#this is more casual than usually it would be but that's the way of things

[simpjaes]

PERVERT. ― P.JS 

Requested by anonymous via tumblr: dilf jay and his daughter’s best friend. Or the one where Jay is slightly obsessed with his daughter’s best friend.

minors do not interact. 

WORDCOUNT― 2.8k

PAIRING ― dad/weirdo ! jay x afab reader

CONTENT―  jay is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s

WARNINGS ― age gap, somnophilia, dubious consent (due to somno), unprotected sex, dom jay, pocket pussies and masturbation Support me on patreon if you'd like!

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Being called a creep or a pervert would have felt much more uncomfortable in any other situation, but it’s different right now because Jay is being a creep. A pervert, chubbing up in his pants solely because you’re trying to fuck with him again. He loves that playful tone of your voice when you call him that too, all while bending over in front of him without your panties on, fucking presenting yourself to him, then mocking him for looking. 

It’s very different. You’re very different compared to the previous times you’ve been here. 

He groans to himself as he remembers it. Lying alone in his bed now like he couldn’t have bent you flat over his coffee table not two hours ago. He could have done it, genuinely, you’d not have fought him on it while parading yourself around like that. 

And it’s true that he always loved it when his daughter would bring her friends home from campus for a Holiday. Not for the reasons he loves it now, but still. It was always a different excuse for all the faces he’s met. Family is too busy, home life isn’t great, their family is too strict. Whatever. You come alongside his daughter often under the sad truth that you simply have no one to go home to. You’re alone and in need of some care. So, you come here, to Jay’s home, clearly acting like you’re more interested in his daughter than you are him.

Three times now you’ve come for the holidays and summer, trotting through that front door as if you always belonged here from the start. The first time was the only visit where Jay was casual towards you, somewhat of a father figure even. 

He still remembers what you did at the end of that visit too. You had already been living in his house with his daughter for a month and a half by that point, only a week or two left before going back to your shitty little dorm rooms on campus for the Fall semester. His daughter was at her usual summer job that night, and you were fucking yourself openly on his living room couch. 

You had feigned embarrassment, despite knowing when Jay comes home from work. He saw that shine in your eye though, the way you tried to hold back a smile at the way he looked directly at what your hand was doing, unable to tear his eyes away until you jumped up and apologized, smelling like the alcohol in his cabinet. The week following that should have been awkward too. But it wasn’t. 

Solely because you found reasons to flaunt yourself from that point forward. Something clicked in Jay’s head. Lust, need, curiosity. And he thinks it clicked in your head too, because goddamn did you have nothing to hide at that point. 

And still, even now, he remembers the exact spot on the couch where you had dripped all over it. So many lonely nights after that he found himself on his knees in front of it, nose planted right in that spot and trying to inhale some remnant of how wet you were that day. 

The second time you appeared at his house, he had very nearly forgotten you. He can only get off so many times against his couch, after all, other things were more exciting after so many weeks had passed. He was outside on his porch hanging up christmas lights when he saw you getting out of his daughter’s car. Instantly his cock throbbed, nearly throwing him off the short ladder and onto the ground into a horny mess of man. 

His daughter was there though, and he had to keep that under wraps. Quickly, he had tucked his cock and allowed the loving hug, promising a dinner of shitty food and horrible B movies to both of you before continuing his duty of, well, being a fucking dad to his daughter before being a creep to you.

That visit went well, you were actually quite distracted with his daughter and he was thankful for that, however, the day you left to start spring break was the day you reminded him that you’re…interested. Maybe.

Your daughter had already packed her belongings and gifts up in her car, and you hung around behind, feeling the electricity in the air as always when it’s just you and Jay in the room. Always wondering if he’ll say something or look for too long. You lingered, glancing at him shyly as if he knew, as if he could feel it too. But he still said nothing.

You huffed, hearing the horn outside blare as if to tell you to hurry it up. Staying too long here wouldn’t necessarily alert your best friend of anything weird going on, but there would be questions. So, you hurried it up, reaching into your bag and practically throwing a wrapped box at Jay. 

He quirked a brow, looking at you under half-hooded eyes.

“Christmas was five days ago.” He said to you, almost like a question. “I know.” You had very quickly responded before practically sprinting out the door out of fear of what he’d think. Truly, you couldn’t face him opening it in front of you. 

And Jay stared at that item for about two minutes before fucking it. All night. All day. Practically locked in his room, solidifying that you, his daughter’s best friend, provided a pussy for him. 

All of that circles back to now, still lying in his bed alone after you had let him steal a glance of your pussy openly for the first time. Your third time in his home, this time for much longer than your last winter break.  He’s gotta do something about this. ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・  The good news: your best friend left for work an hour ago.

The great news: Jay hasn’t stopped looking at you.

At first, this was scary for you. You recall the night you snuck into the liquor and had a few too many sips, wondering what would happen if Mr. Park saw you doing something scandalous. You’d thought he was hot upon meeting him, all dressed up in his business attire the day you first came here. That crush deepened the second you saw him fresh out of a shower not thirty minutes later, whipping around the kitchen to cook a meal for you and your best friend as if he hadn’t worked for nine hours already.

Something about him was just so unbearably sexy, and when he looked between your legs that day…you knew. 

And you wanted to be sexy for him too. Thankfully, you definitely are. 

The two of you are alone now, but in separate rooms. You can hear him moving around in the kitchen, washing the dishes he had used to throw together a quick breakfast, and you’re sinking into the couch wondering if he’ll ever bring up the pocket pussy you so graciously, and bravely, bought for him last christmas. 

But it stays silent between the two of you, regardless of how loud the eye contact is when you pass each other, or he finds himself in the same room as you.

One hour, two hours, three hours. 

Time is passing too quickly when you’re aware of someone in the room that you want. When you need them to fucking say something at this point because you’ve done your part. 

Who cares if you want to fuck your best friend’s dad before she gets home from work anyway? She’ll never find out. And even if she did, you’re an adult. 

“Mr. Park–” You mumble as he walks through the living room again, seemingly busy with yet another task. 

“Hm?”

“Did you fuck that toy I got for you?” You didn’t have to work up the courage to ask him, the way he acts around you is enough to know. 

Yet, still, he freezes in place as if he’s got a spotlight on him and newspapers being printed this very second at the mere truth of it all. 

“What–” He pauses, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he prepares to lie. “What are you talking about?” 

You lift from the couch, peeking over the back of it and narrowing your eyes at him.

“You threw it away?” 

Still, he’s frozen.

“Of course I did.” He lies again, but he sees that disappointed look in your face to not know of how often he fucks it. Thinking of you, no less. “Funny gag gift, but there was no need.”

There was no need? What? Like, he gets around? He fucks around? Other people? 

“Oh–” You start, but quickly cut yourself off to lie. “Yeah, it was a gag gift anyway. Thought you’d laugh.” 

And it’s the way both of you pretend you didn’t just ask him so blatantly if he’s fucked it. A gag gift? Bullshit. You’re so fucking bad at lying it almost makes Jay want to punish you for trying to dumbly. Fucking yourself on his couch, presenting your cunt to him, gifting him something to shove his cock up into. A gag gift.

Right. 

Yet still, he pretends to be normal. Acts like he’s not interested just to see if you keep trying. The funniest part is you both fucking know what you’re doing. Doesn’t change the fact that your best friend comes home and Jay continues to act like nothing has ever happened. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Disappointed sits in your gut as you cuddle under the blankets, feeling the cold fabric grow warm against your skin. This guest room has its charms but you can imagine the only action it’s ever seen has been you under these very same blankets, time and time again, plunging your fingers in and out of yourself with silent moans bitten into a pillow. 

You roll your eyes, not wanting to give Jay another ounce of your lust for embarrassing you like that today. Surely he’s used the toy, right? He’s a man, whether he actually wants you or not, he wouldn’t throw away a toy that only offers pleasure, right?

Maybe that’s all it is, too. Jay being a man. Anyone would look for too long if they’ve seen you fuck yourself. Anyone would stare at your pussy if you put it in front of their face. 

You’re being too confident. In fact, you’re probably just making him uncomfortable at this point. And here you are probably reading an awkward atmosphere for one suffocated by lust and pining. How…fucking embarrassing.

And, so, you count your sheep. 1, 2, 3, 100, 200, 300, 1023, 1024, 1025– and finally, sleep overtakes you.

A heavy sleep, one deep enough to not hear the click of your door or the quiet, socked feet making their way to your temporary bed. In fact, you do feel the bed dip beside you, and in your sleepy haze all you can do is mumble out to your best friend, Jay’s daughter, “Fuck off to your own room.”

There’s a pause, allowing you to fall right back into your deep sleep.

Honestly, if it weren’t for those words, Jay would have already had his hands on you. But he holds himself back, one knee on your bed and head hanging as he looks down at you. Peaceful when you sleep, no mocking or cheeky look in your eyes solely because they’re closed. 

He holds his breath, thinking about all that’s happened. This is okay, right? For him to sneak past his daughter’s room just to get to you at nearly four in the morning? This isn’t weird. 

It’s not. He already knows you want it, and using that toy tonight just…wasn’t doing it for him anymore. He wants the real thing. 

Jay hypes himself, over and over again as he stares down at you, lifting a hand slowly to tug at the blankets. Gently, so softly pulling it down past your waist. He holds his breath at your skewed tank top, allowing a view of your plump tits squished together from the weight of your arm. 

A side sleeper, forcing the curves of your body to be blatant even under the blankets. He stares more, more, more, not yet touching but now continuing to pull the blanket off of you entirely. 

Ah, shorts. Those fucking shorts. The ones that show the curve of your ass when you walk around the house. The ones he’s thought twice about, three times, four times about. Wondering what they’d feel like crumpled in his hands, tearing them off of you. 

And god, his cock is aching. Leaking in his sweatpants, dampening the front of them as he finally leans down, face just inches from your chest as he allows his hand to land on your hip. 

Slowly, he caresses down your body with one hand, and holds himself up with the other. He can smell your lotion on your skin here, so close to your tits. He leans closer, now tucking his hands between your legs, rubbing even more gently at your thighs. And then, he leans back.

All the way up, unsure of what to do, what to touch first, if he should wake you, or if he should just fuck off and pretend yet again that this happened. His hand goes from your inner thighs to your stomach, toying with the hem of your tank top before he reaches the neck line. Right there, he pulls more gently than he did the blankets. 

Hoping, praying he can see.

And see, he does. He effectively pulls your tank top enough to allow one of your nipples to pop out, slowly erecting at the sudden coolness against it, and instantly he’s playing with it. Soft pads of his fingers very lightly touching the tip of your nipple, rubbing little circles before glancing down your body when you shift.

There’s a little sound out of your mouth at this point, something that is similar enough to a moan that lets him utilize his other hand now for more than just holding himself up. He runs it right back to your thighs, both touches barely ghosting against your skin until his hips start to fuck forward on instinct. 

You. Gifted. Him. A. Pussy. 

It’s hard for him though, to stop what he’s doing just to grab at your hand and bump it closer to him, all so he can rest his cock in it. So, he doesn’t, not yet at least. He continues his play like this for now, moving the hand on your thighs up slightly, until you shift again in your sleep and roll onto you back.

There, he readjusts, watching the way your sleepy legs spread open and the way your tit remains exposed for him to keep massaging. His hand intentionally moves to your clothed pussy now though, hoping you’ve gotten wet in your slip.

And you have, apparently, because he can fucking feel it on the tips of his fingers. That’s all he wanted. All he needed.

And so, he doesn’t care if you wake up now. Feeling that right against his skin was enough to send him over the edge. No more enjoying it, no more simmering in the delight of touching you. No. 

He pulls back, practically tearing is cock out of his pants and forcing himself between your legs with no care or even consideration. You had half woken up to the commotion, but your eyes shoot open at the ripping feeling of his cock being shoved into you. All the way to his balls. 

He falls over you, both hands cradling your head as he twitches inside of you, pistoning his hips so fast, so aggressively that you can’t even catch your first waking breath. Instantly, your hands shoot around him, clawing at his back as you come back to reality from the realm of dreams. 

Or, is this a dream? A sweet, wet, desperate dream?

“Shh,” Jay hums against your ear, holding your head so tightly against him as his hips move freely, without his full intent, almost animalistic. “Gonna show you–”

He cuts himself off in a moan, feeling your nails dig into his back before your legs, surprisingly, don’t run. No, you wrap them around his waist. Yet, still, you can’t speak. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hope to fucking god you can adjust to him. He’s…so much thicker than you expected.

You can feel every vein when it pulses, the bulbous head pushing past your walls regardless of how much more wet you’ve gotten. Goddamn, what a way to fucking wake up. 

Expectations will never live up to reality, you suppose. Because honestly, you thought you’d be the one on top of him, taking him for all he’s worth, but somehow the way he moves seems better. The blatant taboo nature of this, and how desperate he sounds against your ear. 

Fuck. 

“Show me?” You manage to cry out quietly, feeling the pain slowly fade to nothing but pleasure. 

“How hard I fuck that toy.” He smiles when you finally speak, relishing in the way you grip him all over. From your fingernails to your legs. Even your cunt squeezes him pathetically tight, so fucking tight. 

You moan now, satisfied that he’s a fucking liar. Confident that everything you thought originally was and still is true. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

✧ please support me on patreon !

[verstappenverse]

Just Another Valentine

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Every year you and Lando spend Valentine’s Day together as part of an unspoken tradition, but this year something feels different, something that is impossible for you to ignore.

1.8k words / Masterlist

Valentine’s Day always had a way of making you feel like a spectator in your own life.

The smell of chocolate and overpriced roses was thick in the air, reminding you of the one day of the year you could always count on to make you feel at least a little pathetic.

It wasn’t that you hated it. It was cute in theory, love, grand gestures, all of that. But when you were single, the whole thing felt a bit like a slap in the face. And unfortunately, this year was no different.

But at least you had one constant.

Lando had a habit of making sure neither of you ever spent this day alone. Every year, if you were both single (which, more often than not, you were), he’d take you out, making sure the day didn’t pass unnoticed. It started as a joke years ago and then, it happened again. And again. Until it was basically tradition.

So when your phone lit up that morning with a text from him saying, Pick you up at seven. Wear something nice 😉 you knew exactly what it meant.

And for some reason, you spent the whole day trying not to overthink it.

By the time 7:00 p.m. rolled around you had already changed twice, first into something dressy, then into something a little more casual, only to second-guess yourself and switch again. Which was ridiculous because it was just Lando.

The same Lando who raided your fridge without asking, who stole your blankets during movie nights without a hint of remorse, who had seen you half-asleep and drooling on the couch more times than you cared to admit. The Lando who teased you endlessly, who could read your mood with a single glance. Lando who had seen you at your absolute worst, stressed over exams, hungover from nights you barely remembered, even the times when you’d just been a mess of emotions, and he never once flinched.

So why were your hands shaking a little when you opened the door?

Lando leaned against the frame, dressed in something a little nicer than his usual hoodie and joggers, a fitted black sweater and dark tailored trousers, smelling like something expensive. His signature grin was in place, dimples and all, as his gaze ran over you slowly, eyes darkening slightly, though he covered it with a smirk.

“Damn,” he said, cocking his head. “You really listened to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “You said ‘wear something nice.’ I figured you’d complain if I showed up in pyjamas.”

He put a hand over his heart in mock offense “I would never complain about anything you wore,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your coat. “Yeah, yeah. You want a gold star or something?”

“I’ll take a kiss on the cheek.”

You snorted. “In your dreams Norris.”

“You have no idea.”

You lightly smacked his arm as he led you out. The cool February air nipped at your skin as you got into his car, but it was warm inside, the radio playing quietly.

“So,” you said, glancing over. “What’s the plan?”

“You’ll see.”

Ten minutes later, you were standing in front of a little restaurant you’d never been to before. Intimate, dimly lit, tucked away in a quiet part of town. Fairy lights lined the outdoor seating area, and through the windows, you could see tables set with candles, couples leaning in close over their meals.

The hostess led you to a table by the window, and Lando pulled out your chair, waiting until you sat before taking his own seat across from you. You raised an eyebrow at his oddly formal behavior, but he just smiled, picking up the menu like this was all completely normal.

“You really planned this?” you asked.

Lando leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

You eyed him, tapping the menu. “I don’t know. It’s suspicious.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me how you’re single again?”

You exhaled a laugh, running a finger along the edge of your glass. “Probably the same reason you are.”

HIs expression flickered, something unreadable passing over his face before he leaned back, exhaling through his nose with a laugh.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you asked, “that we’ve spent more Valentine’s Days with each other than with people we’ve actually dated?”

Lando looked up. “Huh. Now that you mention it… yeah.”

You shook your head with a laugh. “Kinda sad, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Or maybe we just have shit taste in partners.”

You hummed, swirling the wine in your glass. “Speak for yourself.”

“Oh, trust me, I am.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it just means we have good taste.”

“In each other?”

“Obviously.” He grinned. “C’mon, like I need an excuse to spend time with you.”

You paused for a second, something warm settling in your stomach.

The two of you had always been like this, flirting without thinking, teasing each other like it was second nature. But tonight, something felt different. The way his eyes lingered longer on you when you spoke. The way his fingers brushed yours when he handed you a drink. The way your knees touched under the table, neither of you moving away.

Then, as the waiter cleared the table, Lando reached under his seat and pulled out an elegantly wrapped box, sliding it across to you.

You blinked at it. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Inside was a Lego Bouquet set, a build-your-own floral arrangement, colorful and intricate.

You let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head. “You got me Lego flowers?”

“They won’t die,” he said, “and we could you know…build them together, it could be fun.”

You bit your lip, warmth spreading through your chest. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said, softer this time. “But I wanted to.”

You ran your fingers over the box, heart pounding a little harder than it should’ve been.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking unsure. “Is it weird?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s… really sweet.”

His lips twitched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You didn’t know why your voice was so quiet.

You let yourself relax as the evening passed, enjoying the food, the conversation, the way Lando somehow always knew how to make you laugh, and by the time dinner was over, the restaurant was starting to empty.

Lando leaned back in his chair, watching you. “So, did I do a good job?”

You smirked. “It was okay.”

He gasped dramatically. “Just okay?”

“Always fishing,” you laughed, nudging his foot under the table. “Fine. It was great. Thanks for making today a little less depressing.”

He scoffed with a laugh. “Wow. That’s the gratitude I get?”

You rolled your eyes but softened. “Alright, alright. You really didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

Lando tilted his head. “Yeah, I did.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your breath catch for a second. But before you could process it, he was standing up and paying the bill.

“C’mon,” he said, holding out a hand. “One more stop.”

You recognised where you were the second he parked up.

“The beach?”

He shrugged, killing the engine. “Yeah.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “In February? You hate the cold.”

He shot you a sideways glance, “I also hate traffic, but that would never stop me from picking you up.”

It was quiet this time of night, the sound of the waves filling the space between you as you walked along the sand. The air was cool, but Lando had given you his jacket somewhere along the way, and you pulled it tighter around yourself.

After a while, he stopped, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looked out at the water.

You stood next to him, stealing a glance at his profile. The soft glow of the city lights reflecting from the water caught the edges of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow.

After a moment, he sighed. “You okay?”

You blinked, glancing over. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

You shrugged, toeing at the sand. “Just thinking.”

Lando hummed. “About?”

And then, without thinking, you said it. “I can’t help but think that this is a little more effort than someone would normally put in for their friend.”

Lando turned to you, eyes searching yours.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then—

“Guess I’m not as subtle as as I thought.”

You swallowed. “Lando—”

“I know,” he cut in, running a hand through his hair. “Bad timing, right? But I just… I don’t know how to keep pretending that I only do things like this because we’re friends.”

Your heart was hammering. “So, all of this—”

“Was me trying to tell you without actually telling you.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost shy.

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling over you.

And then, suddenly, it all made sense.

The way he always put you first. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he showed up, year after year, on this day of all days. The way you never questioned it, because, well, deep down, you had always wanted it.

You took a step closer. “Lando.”

His eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “You really didn’t need all this effort.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you—”

You kissed him before he could finish.

For a second, he froze. Then, his hands found your waist, pulling you in as he kissed you back.

You pulled back. “Say it.”

Lando swallowed, his jaw tightening. “What?”

“Say it,” you repeated, voice softer this time.

His fingers twitched around your waist.

Then, low and rough, “I want you.”

Your stomach flipped.

When you finally pulled back you were both breathing hard, the air between you charged. Lando's hands lingered on your waist, his thumb tracing absent circles against your hip, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

He let out a shaky laugh, exhaling slowly. “Fuck.”

You swallowed, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his sweater. “Yeah.”

His eyes flickered between yours, searching, like he was making sure he hadn’t just imagined it. Then, his lips curved into a smirk, soft, almost disbelieving.

“So… that wasn’t just a ‘thanks for dinner’ kind of kiss, was it?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “No, Lando. It wasn’t.”

His smirk deepened. “Good. Cause I was really gonna struggle pretending otherwise.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

He nudged your chin up with a knuckle. “You’re sure about this?”

You looked at him, really looked at him, the way his eyes held yours, the way his grip on you hadn’t loosened, the way this had always been inevitable.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m sure.”

Lando grinned, eyes bright with something you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before.

“Finally,” he muttered, pulling you in again.

[chaosclover1999]

no but like as some1 who is aromantic tho it's so fucked up how uncomfortable ppl even within the queer community r w this sometimes

like the assumption that romantic relationships r somehow more meaningful than platonic relationships and the idea that if people who hav no romantic feelings for each other hav a sexual or otherwise intimate relationship then that must mean they r using each other, it's legit so aro-phobic and assumes that any relationships i hav that r more authentic 2 me and how i love is somehow lesser and me using the other person and it only seeks to guilt me into either pretending to have romantic attraction and force myself into a comp-romo relationship or 4 me 2 not hav any relationships in my life at all and completely self isolate

tbh it also affects how i talk abt the relationship i do hav, im in a qpr w another man and i love him very much, personally i would feel the most comfortable referring 2 him as my friend since the most accurate way i could describe what we hav is a very deep and intimate friendship (that yes is also sexual sometimes) but when referring 2 him in conversation w most ppl i usually refer 2 him as my "boyfriend" instead of my "friend" since the term boyfriend 2 most ppl is what indicates the level of dedication and love i have for this man whereas most people if i called him my friend would simply not understand how deep my feelings for him go and would be thinking of something far more casual than how i actually feel about him (not that there's anything wrong with casual of course that's just not accurate 2 my feelings in this relationship)

i think in some way it's also a way of protecting myself, my partner and dear friend would not be allowed to come into doctors appointments w/ me if i referred 2 him as my friend when explaining 2 the doctor who he is 2 me, so i refer 2 him as my boyfriend, this is necessary 4 my feelings of safety and comfort since i hav a lot of medical trauma and don't feel safe being on my own w a doctor, also it's necessary 4 my safety as a disabled person who's disabilities effect my ability 2 understand things ppl say 2 me, my friend can explain 2 me what the doctors r saying in terms i am able 2 understand but the doctors even if they did try (they don't) wouldn't b able 2 explain things 2 me in a way that made sense 2 my brain and meant that i would hav a full understanding of what they were suggesting being done 2 my body in terms of medical care simply bc of them not knowing me personally and not knowing how my mind works and how my ability 2 understand things works

i think a lot of ppl who r alloromantic don't understand/think abt how truly enforced the idea of romance is and how dystopian it is that that's seen as a requirement, 4 example the fact that a person's legal rights regarding their partner changes if they r married 2 them, my friend likely would not b allowed 2 c me in the hospital if i were unconscious and it would just b me and the doctors all bc of us not being married, it doesn't matter 2 the law how deep our relationship goes and how i am far more comfortable trusting him than a doctor, what matters to the law is our inability 2 perform romance and our lack of interest in performing monogamy, idk it's smth i think abt a lot

having sex with your friends is so very normal please stop poisoning the youths minds with shame surrounding hooking up with your friends. especially if you’re gay

[ivyues]

Echos of Home: Stray Kids' reactions to their S/O not being close with their parents

Bang Chan

The front door clicks shut, quieter than usual, but it’s enough for Chris to hear from the living room. He frowns, glancing at the time on his phone. You weren’t supposed to be back for another few hours.

“Babe?” His voice carries through the apartment as he stands up, walking toward the entryway. When he sees you, his expression softens, but there’s still a flicker of concern in his eyes. “You’re back early.”

You nod, setting your bag down a little too carefully, like you’re keeping yourself in check. “Yeah. I’m back.”

He studies you for a moment, his head tilting slightly the way it does when he’s trying to piece something together. He knows – has always known – that things with your parents aren’t exactly smooth. There’s no big, dramatic fallout, no abusive history, just a constant, lingering sense of not quite fitting in with them. Conversations that feel like walking through a minefield, small comments that chip away at you, a love that never feels warm enough.

Chris takes a step closer, reaching for your hand. “What happened?”

You shrug, not really wanting to get into it. “Nothing new.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding, patient. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

He just tugs you into his arms, wrapping you up in a hug that is nothing like the ones you get from your parents – half-hearted, obligatory. No, this one is firm, warm, steady. You melt into it before you even realize how much you needed it.

His chin rests atop your head, his voice gentle. “You know you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, right?”

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly. “I know.”

“And you know that no matter what, you always have a home here with me?”

Your throat tightens, but in a good way. In a way that makes you feel safe. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I know.”

Chris squeezes you a little tighter before swaying side to side, humming softly. You’re home. That’s all that matters.

Lee Know

It wasn’t unusual for you to be at his parent’s house; in fact, it was almost expected at this point. His parents had practically adopted you into their family, treating you like one of their own. His mom always insisted you stay for dinner, and his dad would ask you about school or work like he would his own son. With the cats curling at your side, it felt warm here – comfortable, safe.

That’s why, when Lee Know casually mentioned, “You know, I think you spend more time at my parents’ house than at your own parents’,” with a teasing smile, he didn’t expect the way your body tensed ever so slightly.

It was brief, almost imperceptible, but he caught it.

You let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe you're right.”

He didn’t press, not yet, but the thought lingered in his mind. And then, as if the idea had just struck him, he said, “Maybe next time, I should come over to your place. Your parents probably think I don’t exist.”

Your reaction was immediate. A flicker of hesitation crossed your face, and for a moment, you looked like you wanted to say something – anything – but then, you just shrugged. “They’re busy,” you said vaguely. “They wouldn’t really care.”

That didn’t sit right with him. You had always been good at avoiding certain topics, but this one was different. This wasn’t just avoidance – it was reluctance, something deeper.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice softening. “You never really talk about them.”

You forced a smile. “There’s not much to talk about.”

Lee Know didn’t push. He knew you well enough to understand that if he did, you’d only retreat further into yourself. Instead, he nudged your arm lightly. “Well, if they’re too busy, you know that you can come over any time. I start to think that my mom already likes you better than me.”

Changbin

Changbin slumped onto the couch beside you, letting out a dramatic sigh. “When was the last time you even visited your parents?” he joked, nudging your shoulder playfully.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Oh, you know,” you said with heavy sarcasm, “got yelled at for every life decision I’ve ever made. Good times.”

The teasing glint in Changbin’s eyes disappeared in an instant. He frowned, tilting his head to get a better look at your expression, but you avoided his gaze, pretending to scroll through your phone. His heart sank at the forced nonchalance in your voice.

“Wait… what do you mean?” His voice softened, laced with concern.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “You know how they are. Nothing I do is ever right. I could be a literal millionaire and they’d still find a way to tell me I messed up.” You let out a small, humorless laugh. “It’s just how it is.”

Changbin didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. “That’s not how it should be, though,” he murmured. “You deserve better than that.”

You blinked at his sincerity, feeling a lump form in your throat. “It’s fine, Bin. I’m used to it.”

He sighed, shifting closer so your shoulders touched. “That doesn’t make it okay,” he countered, his brows knitting together in frustration. 

You hesitated for a moment before speaking again, voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes, I wonder if I could ever be a good mom,” you admitted. “like… I never really got to experience what having a good mom feels like. What if I mess up the way they did?”

Changbin’s eyes softened, and he gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Hey,” he said firmly. “You are already so full of love and care. The fact that you worry about that proves you’re going to be amazing. You won’t be like them. You get to choose the kind of parent you want to be.”

Your heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through your chest. You had always carried the weight of your strained relationship with your parents alone.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I know.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin had never been one to push too hard when it came to personal matters. He understood boundaries, respected them even. But every time the topic of parents came up – his or yours – you always managed to steer the conversation elsewhere. And most importantly, you had never once mentioned introducing him to them.

At first, he brushed it off, thinking you were just taking things slow. But after nearly a year together, it stung. It made him wonder if there was a reason, a reason that had everything to do with him.

That thought festered in his chest until one evening, it finally slipped out.

“Do you not want me to meet your parents?” His voice was soft, uncertain.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean… we’ve been together for a while now, but you never bring it up.” He forced a small chuckle, trying to keep his tone light even though it felt anything but. “I just… I guess I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of me.”

Your heart sank at the vulnerability in his voice. “Hyunjin—”

“Is it because I’m an idol?” He cut in before you could explain. “I know that might be weird for some parents, and if that’s the case, I get it. But I just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his hair. “I don’t know. It feels like you don’t want to include me in that part of your life.”

You swallowed hard, guilt settling in.

“Hyunjin, it’s not that I don’t want you to meet them,” you said carefully, fingers gripping the fabric of your sleeves. “It’s just… my relationship with my parents isn’t great. It’s complicated.”

His eyes searched yours, confusion flickering across his face. “Complicated how?”

You hesitated. “We don’t really… talk much. When we do, it’s tense. We just don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.”

Hyunjin’s expression softened slightly. “Then why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“Because I didn’t want to talk about it,” you admitted. “It’s messy and frustrating, and I didn’t want to drag you into that.”

“But I want to be dragged into it,” he said, leaning forward. “I want to understand what’s going on in your life. That includes the bad parts, too.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling in. “I guess… I was embarrassed.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrowed. “Embarrassed?”

“I don’t have the kind of parents who are loving and supportive,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “And I didn’t want you to see that and think less of me.”

“Y/N, I would never think less of you because of something like that.” He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “I just wanted to understand. I thought… I thought you didn’t want me to meet them because of me.”

You exhaled shakily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Hyunjin shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line before he let out a breath. “I just want you to trust me enough to talk to me about these things.”

“I do,” you said quickly. “I just… I didn’t know how.”

Han

"So you don’t want me to meet your parents?" Han repeated, his voice softer than you expected. Not quite hurt or offended – just… concerned.

You swallowed hard, nodding. "It’s not that I don’t want you to. I just— I don’t think it’s a good idea."

He tilted his head, studying you. "Can you tell me why?"

You hesitated. Han had always been so good at making you feel safe, but there was still a deep-rooted instinct inside you that told you to keep this part of your life locked away. It wasn’t that your parents were abusive, not in the way people might think, but they had never really seen you. Not truly. Their love came with conditions, with expectations you could never quite meet.

"I just… I don’t want to put you in a situation where you're not treated well," you admitted, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "They don’t respect me, Han. And since you’re with me, they won’t respect you either. I don’t want that for you."

"I get it," he said quietly, his voice steady. "And I love that you’re thinking about me. But, baby… you don’t have to protect me from them."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head before you could.

"I’m not saying we have to go to a family dinner or anything," he continued. "But you don’t have to carry this alone. I know it’s complicated, and I know it sucks. But I don’t want you to think that you have to shield me from this part of your life just because you’ve been dealing with it alone for so long."

Your throat tightened. "But they’ll—"

"They can think whatever they want about me," he interrupted gently. "What matters is what you think. And if they don’t respect you, that’s on them. That’s not a reflection of who you are, and it’s definitely not going to change how I see you."

You exhaled shakily. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to let you meet them. I've spent too much time hoping they'll change."

Han smiled, squeezing your hands reassuringly. "That’s okay. We’ll take it at your pace. Just… don’t shut me out, okay? I want to be here for you. For everything."

Felix

Felix stretched his arms, groaning slightly as he leaned back against the couch. The two of you had been catching up on life the whole evening. He had just been telling you about his latest video call with his parents, laughing about how his mom still worried if he was eating enough.

"Honestly," he said between bites of the cookies he had brought over, "I think I see my parents more often than you see yours."

You froze, your fingers tightening around the mug of tea you were holding. The playful lilt in his voice made it clear that he hadn’t meant any harm, but the words hit you harder than you expected. Your mind ran through the last time you had actually visited your parents.

Felix must have noticed your sudden stillness, because when you looked up at him, his brows were slightly furrowed, eyes searching yours. 

"You’re not wrong," you admitted quietly, sipping your tea to avoid his gaze. "I think you really do."

"Oh. I— I didn’t mean to... I was just joking."

"I know," offering him a small smile. "It’s just… true."

A beat of silence stretched between you. Felix set his cookie down, shifting closer until his knee bumped against yours. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you never talked about your parents, but it always felt exhausting to explain the complicated mess that was your relationship with them. They weren’t cruel or absent, just distant – close enough to be in your life, but never truly present.

"Not much to say, really," you murmured. "We just don’t talk much. It’s always… weird. Like we don’t know how to be around each other."

Felix listened, nodding. "That sounds really lonely."

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the simple truth in his words. "Yeah," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It kinda is."

Felix didn’t say anything at first. "You know," he said, voice warm and sure, "family doesn’t have to be just the people you’re born with."

Your chest tightened, not with sadness, but with something gentler.

Felix grinned, before nudging you playfully. "Well, for what it’s worth, my parents love adopting people into the family. You might already be part of it without knowing."

Seungmin

The living room was quiet except for the occasional tapping of Seungmin’s phone as he scrolled, stretched out comfortably on your couch. You sat beside him, your head resting against the couch cushion, feeling the warmth of his presence next to you. 

Then, your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Mom flashed across the screen.

Seungmin glanced at it briefly before looking at you, expecting you to reach for it. But instead, you pressed decline without a second thought.

He blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. "You’re not gonna answer?"

You shrugged. "Nope."

He sat up a little, setting his phone down. "Why not? It could be important."

"Unlikely," you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

The confusion on his face lingered for a moment before realization set in. "You don’t really talk to her much, do you?"

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Not if I can help it."

Seungmin didn’t respond right away, just watched you carefully. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "You guys don’t get along?"

"Not really," you admitted. "We just... don’t see things the same way. Talking always turns into a disagreement, and honestly, it’s exhausting. It’s easier to just not deal with it."

Seungmin hummed, a quiet sound of understanding. 

For a moment, he just sat there, thinking. Then, without warning, he leaned over and lightly nudged your shoulder with his own. "You don’t have to pretend you’re fine."

You glanced at him, surprised by how easily he saw through you.

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable yet undeniably gentle. "You’re allowed to be upset about it. You don’t have to act like it doesn’t bother you."

Something in your chest loosened. You hadn’t even realized how much tension you’d been carrying until now.

"Thanks," you murmured.

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. "Anytime." 

I.N

You sighed as you scrolled through your messages, the same feeling of disappointment creeping in. Your parents had sent another message in the family group chat – one of their usual updates about your sibling, filled with admiration and excitement. You were happy for them, truly. But every time you saw their name being praised while yours was barely acknowledged, the ache in your chest deepened.

I.N sat beside you on the couch, watching your face shift from neutral to something more distant. He nudged your arm gently. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You hesitated before tilting your phone toward him. He skimmed the messages, his features tightening as he put the pieces together. He already knew the story – how your relationship with your parents had grown distant ever since you chose a different path, how they seemed to relate more to your sibling, leaving you feeling like an outsider in your own family. He also knew you weren’t looking for pity.

Instead of offering empty words, I.N put your phone aside. “Does it hurt?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “A little,” you admitted. “I mean, I moved out as soon as I could, and I’ve been independent for a while, so I shouldn’t care so much. But… it’s like no matter what I do, I’m not enough for them.”

I.N frowned. “That’s not true. You are enough. They just… don’t see you the way they should, and that’s on them, not you.”

You looked at him, feeling a flicker of warmth in his gaze. He wasn’t trying to fix it. He wasn’t telling you to move on or pretend it didn’t matter. 

“You’ve built a life for yourself that you love, haven’t you?” he continued. “That takes courage. And just because they don’t recognize it doesn’t make it any less real.”

A small, wobbly smile broke through your somber expression.

I.N grinned, giving your hand a playful squeeze. “I just know you. And I know that you deserve to be seen, to be valued. Even if they don’t show it, I will.”

You exhaled, leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Innie.”

masterlist

[yara0546]

୨୧ When they confess their love, but you think it’s a joke.    .    .    반응     ୨୧

୨୧ Pairing: enhypen x fem!reader

୨୧ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Light Angst, Comedy

୨୧ Word Count: 1,000–1,200 words

୨୧ Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any grammatical errors, because I sometimes use a translator in some sentences.

୨୧ Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction from our imagination. It is not intended that the plot, theme, original characters, idols, etc. portray any real-life events/people. Plagiarism is NOT tolerated on this blog. If you believe we have copied an existing authors’ work, please message us privately. thank you and enjoy :)

Masterlist

✦ Heeseung   ୨୧   ;   희승   !

You were sitting across from Heeseung at a café, laughing at a funny memory when he suddenly stopped mid laugh.

"I like you, Y/N. A lot." His voice was softer than usual, his gaze locked onto yours.

You chuckled. "Pfft, sure, Heeseung. And I’m secretly a billionaire."

His smile faltered for a split second before he leaned in, resting his arms on the table. "I’m serious."

You blinked at him, still half-expecting him to laugh it off. But when he didn’t, your breath hitched. His usual playful demeanor was gone his eyes held nothing but sincerity.

"I’ve liked you for a long time, Y/N. Don’t laugh it away."

At that moment, you realized this wasn’t a joke.

✦ Jay   ୨୧   ;   제이   !

Jay had been dropping hints for weeks, but when he finally gathered the courage to confess, you just… laughed.

"Oh, Jay, that’s a good one! You almost got me."

His jaw clenched, and he exhaled sharply. "Y/N. I’m. Not. Joking."

You still grinned. "Come on, Jay, you’re always teasing me. Why would this be any different?"

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but keeping his cool. "Because this is the first time I’m telling you something that actually matters." His voice was lower now, more serious.

Seeing the shift in his tone, your stomach dropped. He wasn’t playing around.

✦ Jake   ୨୧   ;   제이크   !

Jake’s confession was clumsy but heartfelt.

"I… um… I like you, Y/N. Like, a lot. More than just friends."

You burst out laughing. "Jake, stop, you’re too funny!"

His face turned beet red, and he started fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. "Wait… what? You think I’m joking?"

You nodded, still giggling. "Well, duh! You flirt with everyone!"

Jake’s eyes widened, and he stepped closer. "Yeah, but not like this. Not with you."

Your laughter faded as his sincerity sunk in. Oh.

✦ Sunghoon   ୨୧   ;   성훈   !

Sunghoon confessed in the middle of a casual conversation, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I like you, Y/N. It’s kind of annoying how much I do."

You snorted. "Nice try, Sunghoon. You’re hilarious."

He narrowed his eyes. "What part of that was funny?"

You smirked. "You? Liking me? No way."

Sunghoon crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "Wow. You really think I’d joke about something like this?"

You hesitated. Sunghoon wasn’t laughing. In fact, he looked offended.

"I don’t say things I don’t mean, Y/N. Maybe you should think about that."

✦ Sunoo   ୨୧   ;   선우   !

Sunoo’s confession was all sparkles and confidence.

"Y/N, I have a confession to make. I like you, and I think we’d be the cutest couple ever."

You gasped theatrically. "Oh no, Sunoo’s finally lost his mind!"

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then placed a hand over his chest.

"EXCUSE ME?!"

You giggled. "Come on, you love attention. This is just for fun, right?"

His mouth fell open. "How DARE you underestimate my sincerity! Do you know how many times I practiced this in front of the mirror?!"

His over the top reaction made you laugh even harder until you saw the actual hurt in his eyes.

"Y/N… I really meant it."

Oops.

✦ Jungwon   ୨୧   ;   정원   !

Jungwon confessed after days of overthinking.

"I like you, Y/N. Like… more than a friend."

You burst into laughter. "Jungwon, that was so deadpan. You need to work on your delivery."

His face remained neutral. "It wasn’t a joke."

You faltered. "Wait… you’re serious?"

Jungwon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why would I joke about something like this?"

Your heart pounded. You had just laughed in his face. Oh no.

"It’s fine." He forced a small smile. "I’ll just… pretend you didn’t say that."

Now you felt horrible.

✦ Ni-ki   ୨୧   ;   니키   !

Ni-ki’s confession was blunt and direct.

"I like you. A lot."

You immediately rolled your eyes. "Haha, good one, Ni-ki."

He frowned. "What’s funny?"

"You! You’re always teasing me, why would I believe this?"

His expression darkened slightly. "Because it’s true?"

You still looked skeptical, and he huffed. "You know what? Fine. Don’t believe me. But I’ll prove it to you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How?"

Ni-ki smirked. "Just wait and see."

And from that day on, he made it his mission to show you exactly how much he meant it.

[reveriebae]

You Wrote That For Me, Didn't You?

pairing(s) : Idol!Yunho x Atiny!reader

word count : 1931

summary : After casually revealing your face on Tumblr, a well-known smut writer attend an ATEEZ fan meet, unaware of the consequences. When you sit in front of Yunho, something feels off—the way he looks at you, the way he lingers. Then, just before her time is up, he drops a bombshell. He follows your account. He’s read everything. And he’s not letting you go that easily.

genre : suggestive

warning(s) : Slight dub-con vibes (power imbalance), heavy tension, teasing, suggestive language, explicit themes, idol-reader dynamics, Yunho being way too confident and knowing, mild obsession undertones, reader’s worst (or best?) nightmare coming true. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : this one got my toes curling SKSKKSKSKSK. Should I make part two?🤔

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐fic under the cut🪐

You never thought twice before posting your fics. Why would you? It was just writing—just words strung together for thirsty Atinys who craved something a little more. Some of your works had gone viral, and you had a loyal following of readers who loved every filthy thing you put out.

So when you finally did a face reveal on your Tumblr, you didn’t think much of it. A casual selfie, captioned with something dumb like “Since y’all keep asking… here, take it”. A few hundred likes, some teasing comments, and that was that.

No big deal.

At least, that’s what you thought.

The excitement of the fan meet buzzed in your veins as you finally sat down in front of Yunho. Seeing him this close was unreal—the warmth of his presence, the way his smile reached his eyes, the deep, smooth hum of his voice as he greeted you.

But something felt off.

You couldn’t quite place it at first. It was subtle—just the way his gaze lingered, a little longer than it should. The way he studied your face like he was placing you, as if you weren’t just another fan in his long line of meet-and-greet interactions.

Then came the compliment.

“You’re really pretty in person,” he murmured, and his voice had a weight to it, like there was something more behind the words.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Ah—thank you!”

The response felt automatic, but your brain was still trying to process the way he was looking at you. Not just with the usual idol-to-fan warmth, but with something… different. Like he knew you.

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, rhythmic and patient, as if he was waiting for something. Then, just as the staff was about to signal your turn was up, Yunho leaned in ever so slightly.

And then he said it.

“You should be more careful about what you post, Jagiya.”

Your body stiffened.

Your mind blanked.

Did he just—

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, eyes widening in pure, unfiltered panic. But Yunho? Yunho just smiled. A slow, knowing curve of his lips, dark amusement flickering in his gaze.

“I follow you on Tumblr,” he continued, voice dropping just enough that only you could hear. His tone was smooth, casual, like he was discussing the weather. Like he wasn’t completely wrecking your reality in real time.

Your stomach twisted. No, this had to be a joke. A coincidence. There was no way—

“Mm.” His fingers brushed against the table, casual and lazy. “I recognized you the moment I saw your selfie.”

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

You had so much smut on that account. And not just any smut—detailed, filthy scenarios that had Yunho doing things that could get you banned just for thinking about them too hard.

“I—” Your voice came out weak, shaky, and you were suddenly painfully aware of how warm your face was.

Yunho chuckled, the sound low and pleased. “You look flustered,” he mused. “Why? You weren’t shy when you wrote all those things about me.”

He was teasing you.

No—he was toying with you.

Your fingers clenched around the edge of the table as you swallowed hard, trying to force your brain to work. But you could barely breathe under his gaze, let alone form a response.

He leaned in just a little more, close enough that you could catch the faintest hint of his cologne. His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the edge behind it when he said—

“You wrote that for me, didn’t you?”

Your time was up.

The staff was gently urging you to move along, but you couldn’t move—wouldn’t—until Yunho tilted his head, gaze flickering to the line behind you.

Then, just before you stood up, he murmured one last thing—low, quiet, for your ears only.

“See you later, baby.”

You walked away from the table in a daze.

The voices of other fans, the bright lights, the excited chatter—everything blurred into a distant hum, like white noise. Your body moved on instinct, following the line toward the exit, but your mind was stuck. Frozen.

Yunho knew.

Yunho read your fics.

Yunho—Jeong Yunho—had been watching your blog, scrolling through your late-night thirst posts, reading every filthy thought you had ever put into words.

Your breath shuddered as you stepped outside the venue, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat burning under your skin. Your heart was pounding—too fast, too hard—like you had just run miles instead of sitting for a harmless fan meet.

Except it wasn’t harmless.

Because Yunho’s voice was still ringing in your ears.

"You wrote that for me, didn't you?"

A shiver ran down your spine, and you had to physically shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. No. No, there was no way this was real. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he was just teasing.

Maybe—

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You nearly dropped it when you pulled it out, fingers trembling as you glanced at the screen. A notification from Tumblr. Someone had just liked one of your posts.

A post from two years ago.

Your stomach dropped.

Slowly, hesitantly, you opened the app. The notification led you straight to the post—a particularly filthy piece about Yunho, one that had gone semi-viral when you first wrote it. And sitting right there, at the top of the notes—

A new like.

From a user you didn’t recognize.

Your pulse hammered as you clicked on the profile. It was nearly empty—just a default avatar, no posts, no bio. But there was one thing.

The blog name.

"ateezyunho1999."

Your mouth went dry.

No. No, no, no, this had to be a joke.

Then another notification popped up.

A message.

Your vision blurred for a second as you forced yourself to tap on it, breath shallow as you read the words.

"Come outside."

A pause.

Then—

"I'll be waiting."

Your hands shook as you stared at the message.

You could feel your own pulse in your throat, hammering like a warning. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Yunho was an idol. A celebrity. There was no way he would actually—

Your phone buzzed again.

The third message.

"Don't make me wait, baby."

The air in your lungs turned heavy. Your brain screamed at you to walk away, to ignore it, to go home and pretend none of this ever happened.

But your body?

Your body was already moving.

Like you had no control over yourself, your feet carried you toward the back of the venue, slipping past groups of lingering fans, past the staff still bustling around. You shouldn’t be doing this. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this.

And yet—

As soon as you turned the corner, stepping into the dimly lit alley behind the building, you felt him before you even saw him.

Yunho.

He was leaning against the side of a sleek black car, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other holding his phone. The glow of the screen lit up his face, casting soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jawline. But it wasn’t the way he looked that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was the way he smirked when he saw you.

Slowly, he slipped his phone into his pocket, pushing off the car as he took a step toward you.

“You listen well,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “That’s good.”

You should have said something. Anything. But your tongue felt heavy, thoughts tangled into knots as you stood frozen in place.

Yunho tilted his head, eyes flickering over you in a slow, deliberate sweep. His gaze was too knowing, too intimate—like he had already stripped you down in his mind.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come,” he continued, his tone almost teasing. “But then again…”

A pause.

Then—

“I know what you want.”

Your breath caught.

Yunho chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied. He took another step forward, closing the distance between you inch by inch. He was so tall, so effortlessly imposing, and when he finally stopped in front of you, the heat of his body was enough to make your skin prickle.

“You didn’t think I’d notice you, did you?” His voice dipped lower, smooth like honey but edged with something darker. “You wrote all those filthy little things about me, and yet, when I look at you now…”

He reached out, fingers brushing along the side of your jaw, so lightly it almost wasn’t a touch at all.

“You look so shy.”

A slow smirk curled at his lips as he leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Tell me, baby.” His voice was a whisper now, barely audible, but it wrapped around you like a vice.

“Do I match your imagination?”

Your breath came shallow, uneven.

The question sent a violent shiver through you.

You wanted to deny it. To shake your head, pretend you weren’t completely unraveling under his gaze. But the moment you tried to step back, his hand moved.

A firm grip on your chin.

Not rough, not forceful—just enough to keep you still. Enough to make your knees weaken.

He hummed, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His thumb brushed along your lower lip, and his gaze darkened.

“You’re not answering,” he murmured. “That’s cute.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

This was dangerous. This was a situation you had only ever fantasized about—except now, reality was so much worse. Because in your fics, Yunho was just a character, a version of him built from your own desires.

But this Yunho?

This Yunho was real. And he had read everything.

His thumb pressed against your lip, just enough to make you part them. The smirk that followed was pure sin.

“Mm,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “I wonder…”

He let the word hang in the air as his fingers trailed down, a featherlight touch along the column of your throat. A tease. A warning.

“Does the way I touch you match your imagination, too?”

Heat pooled deep in your stomach, a slow, unbearable ache curling at your core. Your body betrayed you before you could even think—back arching just slightly, like you were reaching for more.

Yunho saw it.

And he liked it.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest, deep and pleased. “Ah,” he sighed, thumb tapping against your chin. “So responsive.”

Then, just when you thought he might close the distance completely, he pulled back just enough. Enough to leave you breathless, desperate.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was deceptively gentle, like he wasn’t the same man who had just whispered filth into your ear moments ago.

Then, his lips curled again. That smirk.

“I should get going,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just ruined you with a few words and touches.

Your body screamed in protest, but before you could even think of stopping him, he was already turning toward the sleek black car parked nearby.

The door opened. He paused. Then—

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes locking onto yours one last time.

“Don’t stop writing,” he murmured. “I like seeing what you come up with.”

A slow, teasing wink.

And then—

He was gone.

[heliosunny]

you have written for both hsr and genshin. any plans for zzz? (also anything for yan!alhaitham pls...... NO PRESSURE BTW!!!!)

I played zzz during the time they release Harumasa and stopped after that. My poor phone couldn't handle Genshin either so I stopped at the beginning of Natlan. My poor laptop is holding on for its dear life since I abuse it w Hsr :)))) Maybe I'll watch people play for the story and characters. I don't want to ruin any character and write things without basic knowledge.

Also, here's a short fic for Alhaitham.

Yandere!Alhaitham x Reader

The first letter arrives on a Monday.

You nearly miss it, slipping your textbooks into your bag as the final bell rings. A crisp white envelope sits neatly atop your desk, unmarked except for your name written in precise, elegant handwriting. The paper is thick, too formal for a casual note from a classmate.

Curiosity wins over caution. You unfold the letter, eyes skimming the words written in deep black ink.

You always prefer sitting by the window, even though the sunlight strains your eyes after a while. I wonder—do you realize how often you rub them when you think no one is looking?

You walked to class today with precisely seven minutes to spare, just like always. Routine is something you value, isn't it? It makes you predictable.

You are an anomaly among the ordinary, an equation I find myself drawn to solve. It is only natural for me to observe.

No signature. No indication of who wrote it. But the words feel… meticulous. Too structured to be a prank. Too detailed to be random.

You glance around the now-empty classroom, your pulse picking up speed.

Someone has been watching you.

You clutch the letter tighter, fingers pressing into the fine paper as a chill creeps up your spine. Who would write something like this? And more importantly—how long have they been watching you?

Shoving the letter into your bag, you push your way out of the classroom and down the hall, searching for something, or rather-someone grounding.

Your friends are waiting at your usual spot near the lockers, chatting about the latest test results. Their presence should be comforting, but the words in your bag linger like a shadow at the back of your mind.

“Hey, you okay?” One of them nudges your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you lied “Just tired.”

You’re about to forget it—convince yourself it was a one-time thing, a strange prank—when your eyes flicker across the hallway.

There, leaning against the far wall, flipping through a book like he’s indifferent to the world, is Alhaitham.

The school’s resident genius. Top of every class. Speaks as if the rest of you are equations to be solved rather than people.

You and your friends don’t interact with him much. He’s polite, but distant—aloof in a way that keeps most people at bay. It’s not that anyone dislikes him, but there’s something too precise about him, like he only engages when absolutely necessary.

Yet now… you can’t shake the feeling that his presence is off.

Because for someone so absorbed in his book, his gaze lifts at the exact moment you look at him.

And he holds your stare.

It lasts only a second before he turns the page, unreadable as ever.

You shake off the strange feeling and went home right after.

The second letter appears on Wednesday, slipped neatly into your locker between your notebooks.

You hesitated today before stepping into the classroom. As if something was weighing on your mind. I wonder, was it the letter? You can lie to your friends, but not to me.

After all, I know you better than you think.

This isn’t a joke.

The handwriting is the same, as if each word was chosen with purpose. The unsettling detail is there too, the kind that makes your skin prickle.

You glance around, paranoia creeping in. The hallway is full of students, everyone wrapped up in their own conversations, laughter echoing off the walls.

No one looks suspicious. No one is watching.

Still, you don’t mention it to your friends. Not yet. You tell yourself it’ll stop if you ignore it.

The Third Letter - Friday. This time, it’s waiting in your backpack when you reach for your notes.

You’ve stopped looking around as much. You’re trying to pretend this doesn’t bother you. Smart. But pointless. You will notice me soon.

Your hands are clammy as you shove it deep into your bag, heart hammering.

This is escalating.

Someone has been close enough to touch your things. Close enough to slip a letter into your backpack without you noticing.

You force yourself to act normal. Laugh at your friends’ jokes. Keep your routine. But the unease lingers, curling in your stomach.

---

It happens late on a Tuesday afternoon.

You’ve stayed behind to finish some work in the library, your friends already gone for the day. The school is quieter now, the usual buzz of voices replaced with the rustle of pages and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

You reach for a book from the shelf and—

Something slips out.

A letter.

Your breath catches as it flutters to the ground, face-up.

You recognize the handwriting immediately.

Your fingers shake as you pick it up. But before you can even read it, a shadow falls over you.

“I wouldn’t take that if I were you” a calm voice says.

Slowly, you turn.

Alhaitham stands there, hands in his pockets, unreadable as always. But this time, there’s something else in his gaze—something sharper.

It takes a second too long for you to find your voice. “...What?”

His eyes flicker to the letter in your grip. His expression remains impassive, but the air around him feels off.

“I was going to retrieve that later” he says simply, as if discussing the weather. “But I suppose this works too.”

No.

No way.

But the letter in your hands says otherwise. The handwriting. The way it just happened to be inside a book you grabbed.

It’s been him.

This entire time.

Alhaitham watches you carefully, as if calculating your next move.

“Well,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Now what will you do?”

[inseobts]

Undercover Lovers

zoro x reader

while waiting for luffy and the others to return from whole cake island, you and the rest of the crew are forced to go undercover in wano, where your and zoro's cover as a loving couple quickly gets complicated.

words count: 1.2k

tags: wci and wano spoilers, fake dating, romance, soft zoro

masterlist || ko-fi

You and Zoro stand in the shadows of the misty Wano streets, hidden in plain sight. The night is thick with tension, and the smell of the night air is saturated with the scents of food and unfamiliar spices.

“Alright” Zoro mutters under his breath, his gaze darting around. “This mission is simple. We blend in, gather intel, and keep a low profile. No trouble.”

You glance at him skeptically “Simple? Nothing here is simple, Zoro. Especially when we have to pretend to be a couple...because I don't know if you looked at yourself”

Zoro, ever stoic, adjusts the sword at his side “It’s just an act. Play the role and we’ll be fine.”

You don't know who has this brilliant idea but you're hating them all.

You scoff “That’s what you think. I don’t think you fully understand what it means to pretend to be someone’s lover.”

He grins faintly “I think I do. You make it sound like I'll be terrible at this.”

The two of you exchange a glance, the awkwardness palpable. You had to assume this would happen, but the idea of him being your pretend lover makes your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t expect. You’re both meant to lay low while Luffy, Nami, Chopper, and Brook are rescuing Sanji on Whole Cake Island. But you and Zoro are left behind, needing to keep the rest of the Straw Hats safe while undercover.

“Now, let’s go” Zoro commands, the stoic warrior in him taking over. “Remember, just act natural.”

You and Zoro enter a local tavern in the heart of the capital. The noise from the patrons fills the room, but everything about this place feels off, like a hidden danger lies in the air. As soon as the door swings open, all eyes turn to you, and the tavern goes silent.

The bartender raises an eyebrow “What’s this? A foreign couple?”

You force a smile and link your arm with Zoro’s, making sure your posture looks casual and affectionate “Yes, we’re just here to enjoy the local food and drink” you say, your voice smooth.

Zoro stands beside you, towering and quiet, his gaze scanning the room. His posture is stiff, uncomfortable, and it’s clear that he’s not used to playing the role of someone’s lover.

“You’re an odd couple,” the bartender says, a smug smirk on his face “The woman seems more… lively. And you...” he eyes Zoro, “look like a man who could care less.”

Zoro barely glances at the bartender “I’ll take some sake.”

The bartender nods, but there’s a smirk on his face “Of course. For you two lovers, the first round’s on the house.”

You exchange a look with Zoro, both of you realizing that staying in character would be harder than it seemed. As the drinks arrive, you take one and drink it slowly, trying to hide the tension in your shoulders.

As days pass, the two of you work together to gather information, keeping up the act as a loving couple. But things become more complicated when one young local guy, Miyamoto, starts showing more interest in you than you’re comfortable with.

You’re sitting in a quiet corner of the town square, Zoro casually sitting by your side, when Miyamoto approaches with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah, y/n” he says smoothly “I didn’t expect to see you here. Care for a walk?” His eyes flicker toward Zoro before returning to you “I can show you some of the best views in the town. Perhaps Zoro doesn’t mind… after all, I’m sure he’s busy with his… training.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his boldness. You glance at Zoro, but to your surprise, he’s sitting there, arms crossed, his usual indifferent expression masking any emotions.

“Zoro’s fine” you say quickly, trying to shut down Miyamoto’s advances “We’re fine here. And besides, I’m not one to leave my loving companion behind.”

Miyamoto chuckles, though the sound is more mocking than playful. “Loving? You don’t have to pretend, you know. I’m sure Zoro would be fine with me taking care of you for the evening”

This is making you mad, not just his advances but also Zoro sitting them like nothing was happening, not even caring to look over you and notice the uncomfortable air around you.

You clench your fists and you're about to storm out of there until Zoro finally turns his gaze toward Miyamoto, narrowing his eyes. His usually passive attitude shifts, and there’s an unmistakable tension in the air “You’re making a mistake if you think I won’t mind and I would let you”

You watch the exchange carefully, feeling the air grow thick with unspoken words. Miyamoto takes a step back, and Zoro’s eyes briefly meet yours, the unease in his gaze not going unnoticed.

It’s late into the evening. You and Zoro are once again walking through the dimly lit streets of Wano, the mission nearing its end. The tension from Miyamoto’s advances still hangs in the air, and for the first time, Zoro seems a little different.

“You’re quiet” he remarks, glancing at you “You looks upset since that last meeting with Miyamoto, are you?”

You look at him briefly "pretty much yeah... I was feeling uncomfortable and yet you waited that long to even say something"

"I knew you could handle it alone"

"Well... I actually couldn't"

He suddenly stops walking. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. You can feel the weight of unspoken words pressing between you.

Then, with a sigh, he finally speaks.

"For the record, I didn’t like it either" Zoro mutters, voice quieter than usual.

You blink at him, caught off guard "What?"

His gaze flickers to the side, as if reluctant to say more "That bastard...Miyamoto. The way he looked at you, the way he talked to you." His grip on his sword tightens. "It pissed me off... but if I did something we would have been in bif trouble"

After a pause he continues, “I didn’t like the way he looked at you” Zoro says, his voice unexpectedly serious.

Your heart stutters in your chest, unsure of whether you’re hearing things “What?”

Zoro glances at you, a slight frown tugging at his lips “I told you. I actually didn’t like the way he was talking to you. He was crossing the line”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest, unsure whether it’s the alcohol or something else making your heart beat faster “Zoro…” you start, but your words fail you.

“Forget it” he says gruffly, looking away as if the conversation never happened. But there’s something different in the way he speaks, something real this time.

You pause, staring at him. Could it be that… the act was becoming more than just a mission? Was Zoro feeling the same as you were?

“Zoro” you start again, but before you can say anything more, he steps forward, closing the gap between you two. His hand touches yours, almost like it’s an accident, but when he doesn’t pull it away, you realize it’s not.

The moment stretches on, and you can feel the tension dissipate into something new.

Without thinking, you lean into him “Maybe this act wasn’t so bad after all.”

Zoro stares down at you, his eyes flickering with something indecipherable “Maybe not” he replies, voice low and barely above a whisper.

He takes your hand in a better and firm way now and start walking again, hand in hand.

You smile at him, a small blush on his cheeks, trying to avoid your eyes. And for the first time, you wonder if the lines between the pretend lovers and real feelings are starting to blur.

[himasgod]

Sharing Valentine's Day with NRC

SAVANACLAW VER.

HEARSTLABYUL VER OCTAVINELLE VER SCARABIA VER POMEFIORE VER IGNIHYDE VER DIASOMNIA VER

SCENARIO: The morning sun shone down on Night Raven College as students prepared for Valentine’s Day. Classes had ended earlier than usual, and the hallways were filled with rumors of chocolates, a few confessions, and secret dates. Despite the general excitement for that day of remembering and sharing, you hadn’t planned anything special for that day. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

But he had been acting oddly suspicious since the night before. You’d noticed his furtive glances and failed attempts at hiding smiles whenever you came near. You knew he was up to something.

With Leona Kingscholar, Jack Howl and Ruggie Bucchi

Leona Kingscholar

The sun was slowly sliding over the horizon, shedding an orange glow over the Savanaclaw dorm. In the courtyard, the students were busy with their daily activities, but Leona Kingscholar, true to form, was lying under his favorite tree in the shade, seemingly indifferent to the bustle of Valentine’s Day.

However, something had changed that day.

You walked up to the tree with a big wooden box wrapped in gold ribbons, your heart beating faster than you would have liked to admit. Leona opened a lazy eye as you stopped in front of him.

“You fell for this Valentine’s Day thing too?” he murmured, his tone halfway between mockery and weariness.

Undeterred, you knelt down and set the box down in front of him.

“Maybe. But this one’s for you, Leona.”

Leona sat up, resting his elbow on his knee as he looked at you with his green eyes filled with curiosity.

“Why? Do you expect me to get up and become someone sweeter or something?”

You shook your head, a soft smile appearing on your lips.

“I don’t expect you to change. I like you exactly the way you are.”

Leona was silent for a moment, his appraising gaze softening. Without a single comment, he took the box and carefully opened it. Inside was a selection of his favorite roasted meat, carefully prepared.

“You made this yourself, didn’t you?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you replied, a little more nervous than you wanted to admit.

Leona took a bite and nodded slowly.

“You’re pretty stubborn, you know? But I guess that’s something I like about you.”

He moved a little closer, his usual bored expression replaced by a lopsided smile.

“Thank you for this. I’m not good at these things, but I guess it would be okay if you spent the day here with me.”

Without waiting for a response, Leona made room for you under the tree, making it clear that he wanted you to stay by his side. You settled down next to him, feeling the warmth of his presence as the sun continued its descent.

Jack Howl

The cool morning air at Night Raven College was filled with the scent of flowers and chocolates. However, at the morning track club workout, everything was the same. Jack was focused on his exercises, his mind focused on improving his strength and speed.

But his concentration wavered when he saw you approaching down the path.

Jack stopped his exercises abruptly at the sight of you. His tail twitched slightly, a gesture he had learned to control in normal situations, but which now betrayed him.

“Aren’t you on the day off?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“I was, but I wanted to see you.”

You pulled a small box wrapped in silver ribbons out of your bag. Jack blinked in surprise, but said nothing as he accepted the gift.

“This is for you. Happy Valentine’s Day, Jack.”

The wolf looked at you, his ears tilted forward in a mix of surprise and shyness.

“Why would you give this to me?”

“Because I care about you, and I wanted you to know that.”

Jack looked down at the floor, his cheeks flushed. He was the kind of person who preferred actions over words, but your words had touched something deep within him.

“I’m not very good at this Valentine’s Day thing,” he finally admitted. “But… thanks.”

He opened the box and found some cookies shaped like wolf paws. A genuine smile escaped him.

“You made them, didn’t you? They look amazing.”

“I hope you like them.”

Jack took a cookie and took a bite, nodding in approval.

“They’re delicious.”

Suddenly, his golden eyes looked at you with renewed resolve.

“I have something for you too,” he said in a soft voice.

From his backpack he pulled out a white flower, simple but beautiful. He handed it to you carefully.

“It’s symbolic in my family. It means loyalty and respect. I want you to know that I will always be there for you, no matter what."

You felt your heart fill with warmth. There had been no need for a big speech or extravagant gestures. Jack’s honesty and sincerity were all you needed.

“Thank you, Jack. It means a lot to me.”

You stood there, sharing a quiet moment under the clear sky. Although Jack was not one of many words, he had found a way to express what he felt.

Ruggie Bucchi

In Savanaclaw, celebrations were less pompous and more relaxed, though that didn't mean certain individuals didn't take advantage of the situation. Among them, Ruggie Bucchi always found a way to turn a profit.

You were walking through the halls of the dorm, looking for a certain hyena to give your Valentine's Day gift to. You knew finding Ruggie wouldn't be easy, especially when he was busy with his usual "business."

Finally, you spotted him near the training ground, resting under the shade of a tree. He was finishing off an empanada that he had, surely, gotten for free somehow.

"Ruggie!" you called out with a smile.

The boy looked up, his ears twitching slightly upon hearing you. He stood up with his signature mischievous expression.

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

You walked over, feeling a little nervous. You held a small decorated bag in your hands.

"I wanted to give you this." Happy Valentine’s Day.

Ruggie stared at you for a moment before taking the bag. He carefully opened it and found some homemade heart-shaped cookies. There was a small note inside that said, “For someone special.”

“Whoa! This is so cool. Did you make these?”

You nodded, feeling a little embarrassed under his gaze.

“I thought you’d like them.”

Ruggie took a bite of a cookie, letting out a sound of approval.

“These are so good! You’re too kind to me.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you. Ruggie’s carefree expression softened, and his eyes showed a warmth he rarely let on.

“Ah! I almost forgot.” He pulled something out of his pocket. “It’s nothing fancy, but I wanted to give it to you.”

He handed you a small, hand-woven bracelet. It was simple, made with brown and gold thread, but there was something about it that made it special.

“I made it myself. I thought it would look good on you.”

You put the bracelet on, smiling widely.

“I love it! Thanks, Ruggie.”

The boy grinned from ear to ear, his tail wagging energetically.

“Well, if you like it, maybe I can make more. But they won't come for free.”

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Official Business

Fred Weasley x reader

Requested by: @mytrinityphelps

Request: “Office sex with coworker Fred Weasley (and him wearing glasses)”

A/N: Thank you for the request! I'm sorry it's taken so long to actually start and upload. But it never slipped my mind. This might just be my longest fic yet, so I hope it's actually enjoyable. I’m not gonna lie, I kinda forgot about the glasses request and I’m so sorry. I reread the request and went “mentioning glasses once might not cover it”. I’m sorry

T/W: Unprotected sex, Office banter, Blowjob, Nearly caught, Belly bulge,

What could you say about working as an Auror?

It was a decent job with decent pay, the hours were your casual 9 to 5 with weekends off.

Oh, and there was your coworker Fred. He wasn't the most serious guy, having left his job at a joke shop for better pay to keep his business up and running.

He was tolerable, unlike some of the other stuffy old workers who were seemingly glued to their desks. He was a little older than you with a ginger mop of hair and glasses that framed his deep brown eyes. He was friendly, always offering to bring you a morning tea and coffee personally instead of relying on the house elves. He even bought you a small owl ornament for your desk to commemorate your first year anniversary of working there.

Maybe you liked the flirty banter more. How during lunch breaks he’d comment about how you looked better than any dessert ever could, and that he looked forward to your smile more than any monthly wage slip. He really knew how to make your day brighter.

When he noticed the blush that spread across your cheeks in response to his teasing, he took a step up. Some of your favorite comments of his all shared a similar trait. They made you want to jump his bones. It was impossible not to when he spoke the stuff of wet dreams in that soft teasing tone.

“Your lipstick looks pretty, I wonder how it would look trailing down my chest”

“Looks like you’ve had a heavy workload today. Here I’d hoped you could take heavy loads, baby”

“You look tired, you’d sleep a lot better in my bed”

Oh, he was really trying to rile you up. And it was working like a charm.

Working overtime wasn’t rare in this line of work. Desk jobs always had their fair share of paperwork pile ups. Most workers left it till the next day or took it home to complete when possible. You only had a bit of work left and decided to stay to avoid the unnecessary task of homework.

One thing that caught you off guard was that Fred hadn’t said goodnight to you like he usually did before leaving. He did it every night. Was he angry at you? Had you said the wrong thing?

The thought stung a little, but you could always ask him about it the next morning.

Half an hour into your work was enough for a tea break. It wasn't procrastination if it counted as hydrating. Heading along the familiar hallway was second nature for you, but stopping dead was new. In the vast rows of desks, was a familiar ginger mop of hair. Was Fred Weasley staying late?

You made your way downstairs, an idea in mind.

Fred hated staying late. He hated this job. He had only taken it for some extra income towards the joke shop. He took the 9 to 5 job due to Georgie and Angelina expecting their first. At least if he was running the shop, he could be more lenient with trips to St Mungos. He still had a whole 3 hours worth of work to get through just to catch up. How people did this full time, he didn't know.

The approach of heels made him keep his head down, thinking it was some higher up reader to scold him for not taking the job seriously. But when a mug of coffee was placed before him, his head soon whipped up. There you were, like an angel in his time of need. You somehow looked perfect, like you weren't working overtime from an 8 hour shift. Instead of reaching for the mug handle, he reached for your hand in a tender grip.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know.

Your thumb trailed over his knuckles softly, a soft yet teasing smile on your face.

“I guess you owe me then”

That brought a smile to his face, giving your hand a tug causing you to fall onto his lap. You laughed softly, your hands finding his shoulders. This was his usual flirting to the max. But what was the harm in a bit of teasing?

���Give it your best shot, Weasley”

Knowing Fred in the capacity that you did, you should have known that he wouldn't take it as harmless teasing. He took it as a challenge.

His other hand found your cheek, pulling you closer to press his lips to yours in a kiss that seemed almost desperate. He let go of your wrist in favour of holding your waist to keep you steady on his lap. His lips pressed harder against yours, like a kiss along could merge your bodies. He wanted to be closer to you. He seemed confused when you got off of his lap, trying to hold onto you tighter, but his confusion turned into shock when you lowered yourself between his spread legs. He couldn't help his excitement as he practically ripped his belt off.

“You’re really gonna suck my dick? Sweetheart, you’re something else. Most girls would complain about ruining their lipstick, but you love being a dirty little office slut, don't you?”

He groaned when you pressed a kiss to his bulge in response before your hand took over, palming him teasingly. Your fingers tugged his zipper and fumbled with his button before his boxers came into view, and they were pulled down even quicker. Fred reached into his boxers, pulling his cock out. It stood tall before your face, his shaft veiny and girthy. The curtains definitely matched the drapes when it came to his pubes.

“Are you always this hard, Fred, or does a bit of kissing turn you on?”

He chuckled, his hand cupping your jaw to pull you closer.

“I'm always hard for you, I just don't show it as blatantly as you do. I knew how wet you got for me. I wonder if you ever played with yourself in the bathrooms thinking of me…or did you just finger yourself under your desk while I told you how pretty you looked every morning?”

That blush that filled your cheeks when he spoke, that's what he loved most about you. How that small tint of pink made you irresistible. How naturally it did.

His thumb caressed your blushing cheek, it was the result of him after all. Little did he know, it was all for him. You’d give all of yourself to him.

Your tongue gave his tip a gentle prod, reveling in his hiss at the touch. He sounded beautiful with every response, but those you drew from him were your favourite. Your lips wrapped around his tip, suckling softly. Fred stifled his moans, bringing his tie to his mouth and biting it to keep himself quiet from any other late workers. You looked up at him through your lashes, the sight making you wetter. Fred was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, his face nearly as red as his hair and his tie tucked between his lips while his cock throbbed for attention. He was like fine art.

Your lips returned to his cock, your cheeks hollowed as you tried to take him in your throat. His eyes bugged out when he felt your mouth take him deeper. But it was all cut short at the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. Fred pulled the tie from his mouth and nudged you gently, his voice merely a hushed whisper.

“Sweetie, stop. Someone, fuck…someones coming”

His hands ushered towards the underside of his desk making sure you were tucked in before pulling his chair up and trapping you between his legs. The footsteps stopped by his desk, one of your colleagues commenting on how he was here late, making some joke about his allergy for work slowly being cured. Fred could only nod along, his mind still in panic mode from nearly being caught getting sucked off by a coworker. You, on the other hand, took delight in how the tables had turned. It was your turn to tease him.

You leaned your face closer to his cock, sliding your tongue along his shaft and tracing his veins. You could hear his groan which he quickly covered up with a coughing fit. You could hear the coworker checking on him and patting his back, but you didn't give him a reprieve. Your lips circled his tip, suckling gently. Your coworker ran off, something about getting some water for Fred. He pulled his chair back and helped you out from under the desk.

“Sweetheart, we don’t have time”

He pulls his shirt over his erection and drags you by the hand, along the hallway and to the small utility cupboard that housed quills and inks. He pushed you in first and followed you inside, muttering a few enchantments under his breath. He had to make sure no one would hear you two and most importantly, that no one would try and open the door.

His hands wrapped around your waist like a python, pulling you into him. You pulled your pencil skirt up, hooking your leg over his hip. You dropped your voice to a sultry whisper.

“Then you better not waste anymore time, Fred”

His hand slithered between your bodies, pulling up your pencil skirt and tugging your panties aside. He practically growled at how wet you were, his fingers soaked from that brief touch. He couldn't wait any longer. He lined his tip with your entrance and pulled your hips, sliding you down his cock. You let out a relieved moan, grateful for Fred’s enchantment. His cock was buried so snug inside of you, every clench around his thickness felt like he could break you.

You risked a glance down and the sight of his cock causing your belly to bulge made you whimper. Just the sight alone caused that band to tighten. Your hands gripped his shoulders, pressing needy kisses to his lips. Fred pulled his hips back and thrust back into you, wanting to be as deep inside of you as he could. He wondered what it would be like to cum inside of you, painting you deep inside, but he didn't want to push his luck. There was plenty of time, and there was no way he’d have that much fun in an office storeroom. If it took, that would be a terrible place to conceive.

He licked along your bottom lip, his pace never slowing.

“I'm close, sweetie. Cum on my cock, make a mess”

His hand moved back between you both, desperate fingers circling your clit in tight, quick circles. He could feel your grip on his shoulders tighten, your eyes rolling back in bliss as you clamped down on his cock. A pornographic moan ripped itself from your throat as your juices coated his shaft. You were so warm and tight, that he contemplated just throwing all care out the window but instead he groaned and pulled out, his hand wrapping around his dick and pumping fervently.

His cum painted your bunched up skirt, leaving a sticky stain on the grey fabric. You didn’t call him out on it in your blissed out state, only noticing when you slowly came down. Even then, it was just a skirt. It was worth it.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll buy you a new skirt if I have to. Maybe some pretty lingerie as well”

His signature smirk returned as he whispered in your ear.

“But then again, I’d prefer you naked”

[cloversnstrawberries]

oc intro post ! ! young!serial killer grandpa & time traveler reader

masterlist | requests open !

warnings; Mentions of violence, murder, serial killings, Everett's superiority/god complex, misanthropy (hatred of the human race), manipulation, possessive behavior, mental instability, and there might be more that i forgot :( if i missed a major one, please let me know and i'll add it !!!

additional notes; i read "garden of the dead flowers" a while back (in which i totally did the daily pass thing. yeah. totally!), and i thought it had a lot of potential for a platonic yan,, i didn't like the ending much for other reasons, but i'm fixing it here. with my oc. as god intended, of course. of course, if you're familiar with the webcomic at all, this isn't really that similar; except for the very core basis ^^ this is the option that won the second poll :D

! ! introduction blurb & moodboard below the cut ! !

Everett has met a lot of people before, that's just how it is, being the son of a wealthy businessman and a socialite. He's met a lot of strange people as well, eccentric people that makes Everett need a double-take.

But none quite so strange as you, who simply... showed up in the back garden one day. You were disoriented, wearing odd clothes as you patted around your pockets for... something. A handkerchief, maybe?

Either way, you'd be an easy kill. He'd never seen you around before, perhaps a runaway then. Nobody would miss you, in that case. And If they did, then they'd have a difficult time tracing you all the way to Everett's backyard.

But something made that train of thought stop before it even fully departed. Something about you made him hesitate, and subsequently approach and offer you help. To pull you up, dazed as you were, and help you into the sitting room.

You continued to be quite out of it, and when he returned, tea in hand-- you took it without question. You hadn't said a word, not to him or otherwise. All you did was look around, face pinched like you trying to figure something out.

By the end of it, Everett isn't quite sure what made him take such a liking to you. When you opened up, you tripped over your words-- you sounded funny, regardless of that. Saying words and phrases he's never heard, but he didn't pay much mind to that.

Regardless of your little verbal stumbles, you ended up telling him that you 'don't know how you got here', which he assumed you meant the town in general, or maybe just his backyard specifically.

The first conversation he genuinely held with you, you would always give these nonsensical answers that provided no more knowledge than before. When he asked "Where are you from?" You'd respond with "Not here.", or how you got here-- you'd always pause, and try to think it over before finally settling on "...I don't know."

Amnestic, maybe? That's what he could make of it, anyways. Other than your dazed behavior, you showed no real signs of a concussion. He set you up in a guest room-- and he doesn't know what makes him do it. Even as you wake up the next morning, no longer so confused--

Usually, he wouldn't really like people like you. Those who treat him so casually, those who treat everybody like that; like they were everybody's pal. It irked Everett to no end before,

So why is it different when you do it? With your strange words, strange habits, and even stranger way of dress-- what's got him so interested in you?

What sets you apart of his usual fare--? He could go and argue that he helped you recover so he could add you to his roster of victims, because he's not one for kicking someone when their down...

But he couldn't even fool himself with that lie. Really, he doesn't know why or how you managed to worm your way into his good graces so quickly-- enough where he let you stay in his home for the time being.

He could be harboring a runaway, either from a family or maybe even if the law. That could put him in risk, if cops come looking for you-- find his home, found evidence of what he does in and around it.

Again, it's just something about you... It makes it impossible to even think of driving a knife straight through your heart. What would be easy for him with everyone else, was like fighting an uphill battle when it came to you.

Either way, he's not letting you go now. Not after week of getting to know you-- after getting you new clothes to help fit in, getting his parents to make the school take you as a student. Just so you didn't have to sit and rot in that big house all day, of course.

He won't let you outside the grounds. Maybe because he doesn't want his new friend taken, the only person that's been entirely immune to his constant need to hurt others-- either by yourself, or anyone who's looking for you.

But he doesn't tell you that. He says he just wants to make sure you're healthy and not about to keel over from an untreated brain injury and whatnot.

Everett has grown quite fond of you, even if you're a little strange.

Maybe it's because you're so strange, that you're exempt from his usually unforgiving drive to prey on others, and rip them limb from limb like they were bugs under a microscope.

[partoffantasy]

Hold Me Closer - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: Aaric casually pulls Y/N away from Sloane, masking his need for affection behind indifference. But as he holds her close, she knows the truth—his father never taught him warmth, and now he craves it more than he’ll ever admit.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: fluff word count: 1.9k

Thank you for your idea, asteria-wood! I hope this comes close to what you had in mind. 💙

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The training yard was quieter than usual, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the worn stone. Y/N sat beside her best friend Sloane on the low wall bordering the sparring grounds, watching a few first-years struggle through their footwork drills. "You need to drop your stance lower," Sloane remarked, eyes flicking toward one of the first-years wobbling under the weight of their own sword. "They'll get knocked on their ass within seconds."

Y/N hummed in agreement. "You should tell them." Sloane scoffed. "Not my problem. If they don't figure it out, they'll wash out soon enough." "Harsh." "Realistic." But despite her words, her gaze lingered in that assessing way, like she was already dissecting their mistakes, debating whether or not it was worth the effort to intervene. Y/N smiled a little. Sloane was blunt, at times ruthless, but she had a strange way of caring—often against her better judgment. "You're already thinking about helping them, aren't you?" "Absolutely not." "Mhm. Sure." Sloane shot her a flat look, but there was no real bite to it. "You're insufferable."

Y/N only grinned. "And yet, here we are." Before Sloane could answer, Aaric showed up. He approached without hurry, his usual air of effortless composure wrapped around him. His expression was unreadable, but Y/N had spent enough time around him to notice the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides as if resisting the urge to fidget. He wanted something.

“Aaric,” Sloane greeted, her tone neutral but edged with curiosity. He rarely sought them out like this. Not publicly, at least. Y/N barely had time to process his arrival before he reached out and—without so much as a word—wrapped a hand around her wrist and tugged her to her feet. “Walk with me,” he said, his voice smooth, casual, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if it hadn’t been a command disguised as a request.

Y/N blinked up at him. “I—what?” “Walk. With me.” His tone was deliberately unbothered, but there was an underlying weight to it, something only she would catch. Sloane’s brows knit together. “Are you—” “Need to discuss something with her,” Aaric interrupted smoothly. “Nothing important.” Sloane’s confusion only deepened, but she didn’t question it further, merely eyeing Y/N like she had somehow gotten tangled in something bizarre and beyond explanation. Y/N, for her part, let herself be led without resistance. Because she knew exactly what this was.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Aaric didn’t stop walking until they were well beyond earshot, past the archway leading toward the quieter corridors of Basgiath. Only then did he slow, his grip on her wrist loosening but not quite letting go. “You could have just asked,” Y/N mused, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Aaric sighed through his nose, the tension he had held in front of Sloane bleeding away now that they were alone. “I had to make it look natural.”

Y/N tilted her head, her voice softer now. “And what is it exactly that looked so natural?” Aaric didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned against the cool stone wall, eyes flicking over her before he exhaled, reaching for her hand again—not to pull her, not to lead her anywhere, but simply to hold. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, absentminded, almost hesitant.

“I just wanted to hold you for a bit,” he admitted finally, his voice quieter, lower, like it was a secret meant only for her. “That’s all.” Y/N’s chest ached in the way it always did when he let his guard down like this, when the carefully crafted mask of Aaric Graycastle slipped to reveal Cam—Prince Camlaen Aaric Tauri, a boy who had grown up under the rule of a father who never offered warmth, never taught him what love was supposed to feel like.

She squeezed his fingers lightly. “You’re allowed to want that, you know.” His lips quirked, but there was something tired about the smile. “Not publicly.” Y/N shifted closer, resting her forehead against his shoulder, feeling the way his breath hitched at the contact before he melted, wrapping his arms around her properly this time. Not casually, not in passing, but fully—like he needed this more than he wanted to admit.

She felt his heartbeat against her cheek, steady but strong. Aaric exhaled, then without a word, started walking again, this time with her hand still firmly in his. Y/N followed without question, letting him lead her through the dimly lit corridors. His room was neat, orderly, but the moment the door shut behind them, Aaric’s composure cracked. He tugged her into his arms once more, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply like he was grounding himself in her presence.

Y/N held him just as tightly, her fingers brushing through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. “Cam,” she murmured softly against his temple. Aaric shuddered slightly, his arms tightening around her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. That name—Cam—was something only she called him, something only she was allowed to say. From anyone else, his true name felt like a burden, a reminder of his duty, of expectation thrown onto him. But from her? It was warmth, it was belonging, it was home.

He pressed closer, inhaling the familiar scent of her, letting it soothe the raw edges he never let anyone else see. "Stay a while?" he asked, his voice rougher now, almost hesitant, as if he feared she might slip away. Y/N smiled, her hand drifting to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. "Always."

Aaric lay quietly, his head resting comfortably on Y/N’s chest. For once, he didn’t have to carry the weight of his title or his father’s expectations—he could simply be Aaric, just a man with the woman he loved. Y/N’s fingers gently combed through his hair, and Aaric let himself sink deeper into the moment. She always knew just how to calm him, how to make him feel like he was more than the crown he was born to wear, more than the obligations that had been placed on his shoulders.

“Cam,” she murmured softly, and his heart fluttered at the sound of his true name leaving her lips. No one else used it. No one else could. It was just theirs, a secret between them that meant more than anything the world could offer. He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his gaze soft and vulnerable, something he rarely allowed anyone to see. "I know I don’t say it much, but… thank you. For being here. For letting me be myself, even when I’m... not what I’m supposed to be."

Y/N smiled down at him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw in a slow, soothing motion. "You don’t have to be anything other than what you are, Cam. I love you for you. Not the crown, not the prince. Just you." Aaric’s heart gave a little jump at her words. No one had ever loved him like this. His father had always seen him as an extension of his power, a tool to be used for the kingdom’s needs. But Y/N? She saw him. The boy behind the crown, the man beneath the responsibilities, the one who just wanted to feel like he mattered for who he was, not what he could do.

Aaric took a deep breath, his voice low and sincere. "I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me, anyway. To be loved just for being me. But then I met you, and everything changed." Y/N’s thumb gently caressed his cheek, her smile wide and genuine. “Of course, it’s possible. You’re perfect just as you are, Cam.” He laughed softly, the sound more relaxed than it had been in a long time. "I don’t know about perfect, but... with you, I feel like I’m finally starting to understand what it means to be loved." He turned serious.

"My father—King Tauri," he began, the name feeling foreign on his tongue, "he never showed me or my brother's love. Not in any way that mattered. I was never... enough." His chest tightened at the thought, the familiar ache creeping up again as he recalled his childhood. He could still remember being a boy—maybe ten or eleven—standing in front of the grand throne room, waiting for his father’s approval. Always waiting. But it never came. Not in the way he needed it.

"As a child, I’d try... try to do something to get his attention," Aaric muttered, his fingers tightening around Y/N’s. "I’d study harder, fight better, follow every order without question, hoping—just hoping—that he’d look at me the way a father should look at his son. But it was never enough." Aaric took in a shaky breath, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke again. "He would look at me, but it was like I was just... another piece in his game. Just another soldier to shape. No warmth, no affection. Only duty. Always duty." He chuckled bitterly, the sound hollow. "The kingdom, the crown—it was all that mattered to him. Not me. Not who I was. Just what I could do for him."

His eyes fluttered closed, and the memories surged forward like a flood. His father’s cold stare, the weight of his expectations crushing him at every turn. "I remember asking him once—just once—if I could have a moment of his time, to ask about my training, or anything. I was a child. And he looked at me like I was an inconvenience, then turned his back on me." She traced gentle circles over his back as silence settled between them, allowing the weight of his words to set before she spoke.

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before resting her forehead against his. “You deserve love. You deserve to feel it every day.” Aaric’s eyes fluttered shut as he let himself melt into her embrace, feeling the warmth of her affection wrap around him like a blanket. "Thank you for showing me how to love. I don’t ever want to let that go," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t ever want to lose you, Y/N."

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised softly. "Not ever. You’ll always have me." Aaric’s heart swelled at her words, his fingers tightening gently around her waist as if to ground himself in the moment, in her. He shifted, moving closer. It was just about them—him—being with her, the one person who made him feel safe enough to lay down the weight of everything he carried. He leaned up, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss so soft, so full of love, that it made everything else fade away. No politics, no obligations, just the two of them.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N’s smile was a little more mischievous. “Hold me a little longer?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with affection. “Always,” Aaric answered, pressing a kiss to her temple. He pulled her closer, letting himself fall into the warmth of her embrace once more, where he could simply be Cam—the man who was finally loved, for who he truly was. And for the first time in his life, he was at peace.

[krepedforbreakfast]

「 ✦ 𝚅𝙰𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂 ✦ 」ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  ✧ 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙳𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙾 ✧ 𝚡 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

𝕏𝕀𝔸 𝔽𝔼𝕀 / 𝔽𝔼𝕃𝕀𝕏

𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 would be 100% confident that he’ll bag you no sweat– so he put off the planning till 3 days before valentines.

𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 then starts panicking.

𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 paces around the room, digging for anything he could give you or use as an ask-out

𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 realizes he has nothing (bc he’s poor as hell.)- maybe a few fancy perfumes from Vein, but they’re all opened 💀

𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 gets lazy and throws them in the brown paper bag he got while grocery shopping anyway

buuuuut 𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 realizes who he’s confessing to (the love of his live who he’d be very depressed over if he fumbled)

Soooo 𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 he calls up Vein and he’s basically crying over the phone over how you’re going to reject him and how he’s too poor for you (there is not a big wage gap between you two 💀) Vein thought he was drunk…

Vein finds the situation pretty amusing, but he wants 𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 to be happy so he sends over a goooood chunk of money 

𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 had originally wanted to spend his own money so that i’d be 100% his work to confess, but then he counted his money and took the funds dreadfully

Vein asks him what he’s gonna get you, and 𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 ends up going running on a list of all your favourite things. He didn’t realize he was doing it, he was really just brainstorming aloud. 

Usually Vein’s the expert when it comes to all things fancy, but 𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 takes the lead this time, dipping into all your favourite stores buying restocks of all your favourite products (that you never mentioned…?)

Before 𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 realises, he’s spent all the money Vien gave him (which to be fair wasn’t that much…?) 

Soo 𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 goes back home to start arranging everything!! 

𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 Carefully padding your gifts with pink tissue paper, handwriting a letter, making sure the folds are neat and sharp, wrapping everything with ribbon.

Annnnd before he knew it, 𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 fell asleep. On your gifts.

𝚇𝚒𝚊 𝙵𝚎𝚒 woke up realizing he doesn’t actually have a plan.

𝕃𝕀𝕌 𝕏𝕀𝔸𝕆 / 𝕏𝔸𝕍𝕀𝔼ℝ

𝙻𝚒𝚞 𝚇𝚒𝚊𝚘 started casually dropping questions like “are you running out on any products?” and “What are your thoughts on these flowers? They rot pretty fast, but they’re beautiful while they last” months before valentines. you’ve completely forgotten about them

Other things like your favourite foods, plushies, and in general what sort of things you’d want 𝙻𝚒𝚞 𝚇𝚒𝚊𝚘 knew already, picking out gifts was no sweat

𝙻𝚒𝚞 𝚇𝚒𝚊𝚘 started stocking up on gifts and making reservations way before you even thought about valentines

𝙻𝚒𝚞 𝚇𝚒𝚊𝚘 bought you a fancy dress for the occasion too! And ofcourse it matched his suit.

On the day, 𝙻𝚒𝚞 𝚇𝚒𝚊𝚘 either made you breakfast himself, or doordashed it if he couldn’t make it

You had bought a few things for 𝙻𝚒𝚞 𝚇𝚒𝚊𝚘 too, and handmade some others. You knew it wouldn’t be anywhere near the value of the hundreds he’d spend on you, but still– you had to do something.

But in 𝙻𝚒𝚞 𝚇𝚒𝚊𝚘’s eyes, the bouquet and plushie you got him were everything. He toned down his smile to a normal one so you wouldn’t think he’s that down bad for you (he is. He very much is.) He really couldn’t hold back his smile, kept looking at the plushie and squeezing it while it’s hand like it was a mini you. Omg he’d take such good care of it.

𝙻𝚒𝚞 𝚇𝚒𝚊𝚘 did all the stuff the ideal boyfriend would. 

Cute dinner date (candle lit at your favourite fancy restaurant), pulled out your chair (like the gentleman he is), takes the prettiest photos, wiped crumbs off your lips, gave u his jacket when you got cold, everything. 

You felt like your face was going to overheat and die.

But really- 𝙻𝚒𝚞 𝚇𝚒𝚊𝚘 was much more giddy than you were. Just better at hiding it.

And ofcourse 𝙻𝚒𝚞 𝚇𝚒𝚊𝚘's pride was inflated a bit, knowing how fast your heart was beating

(this is a side note, but he’d literally know exactly when ur uncomfy bc of his ability)

Ended the day either gazing at the stars on a picnic blanket, or just watching a movie at home. Because obviously he prepared two plans, depending on how tired you felt at that point ;)

𝕍𝔼𝕀ℕ

𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 remembered to plan something once he heard some of his workers gushing over what their boyfriends were going to do for valentines, or who they were hoping would ask them out

𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 wasn’t a huge festive person (unless it was for ‘Cannibal Appreciation Day’ which he took a weird amount of happiness in- and you didn’t even know about until he asked you to celebrate it with him) given his busy schedule, but he knew you were, so 𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 figured it be worth taking a day off from work.

𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 saw no need to busy his hands, so he told his assistants exactly what flowers to get (including how many, the ribbon, wrapping, and which florist to get it from), where to book reservations (in the best tables of course. And he would’ve rented out the restaurant, but he knew you’d feel awkward just staring at him in a completely empty dinner, and feel bad that he’d literally ruin every other couple’s plans 💀) and everything else

𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 went to buy a perfume for you in person (since you don’t truly ‘understand a scent’ unless you smell it for yourself) (his words not mine). 𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 knew exactly what scent he was going for. A base note of Vanilla, a heart note of Cinnamon, and a headnote of Lemon. 

Or if there was something else that screamed ‘you’, he wouldn’t be able to resist buying it for you. 

𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 ended up putting in a custom order, just for you. He admitted that he probably shouldn’t be doing everything less than a week before the big day, but with enough money anything is possible.

He reviewed the (very big) bouquet once it had arrived as well, just to make sure it was good enough for you.

𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 had everything had been set up. A fully glammed out limbo, and Blackcard(s) ready for you. Now he just had to wait til tomorrow, show up at your door and oh so charismatically as you out.

Yup, 𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 was done for the day. So he packed his bag and prepared to leave the office. Uuuuunntill one of his assistants said someone had requested his ‘immediate presence’  

So 𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 irritatedly threw on a smile and opened the doors to the small room (that wasn’t meant to be a meeting room- it was more of a closet? But his closets are huge so it’s not that bad)

“Hm? Who wanted to see me?”

The door was then slammed behind him by the previous assistant. Vein flicked the lights on immediately, to know what the hell was going on.

He then had a heart attack and died. 

Boohoo.

Kidding (i love vein guys pls believe me).

It was you! With a bouquet of your own flowers and a small gift bag. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

A few moments of silence followed, while you tried to find your words and 𝚅𝚎𝚒𝚗 looked at you with utmost curiosity.

"Awww!! Did you do all this for me? You really didn't have to~" "I felt like I should- since you do so much for me... Don't think too much of it."

He ate the flowers.

(Yea ok I got a bit lazy here- mb chat !!)

A/N: woohoo time to feed the ever so starved linkclick x reader community (and vee who's probably gonna note this js to support me even if she doesn't watch lc lmao) (love ya vega <3) > Please leave a comment and follow if you want more content!!!

✦ 「 MASTERLISTS 」

【 TimePhotoStudioDuo Scenarios 】 ✦ 【 Bridon Trio Scenarios 】 ✦ 【 Misc/Reqs 】 ✦ 【 Oneshots 】

©krepedforbreakfast ⎸credit if inspo-ed ⎸【 kreped.kontent 】

[alleyross]

dawn breaks through zayne mercilessly.

the first time you remember him changing in a second was not so clear. you almost missed it, just to reminisce about it later.

it still was zayne, standing in front of you, giving you a jasmine branch, but the next moment it felt somehow strange. his hand gripped yours tighter and it looked like all the colors left his face. you couldn’t even comprehend what you’re seeing, and the second after he moved away slightly, frowning to himself, like he just got lost for a moment.

it wasn’t too serious. he could look into your eyes for too long and keep silence eagerly, even though you tried to scold him for not replying. you thought to yourself “that’s just zayne”, how he is, calm demeanour and silent gazes were his specialties. only that he got a bit confused every time it happened. like he couldn’t remember what was going on just now. like he just snapped out of space.

then his mood changes became brighter. he laughed out of context and then frowned in the middle of casual conversation. he grabbed your hand out of nowhere, causing you to flinch, and then got upset for scaring you. he kissed you softly and then bit into your lips with sudden hunger, like he just got there after 10 years of longing from afar. once he messed with you during it and pulled your hair with so much strength it had you startle. it was like he lost control in a heat of the moment. only that he has never been like this before, and now he is, and his guilty impression makes you wonder.

and then sleepwalking starts, and it becomes more obvious zayne’s not okay. you wake up at night to him standing two steps away from you in a dark room, and your heart sinks at the sight of his face in a deem light from the window. street lights in the night open for you something, that a bright light of a day couldn’t. it’s the first time you actually question, calling out his name.

“zayne?” like it could’ve been anybody else here.

he didn’t answer, snapping back into reality as fast as usual. only then he took a few steps back, and a fear, written all over your face, reflected on his own.

and you still didn’t talk about it. not during those moments, not after. he’s silent, and then scared, and then he’s distant, until you cling to him and caress his back, asking him about anything else, to put his mind at ease.

then that happens, and you just know you should’ve asked earlier. when you’re intimate and zayne breaths into your mouth like a madman who just ran a marathon, and his hands grip a bit tighter under your thighs, scratching your skin red, and his moves change so suddenly, it makes you gasp. and you like it, the way his body weighs above you, and his feverish warmth that comes off his skin, and the sight of his parted lips, whispering nonsense on repeat, you almost miss the point, but then he gets louder, almost hissing in your face, swallowing vowels, two words, and you say them back every time, cause he makes you feel so good, and it’s true. he does love you, and you do love him too.

and when he makes you fall apart, holding you under your chin firmly, trying to catch your unfocused eyes, and repeats again, hitting syllables, like he nails a coffin with his own tongue.

“i! love! you!” and the “i” is not zayne’s.

like someone else trying to speak to you through his mouth.

and when he comes right after, hiding his face into your neck with a whip, trembling with his whole body, the first ever thing you feel after is pity. it bursts out of your chest with a cry, floods onto him with soft caressing movements of your hands on his shoulders and back, and you bathe him in your pity like a saint would bathe a sinner, and it’s the first time you’re rather scared of what comes after zayne comes back to you, than of who you’re holding close to your bare chest right now.

[charliedawn]

knocking on your door at three am in the rain

Charlie, dearest, I am… so sorry to bother you so soon and so close to the date… but may I perhaps inquire about a Valentine’s Day with the Hannibal’s? Please? Please?? Pleaseeeeeee????? They deserve something nice today :)

Valentine’s Day with the Hannibal Family

The morning at the Hannibal estate began as it always did—refined, quiet, and steeped in an air of sophistication. But today, a subtle shift had taken place. There was a box of chocolate waiting to be unwrapped on the side of the table. A vase of crimson roses sat at the center of said dining table, a rare acknowledgment of the holiday that none of them usually bothered to celebrate.

You, however, were determined to bring a little more heart into the occasion.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my terrifying murder family,” you announced as you walked into the room, arms full of small, individually wrapped gifts.

Peter’s face lit up immediately. “Wait, we’re doing Valentine’s ?”

Kevin smirked. “Apparently.”

Hannibal Sr. raised a brow, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I suspect you had something to do with this.”

You grinned, placing a package in front of each of them. “Of course. What, you thought I’d ignore the perfect excuse to force you all into a unwanted display of affection ?”

Morgan picked up his gift, eyeing it suspiciously. “What is it ?”

“Open it and see,” you replied confidently, plopping down in your seat with a self-satisfied grin.

One by one, they unwrapped their gifts. Peter gasped audibly as he pulled out a hand-knit scarf in deep forest green. “You made this ?”

You nodded proudly. “I did. Thought you could use something warm.”

He brought it to his face and took a long inhale. “I love it…Thank you so much.”

You smiled.

Okay. Hannibal 1 is happy with his gift.

Kevin tore his open too, revealing a T-shirt that read Trust me, I’m an artist in bold letters. He burst out laughing. “I’m wearing this immediately.”

He ran upstairs to change.

Morgan, ever the skeptic, unwrapped a sleek, elegant pen—one you had painstakingly researched, knowing he would appreciate quality over sentiment. He turned it in his fingers, nodding in approval. “Not bad.”

Hannibal Jr. lifted the lid off his box to find a carefully curated collection of rare teas. He let out a soft hum of approval. “You do pay attention. Merci, mon/ma cher/chère.”

You smiled as he called you dear in French and nodded. Fancy…Seems like he also liked his gift. Good job you.

“And for you, sir,” you said, sliding the last box toward Hannibal Sr., “a new set of antique wine glasses. Because, frankly, I fear for my life every time you handle the old ones.”

A low chuckle escaped him, and he lifted his glass of morning coffee in a mock toast. “A thoughtful gesture. I’ll be sure to use them wisely.”

After breakfast, Peter surprised everyone by shyly pushing a box of chocolates toward you. “I, uh, actually got you something too. Since you’re always making things for us.”

Your heart warmed as you took it, grinning. “Peter, that’s adorable. You’re my favorite today.”

Kevin snorted. “Wow, no hesitation.”

“Sorry, I play favorites on Valentine’s,” you teased.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to bribe my way into first place,” Hannibal Jr. mused. He reached into his coat pocket and handed you a small, wrapped package. Inside was a beautifully intricate bookmark, its design reminiscent of old-world craftsmanship.

You blinked, touched. “This is gorgeous.”

“I know you read more than you sleep,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. “It seemed appropriate.”

Morgan rolled his eyes but handed you something as well—a first edition of a book you had casually mentioned months ago.

“Wait,” you whispered, flipping it open in disbelief. “This is impossible to find.”

Morgan smirked. “Not for me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Kevin shoving something into your hands. It was a mixtape.

“A mixtape ?” you asked, amused.

He shrugged and pretended to be nonchalant about it. “Figured I’d introduce you to good music.”

“I will treasure it forever,” you declared dramatically and chuckled before putting all of them in a bag.

Then, finally, you turned to Hannibal Sr., raising a brow. “And what about you ? Do I get the Valentine treatment or…?”

He studied you for a moment, then reached into his pocket and placed a small, silver key in your palm.

You frowned. “What’s this ?”

“The key to the library,” he said smoothly. “You now have unrestricted access.”

Your eyes widened. “You never let anyone in there unsupervised—maybe Morgan sometimes but...”

“A rare exception,” he admitted, amusement flickering in his gaze. “One you have earned.”

For once, you were speechless.

Peter clapped his hands together. “Well, this was unexpectedly wholesome.”

You beamed at all of them, your heart warm. “Happy Valentine’s Day, you terrifying, ridiculous, wonderful people.”

Kevin smirked. “We should do this every year.”

Hannibal Sr. merely raised his glass again. “Perhaps.”

But the rare, almost fond expressions on all their faces told you everything you needed to know.

Message from Author:

[fidesvirtusobsession]

Echoes of a Thousand Nights

Yandere Vampire x AFAB reader

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2

Description: For centuries, Alaric has walked the earth, bound by the cruel hand of fate. A vampire of old blood, he has seen empires fall, lovers turn to dust, and the world reshape itself around him. Yet, through the endless nights, one thing remains constant—her. The woman who haunts his past lives, slipping through his fingers with every rebirth. She never remembers, never knows who he is, yet he finds her, lifetime after lifetime, only to lose her again.Now, in the present day, her scent resurfaces in the most unlikely of places—an underground auction house where humans are sold like cattle. But Alaric will not let fate steal her away this time. This time, he will keep her.

The auctioneer’s voice droned on, emotionless, detached. Another night, another human sold to the highest bidder.

Alaric stood near the back, his gloved hands folded neatly in front of him, expression unreadable. Only those who knew him well would recognize the flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders squared just a fraction tighter than usual.

Her scent was everywhere now.

It filled his lungs, wrapped around him like an unshakable chain, clawing at the patience he barely clung to. He forced himself to remain still, to not react too soon. He couldn’t risk alerting anyone to his interest—not yet.

“Starting bid: 5,000.”

A vampire near the front raised a hand.

“6,000.”

“10,000.”

Alaric exhaled slowly through his nose, irritation crawling up his spine like a slow poison.

“20,000.”

The scent of her blood—faint but present—itched at his instincts. He could hear her heartbeat, feel the weak but steady pulse of her life on the other side of the room.

And yet these vermin—these insignificant leeches—dared to treat her as a commodity.

“30,000.”

“50,000.”

His fingers twitched.

“100,000.”

The murmurs in the crowd stilled for a moment. Some bidders hesitated, others cast wary glances toward the back of the room, finally realizing who they were up against.

Good. They should know better.

But not all of them did.

A slow chuckle broke the silence.

“How interesting.”

Alaric didn’t turn immediately. He recognized that voice—young, arrogant, and profoundly stupid.

A vampire stepped forward, casual in his movements, clearly enjoying the sudden shift in tension. “You seem rather eager, Lord Alaric,” he mused. “Now why would that be?”

Alaric remained silent, watching. Waiting.

The vampire grinned, flashing his fangs. “150,000.”

The room stiffened. Fool.

Alaric tilted his head slightly, his patience razor-thin.

A few bidders shuffled back. Others, wiser than their reckless companion, were already withdrawing from the auction entirely.

The auctioneer hesitated. Even he knew this was a dangerous game.

Alaric finally spoke.

“You misunderstand.”

The younger vampire raised a brow. “Oh? And what exactly am I misunderstanding?”

Alaric stepped forward. His voice was velvet-wrapped steel, low and deliberate.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

Silence.

Then—the snap of a bone.

No one saw him move. No one had time to process it before the arrogant vampire’s wrist was crushed in Alaric’s grip. A sharp, choked gasp left his lips, his bravado evaporating into raw pain.

Alaric leaned in, his voice barely a whisper.

“Sit down.”

The younger vampire swallowed hard, his face paling.

“Now.”

With a strangled noise, he stumbled back, clutching his broken wrist, and did exactly as he was told.

Alaric turned back to the auctioneer, smoothing his coat as though nothing had happened. “Continue.”

The man barely managed a nod before stammering, “S-Sold to Lord Alaric.”

And just like that, the room breathed again.

His focus was solely on her.

She sat on the cold stone floor, shackles biting into her wrists and ankles, head lowered as if she dared not meet the gaze of her captors. What little remained of her clothing could hardly be called garments—more like strips of fabric barely holding together, dirt-streaked and frayed from mistreatment.

The scent of her blood clung to the air, faint but enough to make his grip tighten at his sides.

He inhaled slowly, willing his anger to settle beneath the surface.

He could not afford to be reckless—not with her.

Not now.

His footsteps echoed through the now-silent chamber as he approached. She stiffened, her shoulders tensing, a telltale sign that she was aware of him—that she feared him.

Of course, she did.

She had seen how the room had shifted upon his arrival. She had seen the wary looks, the hushed silence.

And she had seen what happened when someone dared to challenge him.

She had seen his wrath.

He slowed his steps, his usual imposing presence now carefully controlled. When he finally reached her, he crouched down, lowering himself to her level rather than towering over her like the others had.

Her breathing was shallow, her gaze flickering up at him only briefly before darting away.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice softer now. Not a demand—a request.

Hesitantly, she lifted her head.

Even beneath the grime and exhaustion, she was still unmistakably her.

Still the same soul.

Still his.

Alaric exhaled through his nose, schooling his features into something gentler before shifting his attention to the chains around her wrists.

His next words were quiet, but there was no room for argument.

“The shackles. Remove them.”

The auctioneer—who had been lingering in the background, avoiding direct eye contact—hurried forward, fumbling with the keys as he obeyed.

The metal bindings clattered to the floor one by one, leaving raw, reddened skin in their wake.

She winced as she tried to move, her limbs stiff from the restraints. Before she could attempt to stand, his hands were on her.

Not rough. Not forceful.

Steady.

One arm beneath her knees, the other around her back—lifting her effortlessly into his arms.

She inhaled sharply, her fingers instinctively curling against his chest, her pulse spiking.

Fear.

He could feel it in the way she stiffened against him.

His grip on her tightened—not in restraint, but in reassurance.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper.

He could feel her heartbeat against his own, erratic and unsure.

Alaric turned, stepping past the remnants of the auction, past the lingering stares, past the world that had sought to reduce her to nothing more than a prize to be won.

They would never touch her again.

Not while he still walked this earth.

The heavy doors of the auction chamber had barely shut behind him before a voice cut through the dimly lit hallway.

"Was that really necessary?"

Alaric didn't pause. He continued walking, his grip secure around the woman in his arms. She was trembling, but whether it was from exhaustion or fear, he wasn’t sure.

The younger vampire, cradling his broken wrist, stepped forward, glaring. His face was twisted in irritation, but there was something else lurking beneath it—curiosity.

"You didn’t have to break my wrist over a mere human," the young vampire scoffed, voice tinged with both pain and indignation. "I was simply bidding. Isn't that the whole point of an auction?"

Alaric finally stopped.

The hallway was empty except for a few scattered auction staff who quickly averted their gazes, unwilling to involve themselves in whatever this was about to become.

Slowly, deliberately, Alaric turned his head, his gaze settling on the younger vampire like a predator sizing up insignificant prey.

The young one hesitated but held his ground. "I just don’t understand," he continued. "You’ve never cared about these auctions before. You don’t even feed like the others do. Everyone knows you prefer blood banks over—" He gestured toward the woman in Alaric’s arms. "—this."

There was a long, heavy silence.

Then, in a voice so calm it was almost unnerving, Alaric spoke.

“Have you ever seen a lion allow scavengers to pick at what is his?”

The young vampire stiffened.

Alaric’s eyes darkened, his patience wearing thin. "I don’t care how these creatures conduct themselves. I don’t care what you think is fair or not. She is mine. She was never meant to be here in the first place."

His words left no room for argument.

But still, the younger vampire—perhaps emboldened by youth or just sheer foolishness—pressed on.

"Then why the sudden interest?" He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Have you changed your mind about drinking blood?"

Alaric’s expression remained unreadable.

For a brief moment, the thought of answering crossed his mind—but it was fleeting. He had wasted enough words on this one already.

Instead, he turned away.

And with that, the conversation was over.

The night air was cold—biting against the skin, sharp like the world they had just left behind. The stench of blood and desperation still clung to him, but he forced it from his mind as he stepped through the auction house doors and out into the darkened street.

His car was waiting, sleek and black, its windows tinted enough to keep the outside world at bay. The servants stood nearby, silent and watchful. They did not speak, did not question. They had served him long enough to know when their master’s patience had worn thin.

Alaric barely spared them a glance as he moved, his focus entirely on the fragile weight in his arms.

The rags they had left her in barely deserved to be called clothing, the fabric hanging off her like an afterthought. He could feel the faint tremors of her body, the way she curled inward, as if trying to disappear.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself before lowering her feet to the ground.

The moment she was no longer against him, she wavered, unsteady from exhaustion and the cold.

Without a word, he pulled his coat from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. The heavy fabric draped over her, its warmth a stark contrast to the biting cold. It was large enough to wrap around her completely, enveloping her in his scent—leather, a hint of smoke, and something undeniably him. The weight of it settled over her shoulders, shielding her from the night’s cruel air, a silent reassurance that she was no longer exposed.

She flinched slightly as he adjusted it, pulling the edges tight around her form.

“Better,” he murmured, his voice softer now, no longer carrying the weight of authority it had inside the auction hall.

Her wide, uncertain eyes flickered up to meet him, watching him carefully, as if trying to decide what kind of monster he truly was.

He didn’t linger.

With one hand, he reached for the car door and pulled it open, stepping aside so she could climb in.

For a moment, she hesitated.

Then, cautiously, she moved, sliding into the plush interior, still wrapped in his coat.

Alaric followed, his movements fluid, practiced. The door shut behind him with a quiet finality.

Outside, the servants remained still, shadows in the night. None of them dared speak.

The engine rumbled to life.

And without another word, the car pulled away, disappearing into the darkness.

The drive home was cloaked in silence, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional sound of tires cutting through the damp road. The air inside the sleek, blacked-out car was warm, a stark contrast to the night’s bitter chill, but tension still clung to the atmosphere like a fog.

She sat stiffly in the seat, wrapped in the heavy coat he had draped over her, fingers curled into the fabric as if anchoring herself. Her mind raced, thoughts spiraling faster than she could keep up with. Who is he? Why do others fear him? How powerful is he? And why—of all the others—did he claim her as his?

Her gaze flickered toward him, stealing a glance from beneath lowered lashes. He sat across from her, poised and composed, as if the events of the auction had barely ruffled him. But there was something too calm about him, a quiet intensity that unsettled her. The way the other vampires had reacted—how they had shrunk in his presence, the way the younger one had paled when Alaric broke his wrist—told her more than words ever could.

He was old. Powerful. Dangerous.

And she was now his.

Her breath hitched slightly at the thought, her grip tightening on the coat. She didn’t realize her nervous energy was bleeding into the air until he finally spoke, his voice low, steady—measured.

“You’re overthinking.”

Her heart jolted at the words.

His eyes, sharp and piercing even in the dim light, remained fixed on her. He wasn’t accusing, nor was he mocking. If anything, there was something almost familiar in the way he said it, as if he had seen her spiral like this before.

“I have no intention of harming you,” Alaric continued, his tone softer now, though it did little to smother the gravity beneath it. “No one will touch you again. You are safe.”

Safe.

The word should have been comforting, yet it only added to the storm in her mind. She swallowed, her throat dry, but said nothing. She wasn’t sure she believed him—not yet. But the way he was looking at her, as if he already knew every thought racing through her mind, made it impossible to deny that he understood.

And that, somehow, was even more unsettling.

Taglist: @yune1337