climax built within you, the last bite on your clit from Jisung tipping you over the edge. You whined out as the pleasure traveled through you, your pussy spasming around Felix’s cock, holding him in.

“Shit love, gonna cum, gonna fill you up m'k?” Felix groaned.

He gripped Jisung’s hair and pulled him up, Jisung whining at the lack of your clit not in his mouth anymore. Felix gripped Jisung’s cock and began to jerk him off, his hand moving fast over the hard appendage.

The sound of erratic breathing filled the room as both boys tipped over the edge, Felix’s cum filling your pussy to the brim and Jisung’s cum splattering your pussy and coating Felix’s cock as his thrusts slowed down.

There was a moment of silence as all three of you breathed, your chests heaving basking in the glow of your orgasms. Felix was the first to recover, as he withdrew his cock from your pussy, his cum spilling out and dripping down your ass.

Jisung licked his lips and looked at you, a smile gracing his face. You hadn’t noticed Felix had left to grab some towels until you felt him gently clean your bottom half, gathering up the sticky cum that was starting to dry on your skin.

Once done, he tossed the towel away and picked you up bridal style, carrying you to your shared bedroom. You three all snuggled under the covers, you laying between both of your boyfriends. They wrapped their arms around you, holding you close, peppering sweet kisses all over your face and neck.

You giggled at their actions, their kisses tickling you. You didn’t mind however, but snuggled closer to them, making sure you were skin to skin. You three laid there in silence, listening to the rain pelt the windows, the occasional thunder ringing out and shaking the frame.

It was a quiet, tender moment, one you yearned for on a daily basis, but one you only encountered occasionally due to busy schedules. However, here all three of you were, under one roof, under one blanket, a tangle of arms and legs and beating hearts.

“I love you,” you whispered, not wanting to break the silence. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were not find not one but two people who could love you so much.

“I love you too,” they both responded, their voices equally as quiet in the silence of the room.

As you all laid in bed, surrounded by the sound of rain, you were reminded just how much your heart beat for your boyfriends, not wanting it to ever end.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground

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lilianade-comics · 2 days ago

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Some additional thoughts + a detailed summary of the Aragon kidnapping incident, because I have this AU on the brain:

As an extension of the basic core vampire power system being blood based and hinging on consistent blood consumption, there is an antiquated "blood magic" system that is essentially high level, "learned" vampirism by which they can use blood to perform feats outside of the usual stuff. A lot of the rituals and incantations practiced by ancient vampires were lost over generations of slayings and book burnings. Vlad devoted years to studying this mostly lost art and has a few tricks in his arsenal that really spice up the lives of the people he doesn't like (Jack and Maddie). Glamours and full blown shapeshifting are both possible using blood magic.

The majority of active vampires in the world aren't any older than two or three hundred years old and most are relatively young, because the ones that are older are either sleeping or were slain during a near cataclysmic purge that happened a couple centuries ago. Vlad hasn't even cracked a hundred yet, but he is close.

Lots of people ask me about the nature of Vlad and Spectra's relationship in Stolen Sanguine, so here's a detailed explanation. When Vlad fled Jack and Maddie with baby Danielle, he eventually settled down far away and started over from scratch, because Jack and Maddie took the house and everything else in the "divorce" (they burned his castle down.) The village he chose as his territory neighbors Spectra's, and since she is easily the most social vampire around, she was quick to welcome check out Vlad. Upon learning his situation Spectra offered to share her resources and connections with him in exchange for his blood, among other things. Vlad is every bit the egotist, so under normal circumstances he would have shot her down because she's so clearly beneath his station. But these aren't normal circumstances. He's functionally broke and new in town and also has a baby to think of, so he reluctantly agrees to Spectra's deal for Dani's sake because he doesn't have the time to toil over business. But as time passes and Vlad becomes more self sufficient he never breaks his alliance with Spectra, because he recognizes that she's into him to a toxic degree and that makes her useful to him. Spectra is legitimately fond of Vlad because he's a complete mess and she finds mentally unwell men deliciously entertaining.

Maddie's dresses usually don't cover her neck on purpose. She likes to lure her prey closer. Jack is almost constantly wearing a cravat because "those gluttonous parasites aren't taking a bite out of THIS jugular." He hasn't really realized that the cravat never seems to dissuade vampires. If anything, Jack + the stupid cravat makes his neck a bigger target.

A more detailed summary of the Aragon incident and its surrounding context is as follows:

Count Aragon and his sister Dorathea are said to have consumed dragon blood at some point in the past, which has given them dragon abilities that surpass the average vampire. Aragon, as in canon, is dominant over Dora, who does his bidding. He's a bully who rules with an iron fist, and he's very well established in society both human and vampire and very high up the food chain.

Aragon's fondest hobby is stealing thralls from other vampires. He likes to assert power over his neighbors by taking their favorite toys, knowing that none of them are gutsy enough to cause a fuss over it. And if they are, he'll just crush them, or throw a bribe their way to shut them up. His favorite activity is holding "wedding feasts" in which he plays the role of the groom, and the unfortunate human the role of bride, or main course in this sense. He'll invite his peers to participate and turn the entire thing into a pretentious spectacle designed to remind everyone who's in charge. He effectively owns his own part of the world this way. There isn't a single vampire that likes Aragon at all, but a mere stolen thrall isn't worth the risk of dealing with him, even if that thrall was a favorite. Most of the vampires in the area are silently waiting for the day he finally pisses off the wrong person...

As it happens, it's been some time since Aragon's last wedding feast and he's starting to have cravings. As he looks through his list of potential options, he remembers that about four years ago, a newcomer moved into the area, and rumour has it he brought an unusual thrall with him. A very young child. Well, Aragon thinks, it's a tragedy I haven't welcomed them yet.

Danielle is playing under a tree a stone's throw from the manor. It's about ten o'clock in the morning when a blonde, cloak wearing woman approaches her with a kind smile. Little Danielle notices she has red eyes and sharp teeth, and while those traits would frighten any other child, they put her at ease. In just a few minutes, Dora is able to convince a trusting Dani to follow her-and the child does so eagerly, not noticing Dora's own reluctance.

Vlad glances out the window and when he doesn't see Dani a twinge of concern leads him to throw on a cloak and step out to look for her. Concern quickly spirals into panic. She isn't anywhere. She's gone like she never existed at all. She's not on the manor grounds, not in the village, not inside any structure in his territory. He tears the manor itself apart but no luck. Finally, he turns up on his neighbor's doorstep around noon, and Spectra is not even the least bit ruffled by Vlad's absolute calamitous meltdown, mostly because it woke her up from a very deep and restful slumber ("Good grief, dearie. It's midday. Some of us are still nocturnal, you know").

Vlad refrains from removing her head from her neck and explains the situation, to which Spectra reminds him that pets do have a tendency to run away sometimes, and no, Dani didn't somehow travel to her Auntie Spectra's house. This is not what Vlad wanted to hear. Fortunately for both of them, their healthy and respectful conversation is interrupted by the sudden appearance of a letter, one with a deep purple envelope and a wax dragon seal.

Spectra, of course, knows immediately the content of the letter and the identity of the sender, for she's been a guest at Aragon's wedding feasts before. She's not one to experience dread. Quite the contrary. Dread, especially dread belonging to others usually delights her. But that sudden invitation plus Vlad's missing pet could only mean that Count Aragon of blood-dragon fame has chosen a new bride, which certainly would upset her amusing dynamic with her neighbor. She opens the invitation while illuminating Vlad on her suspicions.

Vlad, being extremely calm and unbothered, has to be blocked from leaving while Spectra attempts to make him see reason. You cannot simply rush off to Aragon's castle and demand your human back, she explains, to which Vlad grasps her by the neck, leaning down to speak into her face, and calmly replies that as a matter of fact, he can and he will. Spectra says no, because he will lose his powers breaking in there and Aragon is too strong for most vampires even when they aren't powerless. If Vlad genuinely wants Danielle back, he'd be a fool to be so hasty. It would be much more advantageous for Vlad to attend the feast that night with Spectra as her chosen plus one, when he could enter with permission. Vlad is still furious, but he doesn't move for a moment, considering. Finally he snarls that he simply cannot wait all day to rescue her, not when she could be bitten at any moment leading up to the feast. But Spectra shakes her head because Aragon loves his traditions and rituals, and she knows Danielle would remain whole and safe from harm up until the moment she's presented to him in the banquet hall. So with great frustration, Vlad backs down and elects to wait for night to fall.

Vlad was aware of Aragon's existence before the repulsive reptile stole his daughter, but crucially, the days when Vlad would have happily made himself a problem in Aragon's circle unprompted were behind him. He was trying to live a quiet domestic life. He was trying not to look like a threat to the big fish in the pond. He wanted only to be left alone with Danielle and his little insignificant village in the middle of nowhere, safe from prying eyes or harming hands. Oh well, Vlad thinks with a grim little smirk, as he rifles through his medicine cabinet searching for a very specific item. There's nothing for it but the demonstrative approach.

They arrive at Aragon's castle at the scheduled time, make it past the servant checking invitations, and enter without trouble. Spectra leaves Vlad to his business and flits away to mingle with her peers. Privately, she's not sure what to expect from him tonight. She hopes he was serious about murdering Aragon over his silly obsession with his pet. That would easily be the most entertaining thing to ever happen at one of these tedious assemblies....if he can pull off such a feat, that is.

Aragon is seated at the head of the banquet hall's long table, and Vlad wastes no time stalking over to him. Aragon is momentarily surprised by Vlad's appearance and then quickly dismissive when he learns that he slipped in with one of the other guests. He hadn't meant for the victim of his intended slight to attend the feast, but it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. He brushes off Vlad's frosty-yet-playful opening lines and tells him he's busy and any reconciling of goods and property will have to wait until after the party. Vlad responds to this by wrenching Aragon's throne around to face him, and says that he's going to give him one very generous and undeserved chance to return Danielle immediately. I don't wait for sniveling little wyrms.

Aragon predictably laughs, genuinely amused and awed by his gall. He asks why Vlad cares so much. After all, Vlad can hardly claim she's his since it's obvious he must have kidnapped her from somewhere in the first place. Now she's simply in the clutches of a stronger figure. Then again, the child is barely more than a mouthful. Perhaps Vlad was waiting until she grew up?

Vlad shoves down the urge to kill him for another moment, because a point must be made. He's not very old, but he is very old fashioned, he tells Aragon. In fact, he's positively medieval in so many ways, a trait he's sure Aragon in particular can appreciate. It's considered polite, crucial even, to ask a bride's father if he approves of the marriage before the bride is spirited away, isn't it?

Aragon finally rises from his seat without any urgency. He starts to move away, and flippantly says Vlad can ask the girl's father himself, for all he cares. It won't affect the child's fate one iota. Now kindly find a seat and stay out of the way, or you can listen to the feast from the comfort of the moat.

Vlad snatches him by his collar, throws him onto the table, and comes very close to nailing him to it with one vicious thrust of a wooden stake--but Aragon is a serpent, and his reflexes make the average vampire's look dull. He rolls away and is on his feet again in a blink. He's genuinely startled, but chalks up this unprecedented attack to Vlad being new and ignorant. They have an audience of stunned vampires, fallen silent at the display. Dorathea watches from the sidelines, wide eyed, but she makes no attempt to intervene. Aragon and Vlad think the same thought at the same time: Excellent. I'll make an example out of this moron that will be talked about for centuries.

Aragon is very confident. His powers have transcended blood after he fed from a dragon, and he's stronger, faster, can breathe fire, and his skin is harder to puncture. There's no way Vlad can beat him in a physical altercation, he thinks. Vlad is just as confident, and also extremely pissed off. Aragon might be of draconic blood, but Vlad is smarter, better prepared, and more than anything, he's here for Danielle. Aragon could be a real dragon for all the difference it would make. He's going to kill everyone and everything that dares to harm her. And it just so happens he had on hand the exact thing he needs to beat Aragon.

Blood magic is largely a lost art. Some spells remain known and common, such as glamours, but a lot of the ancient, powerful, and unorthodox ones were forgotten or destroyed centuries ago. Dragon's Bane, similarly, is an exceedingly rare fireproof plant said to be one of the only materials that can kill the winged beasts. The odds of anyone being uniquely skilled in forgotten vampiric magic and in possession of Dragon's Bane is extremely low. But Vlad prides himself on being an odds-defying nightmare, and so he doesn't bother to get out of the way when Aragon launches a fireball right at him. When the flames clear, he's just fine--granted, his clothes are bit singed, but it worked; and Aragon looks uncertain for the first time.

Dragon's Bane is very good for the skin, Vlad says conversationally, though in truth he'd actually injected the stuff directly into his bloodstream before arriving. He's burning blood while functionally high on magic anti-dragon juice. Hope Aragon doesn't mind.

Aragon does mind, but there's nothing he can do about it but try to kill Vlad before Vlad kills him. If he's quick about it, maybe he can overwhelm him. A fight ensues. Spectra observes the tables being knocked over with a hidden grin as she sips her blood-wine and remarks to the vampires around her, "He's my plus one."

At some point, Aragon appeals to his sister for help because things aren't looking too good for him. Dora seems torn; but after years of being kicked and berated by her brother she hesitates to come to his aid. Then there's the matter of the little girl, and while Dora is no saint, she dislikes being made to lure her brother's brides to their destruction. So her eyes harden and she turns her face away, and Aragon gets no help from his sister in the end.

Vlad stabs him more times than anyone was able to count. It was a bit excessive, and most witnesses got the feeling after a certain point the violence was purely for show. When Vlad drops the remains of a splintered stake on the ground and finally directs a half-mad look in Dorathea's direction she's quick to retrieve Danielle from a side room. She's been made to sleep, but otherwise is totally unharmed. Truthfully, Dora has no idea what Vlad will do to her, or if he even knows she's the one who kidnapped Dani. But after she places the child in his arms it's obvious he couldn't care less about her. You're a sensible woman, he remarks snidely, and that's that.

It's customary in the rare event of a vampire murdering another vampire to formally claim the kill in front of witnesses, thereby assuming the right to take the victim's property and land. Vlad pointedly doesn't do this. A mere five years previously he would have in a heartbeat, but he didn't kill Aragon for his possessions, and he's perfectly satisfied with the reputation of a lunatic if it means everyone is too afraid of him to even glance in Dani's direction. Dora assumes the position of Countess after her brother's death and she and Vlad haven't spoken since.

Dani....now knows not to talk to strangers. Not long after this incident, Vlad gifts her a pendant that contains a tiny sliver of his soul, so if she's ever taken from him again, he'll be able to act with far more efficiency.

Stolen Sanguine World-Building Dump

@taptrial2 asked and ye shall receive. What follows is a mass information pit for my Vlad Cleavage AU Danny Phantom vampire AU, Stolen Sanguine. This post will just be about world-building, the storyline will be covered separately.

The time period and culture influences are deliberately vague, but it's pseudo-Victorian, pseudo-fantasy, pseudo-pre Industrial Rev with no consistent clothing styles beyond the vampires being obnoxiously slutty.

Vampires live among humans and the ones that live the longest and thrive the most are the rich and powerful, highly immoral ones. Common people who are turned and not willing to become gluttonous murderers are usually swiftly dispatched by hunters. Being turned involves intent on the part of the vampire, and venom is the agent. New vampires are not common or accidental (unless you're Danny) because in general vampires like the status quo and creating more competition for territory isn't in anyone's best interest. Vampire on vampire murders aren't common for the same reasons. Vlad, however, is an insane little freak and has killed his own kind before. To drastically paraphrase one notable instance is Aragon, who once decided he'd pick on the new guy in town by kidnapping his four year old and turning her into his vampire bride. Vlad stabbed Aragon about three dozen times, recovered Dani safe and sound, and no one has bothered them since.

Society is entering an era where the general populace at large is becoming more collectively aware of the existence of vampires and other paranormal folk and it's more difficult to work in the shadows than it used to be. Hunters are becoming more mainstream, and while vampires have always placed emphasis on securing wealth and power, it's now more critical to have those societal protections in place.

Generally speaking, vampires are almost exclusively loners and not social with each other. This is mostly because every vampire believes that other vampires are insufferable, and they are the singular delightful exception. Penelope Spectra, Vlad's neighbor and ally, is an outlier, as she is very social for a vampire and often holds parties. She herself lives with Bertrand, whom she turned some years ago.

The vampiric power system revolves around blood. By consuming human blood, vampires regularly renew their immortality and their enhanced strength and healing. Vampiric blood itself is also endowed with certain powers, as it remains tied to the soul of the vampire even after it leaves their body. There's a culture of blood jewelry given as gifts to favorite thralls as a mark of ownership.

To say vampires merely consume blood is to ignore the whole reality. It's not just the blood, it's what the blood contains, that is, the vitality or life of the individual. Every time a vampire feeds off of someone they consume a bit of that person's life and soul. It's an active parasitic relationship that brings only misery to the consumed. Animal blood will keep a vampire alive, but it won't grant them the powers they rely on and it won't fully satisfy their hunger. Danny is doing his best, but he's basically starving himself.

A human that a vampire frequently feeds on turns into a thrall. Thralls are sickly, clingy and basically brainwashed into being willing juice boxes. You don't want to become one. Some vampires will keep them in their houses because it's very convenient. Vlad has his blood supply imported, because he's got a daughter to think of.

Vampiric weaknesses include sunlight, which burns them, and the need to be invited into dwellings or suffer the loss of their powers. There are ways to circumvent both weaknesses, however, and Vlad has found ways around both during his years of experimentation. The only way to kill a vampire is to destroy their heart, so the classic wooden stake is the weapon of choice for hunters. Jack and Maddie are particularly creative with their weaponry, though.

The GIW exist here, as a sort of white-tunic wearing anti-vampire cult/organization. Their designs are pending further thought, because white robes and hoods have some unfortunate connotations I'd prefer to avoid.

Werewolves and dragons exist here, but they're mostly mentioned in passing and also because I think it would be amusing if Danielle tried to date a werewolf prince while Vlad makes semi-serious plans to turn the poor boy into a rug if the relationship goes awry.

There is a Vampire King, but he's been sealed away in eternal slumber because he's more trouble than he's worth. Vampires will go through long periods of sleep every so often if things are going poorly for them, and it usually involves a coffin and a hidden crypt. They are of course, nocturnal beings, but they don't have to sleep as much as humans and Vlad is committed to raising Danielle diurnally. This causes some problems for him, but he's extremely stubborn and refuses to let the sun get between him and his daughter.

Other vampires consider Vlad to be completely out of his mind after the unfortunate Aragon incident. It's not normal to adopt your lunch. Spectra thinks Vlad's obvious mental illness is very attractive and she likes watching him kill people.

Vlad lived in a proper spooky castle before acquiring Danielle, but after he fled Jack and Maddie he moved extremely far away and settled into a smaller but no less creepy manor outside of a small rural village. Danielle is by no means forbidden from visiting the village and Vlad encourages the townsfolk to allow their children to befriend/suck up to her on a regular basis. Sometimes this involves blatant extortion, such as the time Vlad forcibly invited (kidnapped) a select handful of children and their trembling mothers to attend Danielle's birthday party.

Vlad likes to gaslight the people living in the village outside of his manor. They're all 95% sure he's a vampire, because he certainly couldn't look or act any more like one, but Vlad vehemently denies it. Danielle is accustomed to doing the same, and in reality she is actually the most compelling evidence that Vlad ISN'T a vampire. Because what vampire has a happy, healthy, bite-wound free child in their care?

#reblog #text #stolen sanguine au

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sky-is-the-limit · 19 hours ago

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How Task Force 141 would react to you breaking up with them because of their job:

Captain Price:

He’d take the news like a hit to the chest even though he’d nod as if he’d already accepted it.

The words would catch in his throat but he’d steady himself, holding onto every last thread of composure as he listened, eyes cast down on the space between you.

''I can’t blame you.'' He'd murmur, forcing a small, understanding smile. ''Not for this.''

The sadness in his blue eyes would betray him, though, no amount of practice could keep that pain out.

''Just… if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.'' His hand would linger beside yours, close but never quite reaching.

As you walked away, he wouldn’t move, not for a long while.

He would sit in the dark later that night, staring at the door, almost waiting for you to come back but deep down, he knew you wouldn’t.

Later, when he finally got into bed, he’d let the thought of you be his last and the memory of your smile his only comfort. He’d never say it aloud but part of him was already thinking about retiring.

Maybe this was it, a sign to leave it all behind, to make this mission his last and if he made it back? He’d come straight to your door, ready to give it one more try, no matter how slim the chance.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

When you told him, his face would twist with disbelief, hurt, anger all colliding into a storm he couldn’t contain.

''You knew who I was..'' He’d say, his hands running through his hair as if trying to release the frustration building inside him.

"So why now? Now when I can’t fucking imagine my life without you?"

He’d demand answers, his voice rising with each one and the hurt too raw to mask, searching your eyes like he could find a reason that made it hurt less.

In the end, when he saw the finality in your face, something inside him would deflate to leave only silence as he drove you home, his grip on the wheel seeming like it hurts and the weight of each passing second sinking deep into his bones like bullets. If not worse.

That night, he’d take out his anger on the punching bag, knuckles bruising until the pain became a welcome numbness.

After every mission, though, he’d still reach for his phone, typing anyway. 'Home safe.' It was always the same and you wouldn’t respond.

Days would pass but he’d still text, still send pictures of things he found that reminded him of you. Small things. Little pieces of you that he couldn’t let go of. He’d call, just to hear your voice even though he knew you weren’t going to pick up.

At night, in the quiet of his apartment, he’d let himself sink into the scent of you that still lingered in his sheets, imagining what it would be like to have you back even if it was just for one night.

John "Soap" MacTavish:

Johnny’s heart would shatter into pieces the moment you said it. He'd try to smile but the effort was weak, failing him completely as his chest tightened.

"I get it, lass." He’d say, eyes full of the pain he tried so hard to hide so you wouldn't feel guilty. "I’d go mad if it was you out there." But that didn’t stop the deep pit of panic from swallowing him whole.

How can he wake up or go to sleep without you?

''I just…'' He’d hesitate, tears threatening to fall. ''I can’t blame you.''

But damn it, he wanted to. He wanted to yell, to scream, to tell you not to leave, that he’d do anything, anything to make it work but he couldn’t. Not like this.

So instead, he’d pull you into his arms, letting himself feel the warmth of your body, the one thing he could hold onto even if it was just for a few more minutes. His lips would find yours, slow and desperate, tasting you like it was the last time.

One kiss would turn into two and another until you both found yourselves in bed, clinging to each other with a desperation that made it feel like the world would shatter and burn when you let go.

By morning, he’d be gone, leaving his cross on the nightstand. The only physical thing he could bear to leave behind.

He’d walk out into the early dawn, each step heavier than the last, knowing he’d left his heart back with you, a piece of himself he’d never get back. Not that he wanted to.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

He would expect it. He knew from the start that loving him would only end in pain but even though he saw it coming, nothing prepared him for how it would feel when you finally said the cursed words.

''I always knew it would end like this.'' He’d say, his tone flat but underneath it, there was a world of despair.

He wouldn’t beg nor try to change your mind. He couldn’t, not when he already knew how this story ends. Yet when you asked him to look at you, truly look at you, he’d turn his face and that’s when you’d see the truth in his eyes.

That pain that he’d buried so deep. ''I don’t expect you to wait. I don’t want you to bury me.''

He wouldn’t say anything else after that but you’d feel it in the silence that stretched between you both, that there was so much he wanted to confess to you but wouldn't dare.

He’d drive you to your friend’s place, eyes locked on the road ahead, and when he stopped, he’d glance over, just once and say, ''I’ll pack your things so you don’t have to come back.''

Before you could walk away one last time, his voice would crack just slightly. ''After you… there’s no one else.''

And that would be the last time you’d see him. He’d drive off, the emptiness of his heart trailing behind him and when you were out of sight, he’d finally let the tears fall.

#feeling extra angsty today #cod #call of duty #captain price #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #task force 141 #tf 141 #141 x reader #cod 141

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gwens-love · 2 days ago

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The space he left behind

Summary: After Nicky’s passing, Agatha doesn’t know how to handel being a good mother to her daughter, and a partner to Rio. She navigates her grief while struggling to reconnect. As Rio hopes to recover the love that binds their family.

Warnings: Angst, grief and loss.

Word count: 1.7k

~Agathario x daughter!reader~

A/N: I used google translate for this sorry if there are mistakes.

Please don’t copy/steal or translate this work thanks.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

As you wandered through the library with a book in hand, you looked up at Agatha, or better said your Mama. She was busy, but you missed the comfort of her voice, the warmth she used to give so freely.

“Mama?” you asked softly, hoping you weren’t interrupting her too much.

Her eyes flicked to you, and a small, sad smile appeared on her face. She had been distant since Nicky was gone, but there was still a part of her that wanted to be here for you, to love you the way he would’ve wanted.

“What is it, little one?” she replied, her voice softer than you’d heard it in days.

You held up the book, looking at her with hopeful eyes. “Can you read this to me, Mama?”

Agatha looked down at you, her expression conflicted. She reached for the book, fingers trembling slightly, and let out a deep sigh. “Maybe… maybe later, my love. I’m… I’m not quite ready today.”

Your heart ached a little, but you nodded. “Can… Mami read it to me, then?”

Agatha’s expression softened, and she glanced down the hallway where Rio was bustling around. Rio heard your voice and peeked in, her face lighting up with a gentle smile as she approached, kneeling down beside you.

“Of course, mi corazón,” Rio said, taking the book from you and winking at Agatha. “Mama and I both have time for our little reader tonight.”

Agatha gave Rio a grateful smile, her hand resting briefly on Rio’s shoulder. Maybe, just maybe, things would be okay together, they would find their way forward, for you.

You nestled into Rio’s side as she settled down with the book, her aura carrying a mix of nature’s calm and something far more powerful… the kind of energy you could feel in your bones. To you, she was Mami, warm and loving, but everyone else knew her as the green witch or Death with a capital D. Her touch felt like spring’s renewal and autumn’s quiet decay, life and death balanced in her very presence.

Rio opened the book, her fingers gliding delicately over the pages. “Are you ready for an adventure, mi amor?” she asked, her voice rich and velvety, holding that magical spark that always made your heart race a little faster.

You nodded eagerly, glancing over at Agatha, who sat nearby. She was watching the two of you with a softness in her eyes, though you could sense a shadow in her heart. Rio noticed too, her gaze meeting Agatha’s, a look passing between them a silent understanding of grief, love, and the weight of the responsibilities they shared.

As Rio began to read, her voice wove the story into something almost real. Her words seemed to hang in the air, each sentence wrapping around you like an invisible charm. You leaned in closer, comforted by her presence, while Agatha, though still distant, stayed close enough to remind you she wasn’t going anywhere.

With both Mama and Mami by your side, you knew you were safe, held between life and death, love and sorrow, warmth and magic. And for now, that was enough.

As Rio’s voice wrapped you in the story, the words began to blur. You found yourself glancing over at Mama, who was watching the two of you with that faraway look in her eyes the one she had whenever anyone mentioned him.

You shifted, looking down at the edge of your blanket, and softly asked, “Mama? Where… where did Nicholas go?”

The question hung in the air, pulling both of them from the gentle quiet of the story. Agatha’s face froze for a moment, a flicker of pain crossing her features. She opened her mouth, then closed it, clearly unsure how to answer. Rio’s hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, but even she looked at Agatha, letting her decide what to say.

“Well, my darling…” Agatha began softly, her voice a blend of love and grief. “Nicky… he had to go somewhere very far away. Somewhere we can’t visit him.”

“But he’s coming back, right?” you asked, looking between them, the innocence in your eyes making it clear you hadn’t grasped the weight of what had happened.

Agatha’s shoulders dropped slightly, and she reached out to brush a stray hair from your face. Her fingers were gentle, yet you could feel the heaviness of her sadness. “Sometimes, people go to places they can’t come back from, little one.”

You blinked, processing her words, your heart sinking. “Like… like the stories? Like when someone goes into the spirit world?”

“Yes,” Rio murmured, her voice a whisper, her thumb tracing soothing circles on your hand. “Nicky went to a place like that. But he loved you very, very much, and he’s always watching over you, mi amor.”

You looked down, frowning, the ache of missing him suddenly sharper, more real. “Will I ever see him again?”

Agatha swallowed hard, her voice catching slightly. “Maybe… one day, in a different way. But for now, he’d want us to take care of each other. To remember him with love, even though he’s gone.”

You held their words close, even as you struggled to understand fully. In that moment, you could feel both their hands grounding you, reminding you that even though Nicholas was gone, Mama and Mami would always be here. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

But for Mama, that wasn’t enough. Agatha missed Nicky deeply, in a way words could never capture. She carried the loss in her eyes, in the way her shoulders sagged when she thought no one was looking, and in the quiet moments when she seemed miles away, lost in memories of him.

After she tucked you into bed that night, Agatha lingered by your side, brushing a gentle hand across your hair as you began to drift off. She stayed until your breathing slowed, your small hand still curled around hers.

When she finally pulled away, she found Rio waiting at the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms folded, watching her with a look that held both understanding and sorrow. The green witch, Death herself, could face any darkness with courage, but this grief the emptiness left by Nicky’s absence was something even she couldn’t fully shield them from.

Agatha closed the door softly behind her and let out a sigh. “I don’t know if I’m doing any of this right,” she admitted in a whisper, her voice breaking. “I wasn’t meant to do this alone, Rio.”

Rio stepped closer, resting a gentle hand on Agatha’s arm. “You’re not alone, mi amor,” she replied, her voice low and steady. “We’re in this together. Nicky’s gone, yes, but his love he left that with us. With you.”

Agatha looked down, her fingers brushing the sleeve of her own robe as if tracing the fabric might help her remember his touch, his laugh, the quiet way he’d reassure her during nights like this. She wanted to believe Rio, to find comfort in her words, but the ache of Nicky’s absence was too raw, too present. “It’s just… sometimes, it feels like there’s a part of me that went with him.”

Rio tilted Agatha’s chin up gently, her gaze fierce yet filled with empathy. “You still carry him, Agatha. He’s in every act of love, every time you comfort mi cielo, every time you give of yourself even when it hurts. Nicky would be so proud of you for everything you are, and everything you’re becoming.”

Agatha’s eyes filled with tears, and she let them fall, silent yet heavy with the grief she’d been holding back. Rio pulled her into an embrace, grounding her, her arms strong and steady, as if she could anchor Agatha to the world again.

For a long while, they stood like that in the dim light, surrounded by quiet and loss, yet also by the bond they shared a bond born of love, even through the pain. Agatha knew she had to carry on, not just for you, but for Nicky’s memory and for the family they were still trying to build.

And maybe, with Rio by her side, she would find the strength to face each day anew.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

“I can’t forgive you. Not yet, anyway,” Agatha murmured, her voice laced with sorrow, her words hanging heavily between them. There was a deep sadness in her eyes, a glint of hurt that hadn’t yet softened, no matter how much time had passed.

Rio’s face softened, her usual confidence faltering as she held Agatha’s gaze. She nodded, understanding the weight of the pain she had caused, the way it still lingered, the wound not fully healed.

“But I will love you until the end of my days here on this earth,” Agatha continued, her voice breaking slightly as she brought her hands up to Rio’s face, her thumbs tracing the curve of Rio’s cheekbones with a gentleness that spoke of both love and longing.

Rio closed her eyes at the touch, feeling the warmth of Agatha’s palms against her skin. For a moment, it was as if the world fell away, leaving only the two of them, bound by love, loss, and the complicated history that lay between them. She knew Agatha’s forgiveness was not something that could be given lightly, nor something that could be hurried. Rio had hurt her, betrayed the trust they’d built, and she understood that forgiveness might never fully come.

“I don’t deserve you,” Rio whispered, her voice barely audible, thick with the weight of her own guilt. “But I’ll spend every moment of this life making it right, even if it takes until the end of time.”

Agatha leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Rio’s, their breaths mingling in the silence. It was a closeness that spoke of all the words they couldn’t bring themselves to say, of all the love that still pulsed between them despite everything.

They stayed like that, bound together, in a promise unspoken yet deeply understood: to hold each other, even when forgiveness felt far away, even when their hearts were heavy with grief. Because love, even in its most fractured form, was a lifeline neither of them could bear to sever.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

Fin <3

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agathario #agatha harkness x rio vidal #mcu #agathario x reader #agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal x reader

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zyafics-recs · 1 day ago

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reblogging comment review by @zyafics

i’m alive i’m here (i’m fulfilling my duties bc damn a bitch went offline for 9 days and is behind on everything 😭) ⬇️

You drifted to your room, collapsing onto the small bed. The familiar scent of home did little to soothe the ache in your chest. It didn’t feel right. It never did, only when your brother was around, but now, not even that thought gave you faith as you closed your eyes, picturing Rafe’s face. His smile, his touch, his voice – they were all painfully vivid.

ugh i miss ur writing sm i love how this scene felt “slow” like u were navigating this lagged moment with her because nothing felt real

As you both settled in, the familiar warmth of his presence was a small comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you were still here together.

i don’t give a shit the one thing i love more than romance stories is sibling relationships 😭 they’re my heart n soul

"He’s facing several charges, but the severity of his sentence could depend on his cooperation. If he agrees to testify against his father, the authorities might offer him a deal."

i fear he won’t do it 😭😃

“You’re too good, y’know that? Personally, I don’t give a fuck if he dies.”

jj 😭😭😭 leave her alone 😭😭😭

"Complicated? Complicated is being stuck on an island, wondering if your sister is alive or dead. Complicated is dealing with the fact that the guy who put us through hell gets to play hero for a day and suddenly he's got your sympathy."

screaming into my pillow ur dialogues r too good

A carbon copy of your mother, your punishment.

okay pause ✋🏼 not the thematic parallel to abusive and neglectful parental figures i cannot handle this

You were just trying to find a shred of humanity in someone who had shown you a glimpse of it.

THIS LINE EATS SO HARD 😭😭😭

“Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better?”

my jj would swing at ur jj for the way ur talking to ur sister

“Because I want to!” You screamed even though you hadn’t meant to. Tears of frustration fell as you raised your head, “And as far as I’m concerned, I’m still my own person and I can make my own decisions.”

PERIOD!!!!

“He was good to me.”

girl *I* held my breath

Sarah never pushed you to talk, never demanded explanations. Instead, she just sat with you, shared a laugh or two, and let the silence speak for itself. It was a strange comfort; one you hadn’t realized you needed until it was there.

i love ur sarah sm mines a bitchhh 🙂‍↕️✋🏼

“No. Uh, a friend, I guess—” You were about to ramble, not too certain of what to say, but settled for, “Can you tell him Maybank’s calling?”

WHY DO I FEEL LIKE HIS PUNK ASS IS GONNA BE LIKE “i don’t know a maybank”

"I’m sorry. Mr. Cameron has requested not to speak with you," she said. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

YOU PUNK ASS BITCH

You screamed until your throat was raw, until you had nothing left to give.

no i didn’t (personally cannot scream LOL)

Six months had passed since that day

what the actual fuck

You had spent the afternoon alone, lounging in the living room with a half-read book and a broken fan that did little to ease the stifling heat.

such good imagery god i love this

Your words caught in your throat as you saw him standing there.

my heart is pounding omg

“You had six months.”

YIKES 😬

You looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit. His eyes were clear, more focused than you had ever seen them. “Why should I believe you?”

i’m shaking rn pls give a girl some respite

Rafe looked offended, eyes zeroing in on your lips before his gaze met yours. That's when you felt it again, “I never lied to you.”

i’m throwing punches into my pillow rn biting my teeth ohmygod

Rafe’s expression softened, and he reached out tentatively, his hand stopping inches from your arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

go away demon 👹 @ gigi

It’s only then, when your brain cleared slightly that you noticed he looked different. His hair had been buzzed, his skin looked tanner than the last time you’d seen him, he looked healthier.

oh we’re in season 3 now ok

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

i’m literally scraping my fingernails against chalkboards rn pls stop this madness 🛑🛑🛑

Rafe paused in the doorway, his back to you. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly through the thick air. "I don’t regret it," he repeated, his shoulders tensing as he spoke.

gonna die ok 🪦

You had tried so hard to suppress your feelings, to deny the depth of your connection with him. But this…wasn’t something that could be easily forgotten or ignored. You had been so afraid to admit it, fearing that acknowledging would destroy you.

You were in love with Rafe Cameron.

oh my fucking god u did it again

final thoughts — ohmygod. i dont know why i kept putting off reading this? i think a part of me was scared because the literal content warning was “aka angst” and i said no. anyways, first and foremost u done it again gigi. what i was so impressed about this chapter was ur ability to create such flowing, strong and long dialogues. the one between jj and reader i read twice because i can’t believe how naturally-paced this story goes through that u don’t even realized it’s chunks on chunks of dialogues. that’s such an incredible feat and knowing now that ur from europe and english is probably a second language? the way u select the right words at the right time is an talent i strive to have. i’m like re-editing in my head being like “would i come up with that?” and being like “yeah i would’ve ended it there (bc i don’t know how to elongate a scene) but gigi knew how to keep it going.” gigi, when i tell u that’s one of the most impressive skills i’ve ever seen in my life i’m so serious. also, the way you structure and keep a consistent flow of emotions. the beginning of the story is stretched out in a way that i cinematically imagined a lagged moment. yk how in euphoria where it drags a scene from one part to the next? like that. and then the ending, when i said i was shaking, i was truly shaking. u had my heart clutched in ur hand and u just SQUEEZED IT 😭 💔 the way i felt everything and was so scared and panicking and my eyes wanted to read ahead because i wanted to know what happens but i also wanted to enjoy the writing 😭 u got me doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out how to read 😃 i thoroughly enjoyed this to the very end and ngl, i am so scared to read the next chapter i think imma hold off for a min…

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - five

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: angst <3333333 for everyone <33; might need some editing bc im too tired to check everything but yeah

word count: 7.7k

The ride back to home was a blur. The plane ride, the ferry.

Everything.

Every mile that took you further from Rafe felt like a wound being reopened. The police officers tried to engage you in conversation, but your responses were monosyllabic at best. They eventually gave up, letting you stare out the window in silence.

When you finally arrived, the sight of the familiar streets of The Cut did little to comfort you. Your house felt alien, a place you barely recognized. The officers escorted you inside, their presence a reminder of the reality you were returning to.

“Your brother and your friends were rescued from a remote island a while ago. He was informed of your whereabouts an hour ago, he’ll be here soon.”

Their words barely registered.

You nodded numbly; your mind still stuck between the events that had unfolded just two days ago.

What kind of sister had you turned into? Barely phased over the fact your little brother was thankfully alive and well? You were supposed to protect him.

Sensing your detachment, they exchanged a look before retreating to the porch, giving you some semblance of privacy.

You wandered through the house, your steps heavy. Each room felt like a snapshot from another life. The couch where you and your brother used to bicker over TV shows when Luke spent days doing God knows what, the kitchen table where meals were shared and stories were told, only between you two– they all seemed like relics of a past you could no longer touch.

Things would never be the same, you knew that.

That must be your punishment.

A soft knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts. You sat up, heart racing. Your body was still on high alert, every little noise sent shivers down your skin. The blasting of the gunshots was still deeply rooted in your brain. It hadn’t even been three days.

The old wooden door creaked open, and your brother's face appeared, bright blue eyes wide with concern. He rushed to your side, pulling you into a tight embrace nearly knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Holy shit,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “Holy shit.”

You clung to him, the dam breaking as tears streamed down your face. The sobs wracked your body as JJ held you like you used to hold him. It devastated you. It felt so disappointing. He was never supposed to be the one carrying the family burden, you were. After what felt like an eternity, you pulled back, wiping your tears. Your brother sat beside you, his eyes searching your face.

“You’re not hurt?”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find the words, but all you managed to blurt out was a small “No. You?”

“No,” JJ nodded, lips pursed into a tight line as if he was figuring out what to say next, “They told me about the shooting.”

Your heart sank further at his words. You had hoped to avoid talking about it, at least for a little while. But he was watching you like he used to when you would act as a human shield for him, you couldn't brush it aside.

“I’m fine, I promise.” You reached out and squeezed his hand. "What about you? How did you get off that island?"

JJ let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“It was a mess. We were stuck there for weeks, trying to find a way out. Pope and Kie kept us sane, but it was rough. We finally managed to signal a passing boat, and they rescued us. But the whole time, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

You squeezed his hand tighter, guilt and gratitude warring within you.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm so sorry, JJ."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, don't apologize. None of this is your fault. I—I should’ve saved you on that ship, okay? It’s on me, not you.”

You’d cry again if you didn’t feel like your body was about to collapse, “You did everything you could. We both did. It's not your fault."

“The one time we changed places, and I couldn’t do it.”

"Jay—"

"I should have been there for you," He insisted, "I hated it."

It was your fault, not his. You pulled him into another hug, trying to convey with your touch what words couldn't express. The weight of your shared guilt and pain was almost suffocating, but at least you were together. You felt his body shaking, whether, from exhaustion or emotion, you couldn't tell.

When you finally let go, you took a deep breath, hoping to find some semblance of strength.

"We’re gonna be okay.”

JJ nodded, though you could see the doubt lingering in his eyes. "I know. It's just... hard."

"I get it. But we're both here, we're alive.”

A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

The two of you sat in silence for a while, it was a fragile peace, but it was something. The familiar sound of the waves crashing against the shore outside the window was a reminder that life continued, even when it felt like your world had stopped.

"Do you think things will ever go back to normal?" JJ's voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

If he only knew. The one time you managed to close your eyes and sleep you were plagued by nightmares of JJ finding out what you’d done. About you and Rafe. It made you want to scratch your skin raw.

“Yeah.”

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, a mirror of your own fatigue. You knew you both needed rest, but the thought of sleep was daunting. The nightmares felt too close, the darkness too suffocating.

"Let's try to get some sleep," You suggested softly, though you weren't sure you could follow your own advice. "We both need it, ‘kay?”

JJ nodded, but you could see the wariness in his eyes. He laid down next to you, the bed barely accommodating the both of you.

As you both settled in, the familiar warmth of his presence was a small comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you were still here together.

The minutes ticked by in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic crashing of the waves outside. You focused on that, letting it be your anchor. Slowly, the tension in your body started to ease, the weight of the day’s events beginning to lift, even if just a little.

"Do you remember the first time we went out on the boat alone?" JJ's voice was a whisper in the darkness, a fragile thread connecting the past to the present.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Yeah. You insisted you knew how to steer, and we almost ended up crashing into that sandbank."

He chuckled softly. "We were so scared. But you figured it out. You always did."

The memory was a bittersweet reminder of simpler times, a time when your biggest worry was navigating the boat, not navigating the chaos your lives had become. When you weren’t a complete fuck up.

Exhaustion finally began to overtake you, your eyes growing heavy. JJ's breathing evened out beside you, a comforting rhythm that lulled you closer to sleep. You wanted to tell him everything, but you couldn’t. Not without losing him in the process.

Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was deep and dreamless. Completely void, much like yourself these days.

Morning came too soon, sunlight filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow over the room.

You blinked awake, disoriented for a moment before the events of the past days came rushing back. JJ was still asleep beside you, his face peaceful in repose.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake him. The officer who comforted you after the shooting promised to call as soon as he got an update on Rafe’s condition. And so far? No call.

You wondered if the hospital or the police had contacted Sarah. She was Rafe’s closest family, aside from Wheezie who was still a kid, and Ward who was a sought-out criminal. It made sense that they would reach out to her.

If you rang the hospital, they wouldn’t disclose a thing, you weren’t family, and it wasn’t like you could ask Sarah. She would know something was wrong the moment you asked about Rafe. It was risky.

The kitchen felt eerily quiet, the early morning light casting long shadows on the walls. You made yourself a cup of coffee, the warmth a small comfort against the chill that had settled in your bones.

Sitting at the table, you sipped slowly, trying to come up with some sort of tangible plan. You wanted to know if he was okay, needed to know, but every option seemed fraught with risk.

Your new phone buzzed on the table, jolting you from your thoughts.

You picked it up, heart pounding as you saw an unknown number flashing on the screen. You hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hello?”

“This is Officer Thompson. I promised I’d keep you updated on Rafe Cameron’s condition.”

You closed your eyes, thanking God for finally giving you some piece of mind, “Yes, thank you.”

“He’s stable,” Officer Thompson continued. “The surgery went well, and he’s in recovery. It’ll be a while before he’s fully back on his feet, but he’s out of immediate danger.”

The knot in your stomach loosened slightly. “Thank you for letting me know.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“I know this is difficult, but you should focus on your own recovery too. There’s a chance the feds will contact you, they’re building their case on Ward. What happened to you is, unfortunately, considered a minor crime compared to everything he’s done, so maybe you’ll get some peace. If not, you might have to testify against him.”

The idea of having to testify against Ward made you uncomfortable to no end. Reliving those moments in front of a courtroom full of strangers seemed unbearable.

“And Rafe? What are his charges?”

"He’s facing several charges, but the severity of his sentence could depend on his cooperation. If he agrees to testify against his father, the authorities might offer him a deal."

A deal. It was a slim chance, but it was something. You hated yourself for the weight that left your shoulders. He should be locked up, you knew that, back then you prayed for the day he paid for what he did and yet here you were, holding on to any possibility of freedom.

You thanked Officer Thompson again and ended the call, setting your phone down with a shaky hand. The coffee had grown cold, but you didn't have the energy to make another cup. You sat there for a long moment, staring into space, trying to gather your thoughts.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, and you turned to see JJ standing in the doorway, his hair tousled and eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Who was that?” He asked, his voice still groggy.

“Uh—Officer Thompson. He was at the scene the other day and told me he’d keep me updated.”

JJ tilted his head, his messy bed hair following suit, “Updated on what?”

“Rafe’s condition,” You replied, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. It was a half-lie. At least you were giving him something.

JJ stopped in his tracks, “And you care because…?”

“For closure, I guess.”

JJ’s gaze softened slightly as he walked over to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting across from you.

“You’re too good, y’know that? Personally, I don’t give a fuck if he dies.”

You winced inwardly. "JJ, you can't just say stuff like that.”

He leaned back in his chair, brows furrowed. "Why not? After everything he’s done, he deserves whatever he gets."

You couldn't argue with that, but part of you still felt the need to defend Rafe. He saved your life.

“He’s still a human being, okay?”

JJ scoffed, shaking his head. "Barely.”

You didn’t know why you suddenly felt so angry, so defensive. But it made its way up your body until your lips were moving again, practically spitting the words out.

“He saved my life.”

Your brother stared at you like you were speaking another language, “Saved your life? Are you serious? It’s his fault you were there in the first place!”

“He chose to help me. And I can't just forget that."

JJ ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated.

"This is insane. One good deed doesn't erase all the bad he's done."

You reached for his back, “I know that.”

He pulled away from your touch, your fingers only brushing against his shirt, “Do you?”

His retreat felt like a knife to your heart. JJ had always been your rock, the one person you could count on. Seeing him look at you with such disbelief and anger made you feel more isolated than ever. He looked at you like you’d imagined in your nightmares, but the real thing felt ten times worse.

"I’m not saying he’s a good person. I’m just saying… it’s complicated."

He paced around the kitchen table.

"It's not sympathy," You insisted, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay collected. You never raised your voice at him. "It's just... I don't know. I saw a different side of him. Maybe he can change. Or at least help put Ward away."

JJ stopped and spun around to face you, his eyes blazing. "And what if he doesn't? What if this is all part of some twisted game for him? People like Rafe don't just change, okay? They manipulate, they hurt, they destroy."

“JJ—"

“You sound exactly like her.”

You didn’t have to ask to know what he meant. Suddenly your entire soul felt like it was being drained out and slashed into pieces.

You spent a lifetime hearing it, from Luke.

A carbon copy of your mother, your punishment.

“Don’t say that.”

“That’s exactly the type of bullshit she would spit out about dad, wasn’t it? And look where it got her.”

Memories of your mother flooded back. The excuses, the false hope, and the endless cycle of pain and disappointment. You weren’t her, were you? Holding out for a man who was never going to change, who would only inflict pain upon your life? It couldn’t be. You spent your entire life making sure you were nothing like her.

It wasn’t fair.

You weren’t making excuses for Rafe as your mother did for Luke. You were just trying to find a shred of humanity in someone who had shown you a glimpse of it. You stood there, feeling the weight of his accusation like a leaden cloak.

How could he think you were blind to Rafe’s faults? You knew them all too well. Standing there in the kitchen, under the harsh morning light, you felt exposed, vulnerable, and fiercely defensive.

“I’m not her,” You finally managed to say, your voice cracking, “I’m not defending him like she did.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better?”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “I’m not doing this with you, not right now.”

You turned away, your fists clenched at your sides as you fought to regain your composure.

He followed you hot on your trail, "Don't walk away from me.”

"I'm not defending him," You insisted, your back still to him, “I’m just trying to understand, okay?”

“Understand what? Jesus, Rafe is who he is.”

"And maybe he can change," You shot back, the words spilling out despite the tightening knot in your chest. "Maybe he saved my life because he wants to change."

"He's manipulating you," JJ retorted, his jaw clenched. "Just like he always does. You went through some traumatic shit together, but that doesn't mean you owe him anything."

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to face him again. Your head was tingling, the headache already forming itself, and you felt hot all-over.

“Some traumatic shit?” You repeated, “Are you fucking serious?”

JJ raised both his hands, tangling them in his hair in frustration, “You almost died, and now you're here defending the guy who put you in that position?"

The accusation stung. You felt the heat rise in your chest. You hated fighting with your brother. You were letting your feelings for Rafe get between the two of you.

He shook his head, disappointment oozing from him in waves, "Good luck with that. Just don't expect me to sit here and act like everything's okay."

You blinked away the dryness in your eyes, "I'm not asking you to. Can't you see that maybe things aren't as black and white as they seem?"

“All I know is what he's done to us, to you."

"And what about what he did for me?" You shot back, the words bitter on your tongue.

“And what did he do exactly?" Your lips parted to speak, but words continued to spill from his mouth, “What did you do?”

You gave no reply, unblinking, short breaths escaping you. His accusation lingered in the air, challenging you to defend the indefensible. The truth was there, clawing at your mind, but you couldn't bring yourself to voice it.

Not to JJ, not yet.

"I don't expect you to understand," You finally said, voice strained, "But I’m not turning my back on him.”

JJ's eyes narrowed; frustration etched on his face. "Why?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to evaporate. For a moment, the kitchen was filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing and the instant regret that filled your bones.

Finally, JJ spoke, his voice low and strained. "Fine. Do what you want."

You watched as he turned away, his shoulders tense with anger or disappointment – perhaps both. His footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet kitchen as he stormed out, leaving you standing there, feeling raw and exposed. It was the first time you had ever raised your voice at him, and the aftermath left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Alone in the kitchen, you sank into your chair again, your energy completely drained. Part of you wanted to run after him, to explain, to make him understand. But he never would. None of them would.

Because unlike you, they weren’t stupid enough to sympathize with Rafe Cameron.

Sitting there, you couldn't shake the feeling that you'd crossed a line, one you might not be able to uncross. You stared at your hands, still trembling from the argument, and let out a long, shaky breath. What was it about Rafe that had such a grip on you?

You heard the front door open and close, a clear sign that JJ had left the house. Maybe it was for the best, giving you both time to cool down. You got up to pour the coffee down the sink, the sound of the liquid swirling away a tiny comfort.

You spent the entire day locked away in your room, avoiding any kind of social interaction, or the sun. Your phone buzzed again, and for a moment, you considered ignoring it.

You picked it up, expecting another call from Officer Thompson, but the name on the screen made your heart skip a beat.

Sarah.

With a deep breath, you answered. “Hey sweets.”

“Hi,” Sarah’s voice was almost unsure. “JJ and the police called earlier, told us what happened. Are you okay? I’m on the mainland with John B, we’re taking the next ferry back home.”

You closed your eyes, somewhat relieved that you wouldn’t have to face them yet.

“Yeah, I’m…Managing. I'm okay.”

“Good, that’s good,” There was a pause, and then she asked, “Have you heard anything about...Rafe?”

Had the hospital not called her? The question hung in the air. You had, but you didn’t know how much to share.

“He’s stable. The surgery went well.”

Sarah sighed, “Good. That’s good to hear I guess.”

“Sarah,” You began, hesitating. “Did the hospital call you?”

There was a long silence on the other end before she replied, “Yeah. But I…I don’t know. I just couldn’t bring myself to answer. I knew it was coming after the police called. But—Yeah, it’s just, it’s really hard.”

You didn’t know what to say, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re the only one not giving me shit about still…caring? I guess. He’s my brother, you know? And I want to hate him, so bad, but I can’t.”

"I get it, Sarah. He's your brother. It's okay to feel conflicted."

"Yeah," She exhaled heavily, "But I don't know how to deal with it. He's done so much harm, and yet. I keep hoping there's still some good left in him. I know there's no hope for my dad, but Rafe..."

She had seen him before Ward turned him into this. She still carried the guilt of reveling in their father’s approval, the clear favoritism that she never stood against for her brother, even though she could see her father’s fingers printed on Rafe’s cheeks.

Her words echoed your inner struggle. You understood her—how love and hate could coexist in such a tangled mess when it came to family.

“He was good to me.”

There was a long pause.

You expected her to hang up on you, to call you a list of degrading names, all of which you felt you deserved. She had suffered deeply at the hands of her brother— the same brother you had come to care for, despite knowing the full extent of what he’d done.

But you underestimated her.

Caught between your own anxiety and the dread of truth being exposed, you momentarily forgot just how compassionate and noble Sarah was. She possessed a goodness that mirrored your own—loyal, forgiving, and endlessly understanding.

Both lovers and fighters.

"I know, the feds told me about the shooting," Sarah finally said, "And I think that's what makes it so hard. Picturing him as the same monster from before was a lot easier.”

You nodded even though she couldn't see you, feeling a deep ache in your chest. "Yeah."

"I don't know what to do," She confessed, her vulnerability cutting through the distance between you. "Part of me wants to see him, to talk to him. And part of me wants to never look at him again."

"I think... whatever you decide, it's okay," You offered tentatively, not entirely sure if your words were comforting or just empty platitudes.

“John B disagrees.”

“Yeah, so does JJ.”

"I appreciate you telling me about Rafe," Sarah continued, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. "I... I don't think I could have handled hearing it from anyone else."

You felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry you had to hear it like this, sweetheart. I wish things were different."

"We all do," she replied softly. "Thank you.”

“Of course," You said, "Take care of yourself.”

"You too. We'll see you soon, okay?"

"Yeah. See you soon."

The call ended, and you stared at your phone for a long moment, the screen dark and lifeless, much like yourself lately.

You spent the next few days in a haze, avoiding JJ and the rest of your friends as much as possible. You’d only seen Sarah. Somehow her presence didn’t make you feel as nervous as you thought. It weirdly calmed you down. You’d always been close, ever since she joined the group, but now you felt like she was the only one who understood your point of view.

You knew Pope and Kie wouldn’t, and you couldn’t blame them.

The small house felt like a prison. It wasn’t until a week later, as you sat on the beach watching the waves crash against the shore, that your phone buzzed with a message. It was the officer: "Rafe’s awake."

Your heart leaped into your throat. You still hadn’t told anyone the full extent of what had happened between you and him, and you weren’t sure you ever could. They knew he was in the hospital, that you two had gotten caught in a shooting, that he’d somehow saved your life. That was it. But now, with him awake…You didn’t know what to do.

With trembling hands, you dialed the number the officer had provided. After a few rings, someone answered.

"Hello, this is St. Michael Hospital. How can I help you?"

You snap out of your daze, "Hi, I'm calling to check on a patient, Rafe Cameron. I was told he’s awake."

There was a pause, the sound of keyboard keys clicking. "Yes, Mr. Cameron is awake. Are you a family member?"

“No. Uh, a friend, I guess—” You were about to ramble, not too certain of what to say, but settled for, “Can you tell him Maybank’s calling?”

“Okay, just a minute please.”

The hold music was the only thing keeping you centered on the moment, each note heightening your anxiety. When the nurse returned, her tone was pitiful, and you knew then that you weren’t going to like her answer.

"I’m sorry. Mr. Cameron has requested not to speak with you," she said. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

You wanted to hurl the phone into the ocean, plunge your head underwater, and only resurface when the ringing in your ears ceased.

What the hell?

You had spent weeks on edge, consumed by thoughts of him, hoping he would survive, praying for him despite not believing in that sort of thing. You didn't have it in you to put up a fight.

"No, that's all. Thank you." You ended the call and stared at your phone.

Rafe didn’t want to speak with you.

You felt foolish, as if you were just now glimpsing the bigger picture and recognizing that maybe he didn’t care after all. Perhaps, on the island, you were the one thing keeping him grounded, but now? Now you were back to being a nobody, just a pogue.

It felt like everything you had shared was for nothing.

Had you imagined it? No, you knew you hadn’t.

Rafe had kissed you and touched you with the tenderness of a lover, as if you were precious and any rough movement might break you.

The moments you had shared, the way he had saved your life—maybe they didn’t mean as much to him as they did to you. The bond you thought you had formed with Rafe was, perhaps, a desperate attempt to find something good in the chaos.

The waves crashed against the shore, the sound a distant roar as you sat on the sand, a storm brewing inside. You tried to hold it together, to keep the facade of normalcy for a little longer, but it was getting harder with each passing day. This felt like it was the final straw.

Without warning, a scream ripped from your throat, raw and unfiltered. It echoed across the empty beach, a primal release of everything you had been bottling up.

The anger, the confusion, the hurt—it all came pouring out in that one moment. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the salty sea breeze.

You hadn’t cried properly in weeks.

You screamed until your throat was raw, until you had nothing left to give. The sun cast long shadows on the sand, the beach deserted except for you. Collapsing back onto the sand, you let the tears flow freely.

There was no one to judge you, no one to see you fall apart. You’d spent a lifetime pulling yourself together, it was only fair you finally got to breathe properly. When the tears subsided, you wiped your face with the back of your hand and took a shuddering breath. The tightness in your chest began to ease, replaced by a hollow ache.

You were many things, but none of them were weak and yet...It was almost unbearable, the way your mind replayed every interaction, every look, every word, searching for signs you might have missed, clues that would have warned you not to get attached.

The sound of footsteps in the sand pulled you from your thoughts.

You turned to see JJ approaching. Your heart sank; you weren’t ready to face him after the argument. He sat down next to you, silent for a moment as he followed your gaze out to the horizon.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry for what I said about Mom,” he continued, his tone filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have compared you to her. That wasn’t fair.”

You swallowed hard, the tension easing slightly from your shoulders. “It’s okay, JJ. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I did, and I didn’t,” he admitted. “I just... I don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t trust him, and I hate that you’ve been caught up in all this.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

He glanced at you, eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”

“I called the hospital. They said he’s awake, but he doesn’t want to speak with me.”

Your brother frowned, his protective instincts flaring up. “That fucking asshole. After everything—”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. “Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe he’s right.”

JJ’s expression softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. You did nothing wrong.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you nodded, trying to believe his words. “I just... I thought there was more to it. That maybe he could change.”

“People like Rafe... it’s hard to change.”

“Yeah.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong for wanting to see the good in him.”

He spoke with such gentleness and wisdom. You forgot he wasn’t a kid anymore. That he’d also done his fair share of growing up way too fast.

You leaned into his touch, “I know.”

“We’ll get through this,” JJ said firmly. “Together. You and me, like always.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the beach, you and JJ sat there in silence. The waves continued to crash against the shore, a reminder that life moved forward, even when it felt like everything was falling apart.

Maybe things would never go back to the way they were, but you had your brother, your friends, and a resilience you hadn’t known you possessed.

⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Six months had passed since that day.

Life had settled into a fragile semblance of normalcy. The days were longer now, summer heat pressing down on The Cut, making the air thick and heavy. You had spent the afternoon alone, lounging in the living room with a half-read book and a broken fan that did little to ease the stifling heat.

You were lost in your book when a loud, insistent banging on the door jolted you from your reverie. Few people would knock with such urgency.

The forceful banging on the door didn’t stop and you jolted upright.

Without thinking, you got up and flung the door open, irritation flaring. "What the f—"

Your words caught in your throat as you saw him standing there.

"Rafe?" You blurted out. You immediately tried to close the door in his face, but he was quick. His hand shot out, holding it open, "Are you kidding me?" You hissed, pushing harder against the door.

"Maybank—"

"If you don't get off my property, I swear to fucking God—"

"Wait!" Rafe's voice was strained, his hand trembling as he held the door open. "Just listen for a second."

You glared at him, every instinct telling you to push harder, to shut him out. But something in his eyes—fear, desperation, a flicker of the Rafe you once knew—gave you pause.

The last time you saw him, he was bleeding out and terrifyingly pale.

The last update you had on him was from Sarah, months ago. He had left the hospital and kept sporadic contact, reaching out to her only every few weeks.

You never asked her about his well-being or what he was doing; despite guessing that he was cooperating with the police. At least you hoped he was.

You were determined not to care anymore.

He leaned his weight against the doorframe, “You look good.”

You were going to slap the lack of common sense out of him.

You scoffed, not letting your guard down. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down, struggling to find the words as he scratched the back of his head, “I... I needed to see you. To talk.”

“And I need you to crawl back to whatever hole you just creeped out of, have a good day.”

You tried to push the door shut again, but his grip tightened. “Please, just give me a minute.”

“You had six months.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was— It’s messed up, okay? I’m still working with the feds. I was losing it. Still am, probably. But I need to explain. Please, Maybank, just a minute.”

You hesitated the anger and hurt battling against the small, lingering part of you that still cared.

Finally, you stepped back, letting the door open just enough for him to enter.

“Talk,” you said, your voice icy.

Rafe stepped inside, looking around your small living room as if seeing it for the first time, which you now realized he'd never been in your house.

He turned to face you, his expression earnest. “I didn’t know what to say. I felt—“, He took a deep breath, cheeks puffing, “Ashamed. I don’t know.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, keeping a safe distance between you.

“Ashamed? You’ve done a lot of things to be ashamed of. You can’t just show up after six months and expect everything to be fine.”

“I know,” He admitted, taking a deliberate small step closer to you, “I wasn’t expecting that. I just... I wanted to tell you that I’m trying. I’m in therapy and rehab, trying to get clean. I’ve been going to meetings. It’s been hell, but I’m trying.”

You looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit. His eyes were clear, more focused than you had ever seen them. “Why should I believe you?”

He took a deep breath, visibly struggling to find the right words.

“Because you’re the only person who ever saw anything good in me. And I can’t forget that. I don’t deserve it, but I need you to know that your faith in me wasn’t for nothing.”

The vulnerability in his voice took you by surprise. You had expected anger, arrogance, manipulation—but this was different. Genuine. It felt like you were back in that motel room, in his arms.

You let out a scoff, focusing your gaze on the couch you were just resting on, as you shifted your weight on your feet. “Is that all?”

Rafe's eyes darted to the floor, “No, it’s not all. I just—Shit. I need to make things right. With you. I don’t know how, but I need to try.”

You took a deep breath.

Part of you wanted to believe him, to give him another chance, but the other part of you—the part that had been hurt and abandoned—was screaming not to fall for it again.

“You didn’t even want to talk to me when you woke up.”

He looked up, guilt etched across his features. “I didn’t know how to face you after everything that happened. I was a mess.”

“So you shut me out?” You snapped, “You made me feel like I meant nothing.”

“That’s not true,” He snapped back, head whipping up, then immediately softened his tone, taking another step closer. “That’s not true. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know. I was getting better for you."

“Don’t lie to me.”

Rafe looked offended, eyes zeroing in on your lips before his gaze met yours. That's when you felt it again, “I never lied to you.”

“Cameron.”

Another step closer. His eyes pleading with you to understand.

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

"I never lied to you," He repeated, his voice shaking slightly. "I was scared and confused, but I never lied.”

You felt your anger rising again, every muscle in your body tensing as you tried to keep control. “Scared and confused? That’s your excuse?”

Rafe flinched at your words, but he didn't back down. “I know how it sounds. I handled it all wrong. I’m trying to fix it.”

“You think saying sorry and showing up out of the blue makes it better? It doesn't erase the months of silence.”

His hands reached out, his palms open as if he was dealing with a wounded animal. “I’m not asking for forgiveness right away. I just want a chance to make things right.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You spat, your voice trembling with emotion, “How it felt, watching you almost die. I spent days wondering if you were going to be—”

You stopped yourself, knowing that if you continued your voice would crack and the tears would start pouring down your cheeks.

You already cried enough for him.

Rafe’s expression softened, and he reached out tentatively, his hand stopping inches from your arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

You took a step back, putting more distance between you, needing the space to think clearly. “I needed you to be sorry six months ago.”

It’s only then, when your brain cleared slightly that you noticed he looked different. His hair had been buzzed, his skin looked tanner than the last time you’d seen him, he looked healthier.

Rafe noticed your eyes wandering to his head and ran a hand through his short hair, a hint of a self-conscious smile flickering across his lips. “Yeah, I uh, made some changes. Trying to start over, I guess.”

You nodded slightly, not quite trusting yourself to speak. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice steadier now.

“I’m happy for you, but I can’t do this.”

“Pretty—"

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you cut him off, “I feel guilty enough as it is around everyone else.”

“I told Sarah.”

His words hit you like a punch to your gut.

“What?”

“About us.”

You felt your stomach drop and your vision narrow, the world tilting sideways as the reality of what he just said sank in. “You what?”

“I told her.”

“You absolute fucking—” You hissed, your voice rising without warning, “Are you serious?!”

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” His tone faltered to one that could’ve fallen on deaf ears if not attentive enough. “I needed someone to talk to, and she’s…my sister.”

“You thought it was the right thing to do?” You were shouting now, unable to contain your anger. “You think spilling everything to Sarah was the right thing to do? Did you ever consider how that might affect me? Or her?”

Rafe flinched, taking a step back. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“Of course you didn’t,” You nearly growled, pacing the small living room. “You never think about anyone but yourself, do you?”

“Listen— “ He opened his mouth undoubtedly to fire back with another half-assed apology - but you barreled forward, letting the months of bottled resentment continue to burst open.

“You’re so selfish.”

“She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone,” His throat bobbed in an audible gulp, “It’s okay.”

“You really believe that?” You stopped pacing and turned to face him, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “This is too much for her to keep to herself. It’ll eat away at her until she tells someone. And when that happens, my life here is over.”

Rafe looked stricken, his face pale. “I just—I needed someone to understand what I’m going through.”

For the first time, he took the time to explain what was going on in his head instead of letting his frustrations take over and kissing you.

“And what about what I’m going through?” You demanded. “Did you ever stop to think about that? I’ve been trying to move on, to rebuild my life, and you just waltz back in and blow everything up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

You spotted his sun-kissed freckles. They wouldn’t be noticeable if you hadn’t looked at him so closely before.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” Bitterness began to overpower the pit of your heaving chest, “Sorry doesn’t make it go away. You can’t just undo what you’ve done.”

“I know,” One shaky hand scrubbed over his face, refusing to meet your wide-eyed stare., “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I swear.”

“Make it right? You can’t make this right, Rafe.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m trying, pretty. I really am.”

You felt a smidge of sympathy despite your anger. You could see the pain and desperation in his eyes, the same pain and desperation you had felt for the past six months. But that didn’t change the fact that he left you hanging for so long.

“I need you to leave,” you said finally, your voice cold and distant.

You expected him to put up a fight, to lash out, hide his emotions with empty threats and petty names. But he didn’t.

Instead, he nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to leave. You watched him go in silence.

Part of you wanted to run after him, to give him another chance, to believe that he could change. But another part—the part that had been wounded and left to heal on its own—knew that it wasn’t that simple.

You had to protect yourself, even if it meant shutting him out for good.

Rafe paused in the doorway, his back to you. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly through the thick air. "I don’t regret it," he repeated, his shoulders tensing as he spoke.

You blinked, taken aback. "What?"

He turned slightly, just enough for you to see the raw honesty in his eyes. "I don’t regret what happened. Between us. I regret how I handled it, how I hurt you, but I don’t regret feeling something real for once."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the suffocating heat seemed to dissipate, replaced by a cold clarity. You crossed your arms tighter around yourself, trying to hold onto your anger, your resolve. But his words had hit a nerve, bringing back memories you’d tried so hard to bury.

You looked away, unable to look at him, "It doesn’t change anything."

"I know.”

With that, he turned and walked out the door, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving you standing there. The room felt emptier than it hand in months as you leaned your forehead against the cool wood over the door.

You pushed away from the door, needing something to distract yourself.

You picked up your book, but the words blurred on the page. You tossed it aside, your thoughts too chaotic to focus. Instead, you paced the small living room, replaying the conversation in your mind.

You eventually collapsed onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. You did the right thing, so why did it hurt so bad?

You felt like a wound had been reopened, and you hated him for it.

But you hated yourself more for letting him get to you. The hours dragged on, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long shadows through the windows. You tried to lose yourself in anything—TV, reading, cleaning—but nothing could shake the gnawing feeling of unresolved problems that clung to you.

You only saw Rafe's face, his desperate eyes, his trembling hands.

You remembered the feel of his skin, the sound of his voice when he was vulnerable. The memories were too real, too persistent. You couldn't bring yourself to explain it to yourself. Your eyes begin to itch, warning you to think of something else.

Anything else but Rafe.

Was this heartbreak? No—it couldn't be.

You weren't in love with Rafe Cameron.

At least, you didn't think you were.

You had never allowed yourself to consider it, to dwell on what you felt for him. But now, in the stillness of your small living room…it was different. You never had a good parental figure to teach you these things.

All you knew was destruction, violence, and heartbreak. And although you’d done pretty well for yourself, all things considered, this was new to you.

The thought hit you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and inescapable.

You were in love with Rafe Cameron.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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vampireids · 2 days ago

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perfect stranger

summary: lauren reynolds is dead, emily prentiss along with her, and spencer finds himself alone, struggling and in need of company (smut, angst)

warnings: former emily prentiss/spencer reid, exploration of grief, references to addiction and divorce, spencer acts questionably in this but he's struggling so forgive him, reader has some backstory, reader is referred to with she pronouns and wears makeup and a skirt, reader smokes cigarettes, spencer POV (third person limited). very, very angsty.

word count: 7.8k

a/n: the first half of this is quite spencer/emily centric in its themes, but the second half focusses more on the reader character. reader means everything to me and i am cradling her so gently. posting on mobile so let me know if there are any formatting issues!

Three weeks since Emily Prentiss had died and taken half of Spencer Reid with her.

Three weeks.

Three weeks that tasted of ash and bile, where no matter how brightly the sun shone everything still looked grey, where every smile he passed on the street seemed to be mocking him.

He hadn't had an easy life, not by any standard, but even he had been unaware of just how keenly he could hurt, just how painful and violent breathing could be. It was an agony that seemed to persist beyond any capacity a human being could feasibly endure, a constant bleeding wound in the cavity of his chest.

It hadn't been long before daydreams of oblivion took hold of him. Murmurs of a phone number he couldn't forget as hard as he tried sounded in his mind, growing louder and louder as days went by. If he called it, he could remember peace. More crucially, he could forget everything. A call, a deal, a prick, a push, and every screaming agony in his mind could go away. The sweet, muggy bliss of a syringe of dreamless sleep. It would be so easy.

A disapproving voice in his head that sounded uncannily like Emily pleaded with him to resist the allure. She wouldn't want him to submit to the urge. She'd want him to withstand the pain, to feel the burn of grief boldly and without reprieve, to let time heal him with all the swiftness of a wounded sloth.

But it had been Emily who had loved him enough to keep him grounded and sober. And without her, how could he ever be strong enough to do it? The constant craving for quiet had been drowned out by the sounds of her soft sighs as his body pressed against her, by the consuming sensation of her around him and on top of him and in the beating heart in his chest.

And slowly, an idea formed. He couldn't have Emily anymore. But he could find something close enough. Some approximation to act as a temporary sigil to ward off the ghosts at his door. It had been an old coping mechanism he’d turned to in the early days of his sobriety. Nothing was more deadly to an addict than solitude, so he’d sought out company where he could get it, in faceless women in bar bathrooms and parked cars.

It had worked before, and it could work again.

At the very least, it forced him to shower and put on nice clothes, to brush his teeth and hair and remember the feeling of being alive. With his face clean and his body dressed, he could almost pass for human instead of the walking gaping wound he felt like.

The bar was an old favourite of his. The lights were dim and low, the music soft and unobtrusive. It wasn't any kind of high class establishment, but it didn't need to be for his purpose. With any luck, he wouldn't be here long.

He walked to the bar and ordered a neat whiskey. Drinking in his fragile state was unwise, but he needed to feel the burn of it sliding down his throat to remind him he was still capable of feeling anything but grief. After a bracing sip, he took a seat on a barstool and surveyed the milling revellers. They all seemed carefree and happy in a way he resented, drinking and laughing and dancing with one another, lovesick like he’d once been.

One woman caught his eye on the other end of the bar. She was alone, like him. Nursing whiskey neat like him. Seeming just lonely enough to make his own crushing solitude feel less isolating. She noticed him watching her and smiled, a coy edge to it that made heat start to simmer in the core of him.

She wasn't Emily, but she had a similar fire in her eyes, the same challenge in her smile, a striking beauty to her face that stung as much as it excited.

If he could find her beautiful, then beauty was still attainable to him. Things could still be wonderful in some far off life.

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice she'd stood, approaching him and sitting in the stool beside him.

“Waiting for someone?” she asked softly.

Yes, he thought, I’m waiting for Emily, and I’ll be waiting for as long as I live.

But for tonight, he would temporarily cease his waiting. So he smiled, shook his head, and said. “No. Are you?”

She grinned at him, and the expression was so reminiscent of Emily's sly smiles that it hurt. “I was. But I think I found what I was waiting for.”

The line was so cheesy and silly he couldn't help but huff out a laugh. “And what would that be?”

“Someone pretty. Someone who looks like they might have stories to tell.” She tilted her head. “You know anyone like that?”

“I might,” he shrugged. “I’m Spencer.”

She told him her name and he barely heard it but he knew he wouldn't forget it. He knew he was supposed to say something, so he breathed, “that's a beautiful name. It suits you.”

Her smile was like the sun and he almost believed he could feel warm again. “You're not so bad yourself.”

He’d never grown used to accepting a compliment so he ducked his head to hide his face. She was already talking again, saving him from the awkwardness of knowing how to reply.

“What brought you here tonight?”

The truth wasn't something he was ready to share with a stranger. He approximated it with, “I’m looking to feel a little less alone.”

Her hand on his was soft and warm. “What a coincidence. I’m here for the same thing.”

He couldn't fathom someone like her, so beautiful and confident and with such a warm presence, being lonely. So he raised his eyebrows. “You're really wanting for company?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she laughed. “But yes. I am wanting for company. I just moved here.”

“What made you move here?”

“Nothing special about here. I needed to leave my life behind and threw a dart at a map of the states and moved where it landed. Well, technically it landed on Virginia, but I overruled that. This was close enough.”

Needed to leave her life behind.

She'd said it casually, but it was an interesting thing to note. Like him, she was lost, alone, hiding from something. Seeking comfort in the arms of strangers who wouldn’t stick around to fix her messes. He hummed thoughtfully. “Running from something?”

With a shrug, she murmured, “aren’t we all?”

“Most people,” he conceded.

“You?”

“I don’t like to think I am. But I don’t think I’d be here tonight if I wasn’t.”

She smiled at him slightly. He was only just starting to realise what else about the smile reminded him of Emily - the slight undercurrent of sadness to it. “That’s the nice thing about running.” she said after a pause. “Sometimes you look up and realise your feet took you somewhere good without you even realising it.”

“Are you somewhere good?”

“You’ll have to tell me,” she said softly, and leaned forwards, capturing his mouth in a kiss.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his situation before he was kissing her back. She tasted like whiskey, fiery and hot and intoxicating. He reached his palm up to rest it on her cheek and she made a soft noise of encouragement, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

The angle of it was awkward, their bodies angled towards each other and hanging off their barstools, but it didn’t make the kiss any less dizzying. It wasn’t Emily, no way to pretend for even a second it was, the taste of her and the shape of her and the feeling of her were all different. But it didn’t matter. It was company, and she was beautiful, and he knew in his heart Emily would want him to do this. She’d want him to find something that would help ease the pain. She would never want him to be lonely.

She pulled away and he gasped.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked breathlessly.

He nodded desperately, wrapping his hand around her wrist. “Yes. Please.”

“My place okay?”

“Yes. That’s perfect. Let’s go.”

She picked up her glass of whiskey and motioned for him to do the same. As soon as he did she wrapped her arm around his and linked them at the elbow, holding her drink aloft. It took a second to realise what she wanted, and when he did, he grinned. It was silly, childish, exactly what he needed. She nodded at him and, arms interlocked, they downed their drinks in unison. The liquor burned his throat like a sip of liquid flame and he struggled to keep his mouth neutral as he swallowed, watching as she wrinkled her nose. He couldn’t help his huffed laugh, giddy with the drink and the company.

She led him out of the bar, weaving them around the huddles of drunks and tables of friends in silence, and pounding guilt nestled behind his chest. Three weeks since the death of his lover, and he’d already found his way into the arms of someone else. What kind of man was he? Was his loyalty so thin?

But she turned towards him, glancing back with a mischief in her eyes that was achingly, throbbingly familiar, and he couldn’t make himself pull away.

He wasn’t a man of God. He didn’t believe Emily was watching down on him, in pain at the thought of him with another woman. She was simply gone. He couldn’t live for a ghost he didn’t believe in.

It was all hollow justification, really, convincing himself it wasn’t wrong to do the thing he already knew he would do. Her pulse under his fingertips was thrumming and alive, the sign of a heart that could pump blood and skin that was flush with warmth, and he needed to feel that. He needed to want something that could want him back.

The air was chilled as they stepped outside into the street and he stumbled into her as she came to a sudden stop. She giggled softly and wrapped her arm around him, steadying him and pulling him softly against her. Her body was a column of heat beside him, every breath she took causing her chest to rise and fall against him. Living, living, so alive, something real, something tangible. He’d known this woman all of 10 minutes and he loved her as much as he hated her for simply being alive.

It wasn’t fair on this poor woman, this beautiful woman, this kind woman to be drawing these constant comparisons. That thought, more than any other, almost gave him pause. He vowed to want her for what she was and not what she wasn’t. She was sweet, beautiful, haunted, said he had pretty eyes and looked like someone with stories. She had soft skin and lovely eyes, a smile that held secrets and promises that he wouldn’t get to know. He could want her for that.

She swung out her arm and a taxi pulled in beside them and they stumbled into the taxi, their bodies never leaving each other until she shuffled across the seat to the other side. Even then, her hand stayed on his arm and he revelled in the touch. She leaned forwards to share her address with the taxi driver and they drove into the night, the flickering street lights casting shadows on her face.

He couldn’t help it, he leaned forwards to kiss her again. Her lips were a temporary oblivion, something consuming to drown out the noise of his grief. A comfort in company, a reminder he wasn’t as alone as he felt. The guilt bubbling in his stomach was dulled by the softness of her lips, the gentle movement of her tongue, the sharp bite of her teeth on his lower lip. So different to Emily. Not different enough.

No.

She was her own person.

He pulled away with a gasp, her chest heaving to match his own.

“You’re good at that,” she mumbled.

He moved his thumb across her cheek. “So are you.”

She smiled and kissed him again, and he let himself sink into it, to feel the heat of another person against him, to let the sensations wash over him and through him and stir those familiar desires beneath his skin.

It was a quick taxi to her apartment and then he staggered onto the sidewalk like a man intoxicated. He was dizzy, though he only had the one drink. On a street he’d never been on before despite his years in the city, the buildings unfamiliar, his companion a stranger, and he felt like someone totally different. Someone else. Someone who could be casual and silly and risky and stupid. Not Spencer Reid. Not the grieving man.

His alienation from himself would be frightening if he had the fortitude to care. Instead, he called it a blessing and let his beautiful stranger pull him up the stairs.

Her apartment was four flights up, and by the time they reached her door, he was breathless. She laughed at the pink on his cheeks and he felt a hum of embarrassment course through him.

“Not laughing at you, baby, I promise,” she murmured as she turned to unlock the door. The term of endearment sent something hot running through his veins and his face only got warmer.

The door was pushed open, and she waited for him to enter before shutting it behind her.

Another moment of guilt and hesitation threatened to break him and he drowned it out by pulling her closer and capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss. She made a soft noise of surprise against him before melting into it, bringing her hand up to rest on his shoulder and pressing herself against him. It was soft and sweet and nothing he needed it to be so he deepened it, pressed her against the wall to gain the leverage to kiss her roughly. She let out another low sound of pleasure and it emboldened him, gave him the courage he needed to guide his hand up her thigh and under her skirt, running his fingertips along her hip.

She threw her head back with a soft “fuck,” letting her head rest against the wall as he moved his hand from resting on her hip to tracing over the line of her underwear and brought it down until it was ghosting along her core.

Her softness, pliability, was intoxicating and so different from what he was used to. Emily gave as good as she got, was bared teeth and strength and only going down with a fight. His beautiful stranger seemed happy to let him control the night, and he was grateful for it in that moment, grateful for the opportunity to have the control in the bedroom he’d lost over his life.

She gripped onto his shoulders hard as he pushed the panties aside and ran his fingers over the exposed flesh, spreading the accumulated arousal and circling over the sensitive nub at her apex.

He attached his lips to her neck, grazing his teeth across her collarbone and drinking in the sounds she made as he slowly inserted one finger, and then a second.

“Baby, god, feels so good,” she mumbled above him and the praise went straight to his cock, the taste of her skin against his tongue and the feeling of her around his fingers creating a dizzying cocktail of arousal in his abdomen. He was making her feel good, he was capable of creating pleasure in another, he could do something right even if his life felt wrong and hollow. He clung to that knowledge as he sucked a mark into her neck and basked in her whines.

Years of magic tricks gave him agile hands, a skill at profiling let him read a woman’s pleasure in her gasps and twitches, and it wasn't long before her moans were heightening in pitch and volume and her nails were pressing into his shoulders desperately. He felt a glow of pride as she came undone around him, moaning his name in shaking cadence. He pulled his fingers from her carefully and felt a bolt of arousal at the sight of her, her skirt rucked up around her waist, her cheeks pink and her eyeliner smudged.

“You have wonderful hands,” she murmured after a few moments of loaded silence.

He laughed roughly. “I’ve been told that before,” he mumbled, and didn't mention the woman who’d told him.

“Let me make you feel good too, baby,” she said, and her widened eyes and desperate tone made it sound very much like a plea.

His head was spinning, body alight with lust, too full of want for the guilt to make a dent, and he nodded. He was sick, sick, sick in the head, his agreement a condemnation of himself, and so he nodded.

“Yes. Yes, okay. Let's go to the bedroom,” he tried to speak through the dizzy desire and warring self-loathing and his voice came out thin.

She frowned, eyes big and concerned and placed her hand on his cheek. “Are you okay, baby? You don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

He shook his head almost violently, causing her hand to drop to his shoulder. He felt its absence like a wound. “No. Please. I want this, I want you.”

She still looked hesitant so he kissed her, feeling the tension leave her body as his tongue explored her mouth. The relief of her wordless acquiescence was physical. He needed this, he needed her, he needed his life to dissolve in a melody of moans until he couldn't remember anything but the present, until everything faded but touch and heat and want.

He couldn't bear the weight of his mind alone. She might be a stranger, but he needed her. And curse Emily's voice in his head chiding him softly both for using this poor woman and for so quickly finding solace in the body of another. He was using her, sure, but she was using him too. It wasn’t like she was in love with him, and he wasn’t in love with her either. It was a one night stand, not marriage. And he and Emily had never labelled their relationship, had never been able to communicate well enough to even discuss exclusivity and all of that aside, she was fucking dead so really she’d left him first and didn’t have the right to be judging him.

He was talking so much to the Emily in his head he was starting to remember that he was still in the window for schizophrenia.

He kissed the woman more desperately, drowning out that thought. She made a keening, broken sound against him, and it temporarily brought him to the present.

He took a hold of her wrist, still resting against his collarbone and stumbled back. “Bedroom, please,” he begged, too far gone to be self-conscious of the pleading tone.

She smiled, her pupils blown wide and her lips darkened from the bruising force of the kiss. “Come on, baby.”

She took a stumbling step towards him and he felt a surge of pride he’d taken her apart so thoroughly. He was still a man, after all, and she was a woman, a stupidly beautiful woman he was undeserving of, and it felt good to know he was bringing her pleasure.

He let himself be led like a lamb by its shepherd to her bedroom. It was clean, minimal, the bedroom of a flight risk who didn’t want anything tying them down. No photographs, no personal effects, nothing in the room that didn’t serve a utility.

The profiler in his brain was switched off by her hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with nimble fingers. Once his shirt hung loose, her touch moved to his bare chest, tracing across the planes of his torso. He felt unavoidably self-conscious under her scrutiny, but she looked at him with such a heat in her eyes he couldn’t help but know she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He still wanted to know what demons had led her to him, to seeking solace in the arms of a man she didn’t know, but he shoved the thought down. She was well within her right to want a one night stand, she didn’t have to be damaged just because he was. And besides, she’d started removing her own shirt, and it was hard to think about anything other than her chest, framed by a delicate black brassiere.

She caught his heated gaze because she laughed softly. “Like what you see, baby?”

He nodded stupidly. “God, so much.”

And then she was kissing him, walking him backwards towards the bed where he was all too happy to go.

His knees hit the back of the bed and he dropped onto it, looking up at her as she undid the button fastening her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Her underwear matched the bra, and she wore them well, the lines and curves of her silhouette enough to intoxicate him. He leaned forwards to kiss her abdomen softly and she gasped. Their positioning, her above him with his head against her stomach, was some strange parody of worship. In a way, she was a god to him. He was giving himself as an offering in futile hope of salvation, devoting himself to a beautiful concept of a woman. She was nothing real and everything wonderful. A perfect stranger.

Her hands wove themselves into his hair and he groaned out his oblation into her skin.

“I need you, baby, please,” she whispered into the still air of the room, and he was her willing servant.

He sat back, and before his hands could reach down to unfasten his pants, she was undoing them for him, her fingers trembling as she fiddled with his button and then his fly.

There was something unsettling about her movements, and he stilled. “You okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah. Yeah, just want you,” she mumbled as he shimmied out of his pants.

There was something she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t have time to ask before she was dropping to straddle his lap, his cock only separated from her arousal by the flimsy fabric of their undergarments. He might have been a genius, but even he found it hard to think about anything much with a woman in his lap, her hips shifting against his and sending his senses into overdrive.

He begged a silent plea of forgiveness to the Emily in his head. She remained stonily silent. He took it as permission and put his hands around the waist of his perfect stranger, using his leverage to twist them both until she was lying beneath him on the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, and the tender words felt like more of a betrayal than the sex.

“So are you,” she whispered, and he kissed her gently. The kiss was short, chaste, before his lips were moving - kissing down her jaw, the column of her throat, her chest, her abdomen, her stomach. She gasped softly as he reached the waistband of her panties, and he lingered there just a moment, looking up at the rapt expression on her face.

He noticed, not for the first time, how very sad she looked behind the desire. Maybe she knew he was thinking about someone else. More likely, she was thinking about someone else. It wasn’t his business. He understood what it was like to need to drown out the ghosts.

It was the echo of that thought that played in his head as he slowly pulled down her panties. Drown the ghost, make her feel good, bask in the warmth of another, remember what it means to live and breathe and feel. Simple instructions, a defined victory condition, something black and white and real. He tossed her underwear aside and looked up at her, propped up on her shoulders to watch as he exposed her.

He must have stayed there a moment too long, because she made a soft, plaintive sound and mumbled, “Baby, please. Don’t tease me.”

“Sorry,” he grinned, not sorry at all if it made her call him baby in that desperate, whining voice, and licked a stripe up her core.

She made a harsh, pleading noise at the contact, and he felt it like lightning under his skin. He pushed away the thoughts of the sounds Emily had once made, and moved to suck gently on her clit, summoning more sweet whines from her lips.

Her hands came down to twist in his hair and he groaned against her. He felt hot, shivery, alternating waves of lust and guilt rocking through him like a boat tossed about through the surf. Something about the sheer wrongness of it was only heightening his desire. His grief was getting tangled in his need and his body was turning all of it into heat and want.

Eventually, she gasped raggedly and used her grip on his hair to pull him off of her, looking down at him with eyes turned the inky black shade of lust. “Need you, now, please, baby,” she groaned, and what man could say no to that?

He nodded, dizzy and hazy, and lifted himself onto his knees. “Condom?” he managed to force out through the white noise of his mind, and she sat up to lean over to her bedside drawer, rifling through a little box to pull out a Trojan.

He pulled off his own underwear hastily as she unwrapped it, and hissed as she leaned forwards to roll it onto him. He hadn’t realised how hard he was until her soft hands were ghosting over him, and the touch felt like little lines of fire over his skin. He groaned thickly and let his head fall back as she stroked him experimentally over the latex.

He didn’t want to wait any longer, couldn’t risk being still when the thoughts of everything he was hiding from could come back. Emily was being quiet in his skull, probably furious at his betrayal, but it was still quiet, no voice in his head but his own. So, he gently pushed her back until she was lying against the pillow, and put his weight on one arm as he guided himself to the centre of her arousal. He teased for a bit, sliding his length along her a few times to hear her breath hitch.

Finally, slowly, he pushed in, his eyelids fluttering as he was constricted by the tightness inside of her. It hadn’t even been that long since he’d had sex, but after years of having it almost daily, his body had grown accustomed to a certain frequency, and the tight heat felt like home.

As soon as he was fully immersed inside her, he let out a ragged, hoarse groan. Her own thin whine was in harmony with his, the musicality of their pleasure intertwining as their bodies did.

His vision blurred as he started to move, the friction sending sparks up through his skin as she gasped his name underneath him.

“Oh, fuck, Emily,” he groaned in return.

He didn’t realise what he’d done until she stilled completely under him.

“Emily?” she said quietly.

It was like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him, every nerve going dead with the shock.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and it felt so inadequate to the scale of his mistake.

She swallowed under him, her throat bobbing. Something was playing out behind her eyes, something not even years of profiling could clue him into. Eventually, she shook her head, the movement minute.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I understand. I can be Emily. If that’s what you need, I can be Emily.”

The words broke his heart. Who was this woman? Who had broken her down to the point she was willing to contort herself to be another woman for a man she’d never met?

He shook his head. “No. You’re not Emily. You’re you, and that’s a good thing to be. Don’t- you don’t- I’m an asshole. My head is a mess right now, it’s nothing to do with you. You’re wonderful, you’re beautiful, you’re kind. I want you.

She smiled thinly and brought her hand up to rest against his face. “It’s okay, baby. It’s one night. I’m whoever you want me to be, okay? Whatever you need. Let me take care of you.”

He groaned slightly, a war in his torso as her words cast a sick sort of spell on him. The person he wanted to be fought the battle, screamed at him that she obviously had her own demons, that he’d be taking advantage of what must be a self-esteem issue, to be allowing him - asking him - to pretend she was another woman. “It’s not right,” he mumbled.

“Does that really matter?” she whispered. “No one’s watching. I’m saying it’s okay.”

“Why?” he said desperately. “Why would that be okay?”

“We’re using each other, that’s all this is, right? I don’t know your life or your last name or your job or your friends, you’re whoever I want you to be tonight. I can be whoever you need me to be. It’s only fair.”

Her words made a strange sort of sense, or maybe he was choosing to believe that to stymie the guilt bubbling behind his ribs. He was using her, plain and simple, no matter whose name he was saying. If she didn’t care, why should he?

Because you’re better than that, the Emily in his head murmured disapprovingly. But who was she to talk when she’d left him all alone, when she’d lied to all of them to follow a terrorist without thinking of the wound she’d be leaving behind. So he nodded. “Okay. Okay. Are you… Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes. Please,” she said, eyes big and pleading, and he gave only another cursory thought to wondering if she was okay before starting to move again. She wasn’t Emily, there wasn’t really a way to pretend that she was, unless he closed her eyes and that seemed too sick even for him. But the feeling of it all was still so achingly familiar - the heat, the tightness, the slick sounds of bodies connecting and the shaking gasps of pleasure.

He couldn’t pretend she was Emily, but he could pretend he loved her and she loved him. And with the way she looked at him, her jaw slack in ecstasy and her pupils blown with lust, it wasn’t hard. She looked beautiful, genuinely divine in the throes of her desire, in that way people only do at their most unrestrained. He leaned forwards and kissed her, drinking in the sounds she made against his lips and revelling in her hand gripping his shoulder like he was a lifeline, the thread connecting her to reality.

“Baby, oh, baby, I’m close, please, just like that, fuck,” the words were mumbled against his lips, garbled among gasps and soft whines, and it took a moment to decipher what she was saying. But once he’d decoded it, he glowed in his pride.

“Come for me whenever you want to, sweetheart,” he groaned, “Let me make you feel good.”

His tone was tender, fragile, delicate, the words of lovers and not strangers, and maybe that was the fantasy he was fulfilling with her. One where he loved freely and received it in return like he never could with Emily and her shroud of secrets. He’d pretended with her, and he was pretending again now, playing the role like he was born for it.

And when, maybe seconds or years later, her noises climbed in pitch and she tightened around him, he pushed her hair out of her face gently and fucked her like he knew her beyond the feeling of her body and the sounds of her bliss.

Her nails dug into him, and she called him, “baby,” again in that sweet, overwhelmed voice, and it was that which pushed him over the edge to his own undoing, his rhythm faltering and stuttering as he twitched inside of her.

This, the release, the moment where the world stopped and all he could feel was beautiful, perfect pleasure, was why he'd gone out tonight. A simulacrum of hydromorphone all released in one, lovely moment. One addiction swapped for another, oblivions traded. Her hand ghosted back over his cheekbone as he slowed and stopped, his head leaning into her palm as he stilled.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he laughed, breathlessly, smoothing out her hair before pulling out of her with a wince.

She sat up and watched as he tied off the condom. “I know, but I want to. I needed this. Let me take that, I’ll bin it in the bathroom.”

He smiled weakly and handed it to her, watching as she walked into the little ensuite next to the room. She shut the door behind her, and he sat awkwardly for a moment, his nakedness suddenly visceral in the solitude of another person’s bedroom. He stood and found his underwear, discarded next to the bed, shimmying into them as he waited for her to be done. He never knew what to do in this part, never knew the etiquette of the afterglow. Eventually, he heard the toilet flushing and the sound of the tap running, and she emerged from the bathroom clad in a short white satin robe, tied loosely at the waist.

“I’m going to have a cigarette,” she said with a little smile. “Care to join me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice hoarse, and followed her outside to the balcony. It was nice, a wrought iron railing shielding them from falling into the city skyline, two chairs nestled around a small round glass table. On it lay a crystalline ashtray, stained with dead embers, and a small pack of Marlboro Golds.

She sat on the far chair, motioning for him to sit too, and picked up the pack, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up. She took a long drag and let her head fall back as she exhaled the smoke.

“I know it’s a bad habit,” she said quietly. “But I can’t bring myself to quit.”

He tilted his head as he watched her take another drag. “I used to tell my mother every cigarette she smoked was 6 less minutes she’d get to spend with me.”

“The way I live my life, I’m not expecting that to be an issue,” she shrugged.

“How do you live your life to expect to die young?”

She gestured at him. “Bringing strange men I meet while alone at a bar to my apartment, for one,” she deadpanned, and he couldn’t help his exhale of a laugh.

“Mm, touche, I suppose,” he sighed. “What makes you like it?”

She raised her eyebrows. “The cigarettes or the strange men?”

“Both, I guess.”

“It’s the same reason for both. Makes me feel like I have some control over things. Forces me to… confront my mortality, to get comfortable with the idea of death. It can’t scare me if I’m inviting it.”

He frowned. “You’re suicidal?”

A long pause where she seemed to be thinking, her eyes fixed on the twinkling lights of the city around them. “No. I’m not. But I’ve spent a lot of time living in fear of things that are inevitable, and I’m tired of that.”

He couldn’t help himself from wanting to pry. It was like that, sometimes, in the afterglow of sex. After the intimacy, the bedroom could become a confessional. “What inevitabilities are you scared of?”

She sighed and took another drag of the cigarette. “I married my high school sweetheart a year after we graduated. Our relationship was… fine. Good. He was the only man I’d ever been with, the only one I knew how to be with. Even when I knew he was having an affair, I couldn’t bring myself to let go of him. He was an asshole, sometimes, and a cheat, but sometimes he was so wonderful. He worked and supported us the whole time I was in college, he’d plan these extravagant dates and trips for us, always remembered birthdays and anniversaries. And I’d been with him since I was so young, I didn’t even know who I was if I wasn’t his wife. Even when I knew he didn’t love me anymore and I barely loved him, I stuck around. In the end, he left me. He got the other woman pregnant and owned up to everything I already knew. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him that none of it was news, because I felt so pathetic for tolerating it. That night, I quit my job, threw a dart at a map and moved here. Just like that. I didn’t want to be scared anymore. I wanted to just… live.”

He was quiet for a long time. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, and it was a pale pleasantry against the scale of her admission.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “Not like it’s your fault. Just illustrating the point. I knew the relationship was over years before it actually was. But I was so scared of the unknown I refused to admit it. I’m not going to do that anymore.”

“That’s a good philosophy,” he said softly.

She smiled at him, the look stained with melancholy. “Yeah, I like to think so.”

The silence dragged, unobtrusive and comfortable as she ashed her cigarette and lit up a second. “Who’s Emily?” she asked eventually, and he startled.

He watched her hands as she let the cigarette dangle between her fingers. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” she pressed. “Story for a story.”

“I have a… stressful job. One where I have to travel a lot. And I had a coworker, Emily. We started sleeping together as a way to let off steam on tough days. I fell in love with her. I think she loved me too. We never said it. She’s a… flight risk, I guess, runs away at the first sign of anything emotionally scary, and any time things between us got too real, she’d freeze me out. I learned to keep my feelings to myself. But I was in love with her. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to keep her near me.”

“That’s hard,” his perfect stranger murmured. “Where is she now?"

“She’s dead,” he said flatly, as if keeping the emotions from his voice would stop it from hurting him. “She was murdered.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Fuck, that’s- I’m sorry. That’s horrible.”

He shook his head, the ugly bitterness in his chest building up and spilling from his mouth. “She knew. She knew he was coming after her, she knew what he was capable of, and she never told me. I could have done something, and she took that chance away from me. And I’m so angry at her, but I can’t be angry at her because she’s gone. What use is it being furious with a ghost?”

“It’s normal to have mixed feelings when a loved one dies, baby,” she says softly. “In a way, she left you, even if she didn’t want to. It’s hard. It’s a breakup with no room for self-reflection and no way to change things. The loss of your future and the shadow over the past. There’s a lot of different stuff going on in your head right now. There’s no wrong way to feel about it all.”

He knew that, was intellectually versed on the complications and machinations of grief. He’d seen all kinds of people in the throes of their losses - mothers who’d lost children when their last words had been in anger, husbands whose wives had stormed out and never made it home to talk it out, children who’d snuck out and returned to find their parents dead. He was acquainted with the intricate weaving of love and guilt and grief, had read every study on managing loss, had sat in the room with countless people in the seconds after learning their loved one had been taken from them.

And yet, there still lingered a revolting feeling of wrongness in his grief. For all that he knew the way he was behaving and feeling and coping was normal - all of it, the sex, the cravings, the depression, the bitter, cruel anger - he couldn't help but sink into the belief he was wrong for all of it.

But the look on her face, wide eyed and earnest, her brows slightly furrowed as she watched him intensely, made him believe her. This was a woman acquainted with loss, he could tell. He didn't have to pry to know that. She understood him in a way the journal articles didn't quite seem to.

Maybe, for all his overreliance on academia to navigate the world, he needed people like everyone else did. Emily had taught him that loving was worth the agony of losing.

He was quiet for a while, thinking through her words.

“Why were you willing to pretend to be her?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “I liked what we were doing. I didn’t want you to stop. And you seemed like you needed it.”

“That's it? I mean, I called you the wrong name, I would assume that would be a dealbreaker for anyone.”

“I'm not under any illusions about what this was. It was a beautiful thing, but nothing to do with who I am or who you are and what we deserve. Just… people fucking for the sake of it, like they’ve done through all of human history. I wanted it to be good for you, just like I could tell you wanted it to be good for me. It makes it feel better if you're both getting what you want. And I've been a lot of people for a lot of people. It doesn't bother me.”

It still didn't seem quite right to him, but he nodded anyway. He just watched her for a moment, watched the movement of her irises as she looked at the shimmering skyline of the city, the careless elegance of her cigarette drags, the way her robe split over where she crossed her legs to reveal the soft skin of her thighs. She seemed solid in a way he deeply envied, a steady contrast to his own flickering identity.

“Thank you,” he said softly before he even thought the words. “Tonight could have been a bad night. But it wasn't. This has been the easiest night since-” he swallowed, stopping the thought there. “I feel… lighter.”

She made a quiet humming noise in response. “I feel the same. You're a nice person to be around, baby.”

He flushed a little at the endearment, a little token of affection she seemed so at ease sharing. She was a forthcoming person, he was noticing - quick to give. Her thoughts, her kindness, her love. It was an interesting counterweight against a scarcity in her home that spoke to solitude and distance. In just the short time he'd known her, she had shown her share of little contradictions. Clearly self-assured, but willing to pretend to be another woman to please a stranger. Clearly loving, but isolated and lonely.

Before he could stop himself, he said, “I'd like to get to know you better.”

The statement was innocent - he truly meant exactly what he said. She was, in many ways, fascinating to him, and solving her was a welcome distraction from trying to solve his own issues. He liked being around her. But her eyes widened and then crinkled sadly.

“I'm not- you're sweet, baby, and you're handsome, too. Your Emily was lucky to have you. But I'm not ready to be anyone's love anytime soon. And I don’t think you're ready for that either.”

He shook his head. “Oh! No, I didn’t mean- no, I'm not ready for anything like that, I'm- I just meant… I don’t have many friends, or at least friends who didn't know her. And you said at the bar you were lonely too, and I just thought- I'd like to be your friend. If that's okay with you.”

She looked at him for a while, as if trying to find a double meaning behind his irises. Then, wonderfully, she nodded, her lips quirking up at the edges. “I'd like that, baby. Let’s be friends.”

He felt a strange sense of gratefulness bubble in his chest. This could be something good, even if it came from something bad. He held out a hand to shake. “Friends.”

She shook it with a little laugh. “Friends.”

Trying his luck, he added, “And if friends involves doing,” he gestured back towards the bedroom, “that, I wouldn't complain.”

She raised her eyebrows and ashed her cigarette. “Give me a second to brush my teeth and we can demo it, try out our new friendship arrangement?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes. Please. In the name of trial and error, I think we should definitely do that.”

She stood and leaned over to kiss him gently on the forehead. “Wait for me in the bedroom, baby. We've got some friendship to do.”

He watched her go inside. her robe swaying softly with her movements. Emily was quiet in his head, but the silence didn't feel reproachful. He allowed the grief to take hold of him for a second.

And then he followed the perfect stranger inside.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #emily prentiss/spencer reid #spemily

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trashytracktales · 2 days ago

Text

Fade to nothing | CL¹⁶

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

none of my works are available for reposting on other platforms.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── Maybe the summer break on the French Riviera fried their brain cells, because they've finally decided to simply not care anymore if someone sees them together. But when she catches the wrong stares, she starts spiraling. Now, Charles has to switch her focus back on him.

𐙚 pairing ──── Charles Leclerc x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, secret relationship going public, fluff & smut, overusing French terms of endearment, descriptive language, mature/sexual content, unprotected sex, swearing, established relationship, lots of teasing, reader dealing with insecurities.

𐙚 word count ──── 5.5k

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 10, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Foaming at the mouth, because I find it so very offensive that I don't have my own personal Charles Leclerc. Anyway 😤. As Daniel Ricciardo said, enjoy the filth. Wait, no. That's me 🤍🎀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THEIR DAY ON the French Riviera begun in a golden haze. Hand in hand, they strolled through picturesque streets, enjoying every moment together. In public. For the first time.

They walked across the town like they were the only two people left on Earth, passing by quiet art galleries and stylish boutiques. For the most part, all she focused on was the pure excitement of being with him, holding his hand had, taking pictures and making memories. But as the day went on, her awareness of the curious looks she caught grew stronger.

The sun is now slowly setting, painting the horizon in a warm orange glow just as they return to Charles' boat. As though nothing could possibly bother them here, Charles puts his arm around her and guides her on board. Then, he offers her a gentle smile, his gaze full of warmth while telling her he's heading over to make some drinks.

The girl watches him for a moment, allowing herself to take in the serene comfort he exudes, and wishing she could absorb even a small portion of it. She always feels it when she looks at him, and this time around, nothing is different. On the contrary, somehow, it's as if everything she feels for him comes together in a tiny, small point, a singularity so powerful that it makes her feelings collapse on top of each other.

She rushes to the cabin to change, but her hands start to shake halfway through, and she can feel the doubts weighing her down. She keeps thinking about the subtle judgment she saw in their eyes, which serves as a reminder that many people might believe they jumped into this too soon and that she is only a fling — a stand-in for his previous relationship.

Even though she tries to push the thought away, the sadness comes too quickly, and tears start to well up in her eyes. Suddenly, she feels small, so out of place, as though she’s a visitor in his life rather than someone who belongs beside him.

Which sucks, because she really, really likes him.

She was always confident; she thinks that was one of the reasons why Charles noticed her in the first place. But now, it is as if all her confidence has evaporated under the gaze of some random people she doesn't even know.

They both agreed to keep the relationship a secret in the beginning, just as they both agreed that today they won’t care if anyone sees them. They've stayed hidden from the world for far too long, but now she wonders if they should have waited just a little bit longer because, all of a sudden, she starts feeling too unprepared for the wave that is about to hit, which sends her spiraling.

Because it takes her too long to return, Charles comes to check on her, finding her in the cabin, sitting on the edge of the bed, half naked and clutching one of his shirts to her chest. Usually, he's not the type to intrude, but the soft sound of her quiet sobs fills the small room, piercing through him like a sharp, unexpected ache.

Without a second thought, Charles sprints over, kneeling down in front of her, his gaze steady, filled with raw concern, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She feels his hand on her thigh, which brings her back to the present moment, way too fast. Her breath is slightly shaky while her hands try to instinctively pull away from his gentle grip to wipe her cheeks, in order to hide any trace of her tears.

Looking down at him, she manages to let out a choked word that holds so much weight for her right now, “Us.”

“Us?” Charles raises an eyebrow. “What about us, mon cœur?”

She smiles, pressing the shirt closer to her chest, wiping the tears again with the back of her hand.

“I want you to have it all,” she admits, “And I'm starting to think that, maybe, I won't be able to give you what you need.”

He wants to immediately deny her statement, because in the four months they've been together, she gave him everything and more.

“What? What do you think you don't give me?” he asks, taking the same hand she wiped her tears in his palm.

She shrugs, “I just think… I sometimes think you deserve better.”

Better. The idea twists in his mind, disbelief and frustration tightening around his heart like a claw. He lets out a small scoff — not to mock her, but because it's hard for him to believe that she's doesn't think she's enough for him. It breaks his heart, because she cannot be further away from the truth.

“Where is this coming from?” asks Charles in a quiet, but firm tone.

She shakes her head, wishing she would've never opened her big mouth, “I was just thinking,” the girl repeats, letting out a dry chuckle. “It's nothing, really.”

Charles’ eyes travel across her face, taking in every micro expression, “You're crying, mon amour, so it's not nothing. Where is this coming from?” he asks again, “How much ‘better’ do you think I deserve?”

Her fingers start fidgeting in his grasp, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, “Everyone loves you, especially your fans. You deserve someone who matches that, someone who belongs in your world, without feeling so small next to you.” She pauses for a moment, the words weighing her down, “I saw people staring today,” she explains, “I know we’ve both agreed to not care about what they think or if someone gives a fuck about seeing us together, but I realized how out of place I must look beside you. That’s all.”

Charles needs superhuman powers to ignore the frustration that’s slowly creeping around his shoulders. His eyes are intent, fixed on her, desperate for her to see what he does. He knows that her feelings are valid and very real to her, but that doesn't mean that they tell her the whole truth. At the same time, he doesn't want to make it worse by explaining why people's opinions shouldn't affect her the way they do. Instead, he gently grabs her hips, pulling her down to sit on his lap, so she's now straddling him, their faces inches apart.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice low, “You see me, beyond everything everyone else sees, and that’s why you are more than enough. You are the realest thing that has ever happened to me, do you understand? You're not just a phase, and I'm so sorry I didn't show you enough how important you are to me. Because you are, bébé.”

She bites her tongue in order to stop herself from contradicting her boyfriend. Deep down, she knows she’s flawed in ways she can’t easily mend, no matter how much Charles wants to reassure her. A part of her wants to believe him, but even now, wrapped in his warmth, she knows the doubts will find their way back.

Charles’ hands drop on her waist, resting there while holding her close on his lap. He feels her doubt, understanding that she's struggling with more than what she lets him to see — another dagger to his heart.

“I'm with you, love,” he adds, rubbing his thumbs in small circles on her bare skin, “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Not if I have any say in it, is that clear?”

His voice sounds far too bossy, which makes her flinch a little, recognizing too late that he is far too blunt for the situation they both find themselves in.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“No, don't apologize,” Charles rushes to say, pressing her head against his chest. “I’m glad you told me, but I want you to care about what I say, and not what people might say.”

He envelops her completely in his arms, and it’s like he’s just now realizing how small she feels against him, her body fitting perfectly against his. She feels that, too — the warmth and steadiness of his arms around her, the way he grounds her, making her feel safe.

“I never doubted you, you know,” she clarifies, “I was just thinking that, if I can't handle pressure, I don't think we should…”

He tightens his grip around her waist, refusing to let her finish her thought, his heart screaming in agony as she tries to move away. “Don’t go there, please,” he almost implores her.

“Why not?” she whispers.

“Because it’s not the case, I promise.”

“But—”

“Because you'd be so wrong. Because I love you,” he continues, as if it's the most casual thing ever. Like it is as obvious as tomorrow. As easy as breathing. As automatic as blinking. As if it's not the first time he ever says it to her face.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The words are ricocheting against her skull like he just put a spell on her. Of course Charles loves her. He showed her this through every little gesture along the way, and she knows he means it, because for the first time since they got back, she realizes she doesn’t want to run from this, from him.

She was so blind, but the next time she looks at him, her fingers tracing his cheek, she simply knows. Charles lets out a small sigh, leaning into her touch, then taking her hand back in his, pressing a gentle kiss on top of her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Tell me you see it,” says Charles, exhaling a heavy breath.

His gesture makes her feel warm inside, “See what?”

“That you are everything to me,” he answers softly, caressing her hand with his thumb. “That I want you exactly as you are.”

For a moment, understanding dawns in her eyes — the realization that they are real, in spite of what she might think — like a light that is breaking through the doubts that had clouded her mind for so long.

“You are mine and I am yours, and I won't have it any other way.”

She exhales slowly, nodding in his direction. Even though he's able to see the relief washing over her face, he still needs a confirmation, so he can anchor himself to it.

“Say you understand.”

“I understand,” she parrots, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.

He sees the hesitation, closing his eyes for a moment. “You understand, but you don't believe me,” Charles concludes, his voice full of wonder. He sucks in a breath while freeing her lip, brushing his thumb against it. His eyes lock on hers, “You really think there is someone else out there who makes me feel the way you do, hm? Who else is going to be this responsive, baby?”

To show her what he means by that, he pushes his thumb inside her mouth, Charles' soft voice sending shivers down her spine. She opens up more, instantly, gazing back at him, realizing how right he is. Meanwhile, Charles is slowly pushing his thumb further, watching her lips closing around it.

His mouth curls up into a smile, “That's it, mon amour. Oui, see that? I don't think there is anyone else out there who can be this good for me, so eager to submit to everything I do,” he laughs, “Hell, I don't even have to tell you what to do, you just know, baby.”

She closes her eyes for a split second, sucking on Charles’ thumb, her hands gripping tightly on his forearm. It makes him feel in control more than usual, which awakens something primal in him. He ends up caressing the side of her face with his fingers as he pushes his thumb deeper, pulling it out with a soft pop, before shoving it back in.

“So fucking good for me, and you think I deserve better? What’s better than this, mon cœur?”

As a response, she moans slowly around his deliberate, slow movement. He finds it so satisfying to see how easily she listens, understanding exactly what she needs from him in return — patience, kindness, reassurance, and trust.

Charles pumps his thumb one more time before pulling out, using it to leave a wet trace down her neck. His hand tightens around it for a brief moment, bringing her back to him. She opens her eyes, still under the spell he put on her earlier with just three little words. Her eyes are dark as she looks up at him through her eyelashes, the desire in her eyes sparking like fireworks.

“You need this, don't you?” he asks curiously.

She nods, which makes Charles smirk. It’s easy to notice the subtle shift in her energy — the way she presses her body closer to his, and the way her breathing deepens. Charles sees the vulnerability in the way she looks at him, but he knows is different now; she’s not hesitating anymore.

Something flickers inside of him as her hand lightly but purposefully caresses his chest; she wants him to take the lead. She isn't seeking power or domination, but asking him to guide them both through this. And Charles understands she’s giving him the space to be the one to move them forward, because this is more than just a physical need. It's about how she decides, here and now, that she trusts him completely.

They stand inches apart, the air between them heated and taut with silent yearning. Every part of their bodies is tuned to each other in a way that feels so delicate yet urgent, and Charles can feel her heartbeat synchronize with his, both of them pounding in anticipation. Her lips are slightly parted as her eyes glide up to his, a silent invitation he cannot refuse. The outside world seems so far away, as if all that remains is this common understanding that neither of them is willing to let go of.

The kiss begins shyly and slowly. At first, his lips are gentle against hers, a slight touch that seems to carry the weight of all they have been resisting. She reacts swiftly, her hand slipping into his hair, drawing him in and intensifying the kiss.

Then everything changes — the pressure grows desperate, almost vital as the intensity increases. She melts into him, pressing every inch of her body against his as if she can't get close enough. It drives him wild, forcing him to tighten his grip on her.

Slowly but surely, their make out session turns into a silent cry for something more profound, as her fingers tighten in his hair to pull him closer. Their chests heave and their foreheads rest against one another until they eventually split apart, panting for one more breath of air.

“Forgive me, mon amour,” says Charles, trying his hardest to regain his composure.

“Forgive you?”

“Because I made you doubt us. Doubt me, and how I feel about you,” he clarifies, breathing wetly above her skin. “Will you let me show you how sure I am about this?”

She nods again, smiling, her hands still resting on his chest.

He gets up to lay her carefully on the bed, positioning himself between her legs as he unbuttons his white shirt. Meanwhile, Charles’ eyes glide over her bare chest and the way her wavy hair spills over the pillows, making her look like an angel.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers as he leans over to kiss her neck, then going further down, sucking bruises all over her chest on his way to her stomach, claiming his girl with every flick of his tongue against her skin. He cups her breast in his palm, squeezing her enough to feel him all over her body, his lips reaching over her panties. “In case I wasn't dead fucking clear already,” Charles adds softly, almost like a promise, hooking his fingers on the lace material before pulling it down her legs, “I only want us. Like this. Always.”

She moans softly, anticipating his fingers to send her to another realm, far from any doubt. And her world does, indeed, change completely the moment she feels his tongue at her entrance instead. So hot and soft and warm against her, that her fingers curl instantly into his hair while his tongue slips between her folds, as if that is its rightful home.

“Charles,” his name comes out of her mouth in the form of a whine, sending little jolts towards his already hardened cock.

“Putain,” he chokes out, raising his head to look at her, “Nobody tastes like you do, baby. So sweet and wet for me.”

“Charles,” she whines again, her chest rising and falling with burning intensity. “Please…”

“Patience, bébé,” Charles chuckles, his voice vibrating hotly above her, “Let me worship you, so you won’t question me ever again, yes?”

He would have heard her agreeing with him, if Charles hadn't slipped his hands under her until his palms gripped her ass to pull her closer to his mouth. As a result, he hears her moan louder than before, smiling as he connects his lips back on her pussy, sucking on her clit with a newfound thirst.

His grip on her is so strong that even if she wants to push her hips further, she can't move an inch. Which drives her crazy, because his tongue works her with such frivolous movements, bringing her so close to the edge, but she still needs more.

“Baby,” she moans painfully, getting too agitated that it makes her get up, proppting herself on her elbows to watch him. “Fuck, Charles,” she adds, admiring how beautiful he looks between her legs, lapping at her with one goal in mind.

She tries to rock her hips back against the pressure again, which just reminds Charles of how good he makes her feel. The thought drives him mad and, even though it’s all about her right now, he can’t stop fucking his hips down so he can rub his aching cock against the bed, searching for any sort of friction.

“I feel you, baby. Don’t hold back,” says Charles, his voice sounding muffled between her legs.

His tongue is enough to make her come all over his face, he knows that, but he can't deprive her of his fingers when she needs him the most. So, he uses his hand to split her further under his mouth, making sure he touches her sweet spot again and again. And again, until a wave of pleasure hits her like a tsunami, shaking her to the core as she cums involuntarily. She tries to pull him out of her legs, because she knows how messy it gets when she comes that hard, but Charles drops his mouth back on her, driving her through her orgasm as his tongue finally stops at her entrance to catch the rest of her release. Then, he swallows her sweetness, letting his forehead drop on her thigh.

Their breathing is the only thing that can be heard in the entire cabin for a while, her palm resting on his cheek to caress him gently as they both recover slowly.

“So fucking hot, mon cœur.”

She sighs, still too sensitive from the pleasure that reverberates throughout her body, “Come up here,” says the girl, patting Charles’ head.

He pushes himself up, still half dressed and very much hard in his boxers. Charles lays his weight on her, exhausted, like he's came ten times by now. Gently, he rests his head on her chest while her arm wraps around him and his palm curves around her breast, pinching her nipple lazily between his fingers.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, enjoying the way she gets covered in goosebumps under his breath. “So perfect and so mine.”

She can't say anything to him without her voice shaking, so she gently grabs his chin, bringing Charles on top of her to kiss him. She feels her own taste as their tongues collide, causing her to moan softly into his mouth. Even if this kiss is much, much tamed than the previous one, just the thought that he was between her legs makes her pussy tighten, as if she's been set on fire from the inside out.

“Can I return the favor?” she finally asks in a breathy voice once their lips part.

Charles hums at the mental image of her mouth around his cock, but decides to push the thought deep into his mind, “Who said I’m done with you, mon amour?”

Charles' hand travels to her pussy once again, his middle finger gliding lightly over her wetness. Her eyes close in pleasure, while her arms wrap around his neck, before she realizes what he's actually doing. Her eyes snap at him as he reaches the letter 'R', Charles grinning proudly from above her.

Their faces are so close she can see the twinkle in his eyes, and their breaths blend together in a sweet warmth.

She laughs, “Did you just spell your name on my clit?”

His expression instantly lights up when he hears her. “Planned to do it with my tongue, but I didn't expect you to come that hard,” he admits, joining her in laughter.

She blushes at his statement, remembering how true it is. It's impossible for Charles not to notice that, but he loves it when her cheeks and chest become so rosy as a result. He also loves the sounds she makes when she's turned on, so he's not wasting any more time before teasing her wet entrance with his finger, pumping it slowly, until he feels her clenching around it. Just to make her forget the shyness, of course.

His flemish gaze sweeps over her entire body and, seeing her so vulnerable and willing beneath him, makes him want to run his tongue over every inch of her, to cover her in kisses and love marks until it's too much, so that he can come all over her pretty nipples just at the sight of her.

“Fuck, if you could see yourself right now,” says Charles, exhaling sharply. “You make me lose my mind, you know that? I almost forgot I still have to show you how mine you are. You want that, baby, don't you?”

“Yes,” she returns to whining, because apparently that's all she knows recently.

And she does it again, when his fingers pull out of her way too soon for her liking. She follows Charles, getting rid — fucking finally — of his shorts and boxers with a quick movement, poising himself again in his place, right between her legs.

She swallows hard at the sight of him, her mouth drying up in record time. She remembers the first time she saw Charles naked and how it didn't even occur to her that they would even fit. Of course, he made it work, because that's what a man with a huge cock does — it makes it fit.

The girl follows Charles as he wraps his dominant hand around the base, then runs his hand along its length, massaging the tip to spread the pre-cum. He made her feel so good, she didn't even take into consideration how torturous it must have been for him. But the little hums he lets out as he positions himself at her entrance are enough of a signal for her to push her hips against him.

Unfortunately, the man meant every word when he said he wasn't done, so he won't simply let her have it, just because she’s so willing to take him. She has to understand, once and for all, that this is it — she is it for him.

Slowly, Charles taps the head of his cock at her entrance, teasing mercilessly. It's almost like a punishment for thinking so low of herself, for doubting him, his feelings for her and what they've built together so far.

A lot can change in four months, especially feelings.

He lets out a shaky breath as he parts her folds with his tip, but instead of pushing inside, he fucks his cock up between the lips of her cunt. Once. Twice. Three times, until he's leaking on her clit, coated in her wetness. It is a sinful feeling that makes them both moan in unison, an ecstatic duet between two souls who found each other at the right time, no matter what people would say about it.

Fuck people. All of them.

She throbs against him, the feeling of skin on skin settings her atoms on fire. His hardness feels so good between her folds that she needs to anchor herself to something, and the sheets are far too fragile for her grip.

“Yeah, you feel that, ma vie?” asks Charles rhetorically when he sees her losing herself. “Of course you do. The question is, did you feel it before?”

“Charles…” she whimpers, pushing her hips against his length in order to find the sweet friction she craves. “Need you. Please.”

Her eyes are watering as she feels the knot in her stomach, waiting for a release that seems so far away — he’s not even inside, fuck's sake.

“So pretty,” hums Charles, ignoring her pleading. “You're gonna look so pretty taking me, ma belle. You always do.”

She raises her head only to let her eyes wander down Charles’ body, from his flushed face to his toned abs, down to where his cock rests hardened between her pussy lips. His eyes are locked on where they're making contact, the image so intimate and powerful it makes him want to scream. She realizes that this is a punishment for him as much as it is for her, but he enjoys it more since he's the one in charge.

She gasps in surprise when Charles grabs her thighs, her head falling back down on the pillows. He pulls her closer as he leans over to seal his lips with hers, having no intent to be soft this time, the passion that burns between them pushing him so close to the edge.

Charles’ tongue tastes her in a rush as he pushes forward, his cock pressing deliciously on her clit, making her break the kiss with a pathetic whine.

So predictable.

“Can you, please, fuck me already?” she says, frustration evident in every word she utters.

Her pleas are so close to get him, wanting nothing more than to bury himself so deep inside her, until he feels her coming on his cock all over again. But Charles groans loudly, hovering above her chest to take one of her nipples in his mouth, biting her gently.

At that, her frustration only grows bigger, forcing her back to arch against him.

“Charles,” her tone is demanding now, motivated to make him understand she's done playing.

“Don't worry, I’ll fuck you so good, baby. Turn over for me,” he replies, anticipation tugging at the edge of his patience.

She does as instructed without saying another word, feeling his hands grabbing at her waist to pull her against him. Then, Charles pushes his palm gently between her shoulder blades until her face is buried between the silky pillows. She lets a muffled moan while his knees are pressing down into the mattress on either side of her thighs, his cock resting hard against her ass.

“Did I mention how pretty you are?” he asks, not expecting an answer in return, while he finally guides himself toward her needy cunt. He pushes in, slowly at first. Deliberate and calculated, as if their initial contact is meant to gather as much data as possible, so he can choose the perfect setup for what's about to come — the position, the angle, the pace. “Such a pretty girl,” he adds with a tamed moan, “Opening right up for me. Every single time, baby. Taking me so well.”

She tries to get up by doing a weak push-up, but her head drops heavy between her shoulders as she fucks back against Charles' length, the pleasure overwhelming her.

The feeling of having him like this makes her squeal, failing to find a single thing worth more in this world than Charles thrusting from behind.

“Oui, have my cock, baby, like that,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss on her shoulder, managing to hit her deeper from this angle.

Charles' touch is still gentle, though, like he's testing the grip, desperately wanting to find the perfect balance as he eases into a rhythm made just for them. He takes every gasp and every shiver of her body as signals, relearning what makes her pulse race and using everything in their favor.

She turns her head to the side when Charles leans over to clasp the edge of the mattress, his knuckles whitening with the force he's putting into it. The veins on the back of his hand look like they're about to pop at any moment, bulging from his skin and snaking up his forearm, finally out of her view as they reach his elbow.

He's so hot and she is so turned on that she could come again just by looking at his arms.

Charles' pace begins to build, the intensity in his breathing growing more labored with every thrust of his hips. Each one is bolder than the last one, like he's reaching the apex of a corner, pressing into her just enough to feel the thrill without losing control. As a response to his movements, she starts breathing in short spasms, the world around them becoming a blur.

“That's it, bébé. You're so fucking good for me, I'm not… fuck,” his voice almost gives out, feeling how close he is to cum from fucking her like this, so he decides to pull out completely in order to prolong the feeling.

Charles learned from an early age that every race is unpredictable, so he has to adapt to any condition.

It makes her cry at the emptiness, her pussy clenching wetly around nothing while he looks down, curious too see how bad she needs him.

Her head falls back between the pillows for the hundred time, too exhausted to scold Charles any more. So, she guides her hand between her legs, firmly massaging her clit, feeling her thighs start to shake. However, the pressure is not nearly as good, which makes Charles chuckle at her weak attempts.

Patiently, he grabs both of her wrists to keep them pinned to her lower back as he uses his free hand to rub the head of his cock against her throbbing hole.

“Chaaarles,” she whines loudly, pressing her cheek deeper into the silky fabric under her, mind too numb to protest further more.

He buries himself back in with a strong thrust, making her gasp at the fullness. Somehow, it feels so much better than before, her body so sensitive in all the places they make contact.

With every shift in pressure and pace, Charles reads her reactions as if they are telemetry data on his steering wheel.

“Please don't... Don't stop again, please,” she lets out another cry, feeling her walls clenching so sweetly around him. “You feel so good, fuck, I… I'm so close.”

He knows that. That's why he stopped in the first place. But now he's ready to give her exactly what she needs, freeing her wrists as he watch them fall next to her body as if they're lifeless. Charles then grabs her waist with both hands, thrusting into her so hard that the sound of their bodies slapping together drowns out both of their moans.

“Want to fuck you for the rest of my life, amour. Please, let me fuck you for the rest of my life,” he implores, panting aggressively.

“Oh, yes,” she agrees, squeezing her eyes in pleasure.

Charles pulls out again, making her grunt at the loss. But before she gets the chance to protest, he flips her over, shoving his cock back in while searching for her eyes, a smug smile hanging from the corner of his mouth.

She moans in relief, pulling him closer, wrapping her hands around his neck to bury her fingers in his messy hair.

“I almost started barking at you,” she admits, rolling her hips with his.

“I know, baby. Just wanted to see your face,” he explains, finding his pace once more.

“Oh, yes. Yes, feels so good,” she begins to moan uncontrollably under his weight, just as Charles leans down to rest his forehead against hers.

“I know, I know. I've got you, my love,” he kisses her again but it doesn't last this time.

Their mouths remain parted, breathing heavily against each other as she comes around his cock, gazing into each other's eyes as if they could see what shape their soul have. Seeing her face changing in pleasure, makes Charles fucking into her faster, following so closely after her.

His moans sound so melodious in her ears while he rides their orgasms, that she starts believing honey is dripping from his lips, because he cannot be real.

Charles is about to pull out when she stops him with a hand on his lower back.

“I only want us, too. Like this. Always,” she repeats his words from earlier, more determined than ever. “And I think I love you a tiny bit more,” she continues, running her hand up his spine. “That's why I was so scared.”

Charles shivers under her gentle touch, “You still scared?”

“Terrified,” she replies, giggling, pulling him in to capture his lips in a loving kiss.

The kind that makes the rest of the world fade to nothing.

thank you for reading!

reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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