SUMMARY: Soulmates shared everything. Including scars. When Umbridge's detentions begin exposing soulmate pairs throughout Hogwarts, one bloody sentence on the back of your hand changes everything.
A/N: For my lovely, wonderful @obsessedwithceleste. Astra loves Cel and hopes this came out good<3
Tagging: @delulugirl2000
Soulmate AU
The soulmate bond had always been cruel in its honesty.
From the moment you were born, your soulmate’s scars appeared on your skin like quiet promises. A small scrape on your knee at age six. A faint burn on your forearm from some childhood accident. Tiny, whimsical marks that told you somewhere out there, someone was living.
You were both sorted into Slytherin in first year. You and Mattheo Riddle had been in the same friend group since then — you, Mattheo, Theo, Draco, Blaise, Enzo, Pansy, and Daphne.
No one knew who their soulmate was yet. The scars were still small and meaningless.
Until the summer before fifth year.
Voldemort had returned. The world was darker. And one night, you stood in front of your mirror at home, staring in horror at the new scars that had bloomed across your back — thin, angry lines like someone had been whipped or cursed.
You traced them with trembling fingers, heart aching for whoever was on the other end of this pain.
You didn’t know it was Mattheo.
Fifth year brought Umbridge.
The pink toad took over Defense Against the Dark Arts and quickly turned it into a nightmare. Detentions became frequent. Her quill wasn’t just a writing tool — it carved the words you wrote into your skin with blood.
The first time Enzo got detention, Susan Bones showed up the next morning with the exact same cut on her hand. The soulmate reveal spread like wildfire.
You tried to stay out of trouble.
But one afternoon, you spoke back when Umbridge insulted Harry.
Detention was immediate.
That evening, you returned to the Slytherin common room with fresh, stinging words carved into the back of your hand:
I must not support liars.
The common room was nearly empty — most people were still at dinner.
You sat by the fireplace, cradling your bleeding hand, trying not to cry.
Footsteps echoed from the boys’ dormitories.
Mattheo came down the stairs, absently scratching at the back of his own hand with a scowl.
When he saw you, he froze.
His eyes dropped to your hand.
The exact same words were carved into his skin, still fresh and bleeding.
The air left the room.
Mattheo’s face went pale.
He crossed the room in seconds, dropping to his knees in front of you.
His hand reached out, hovering over yours like he was afraid to touch you.
“...It’s you,” he whispered, voice cracking.
You stared at him, tears finally spilling over.
All those years.
The small scars on your knees. The faint burn on your arm. The thin lines that had appeared across your back last summer — Mattheo’s scars.
And now this.
“You’ve been carrying my scars this whole time?” you choked out.
Mattheo looked wrecked.
He gently took your injured hand in both of his, staring at the bloody words like they were a curse.
“I thought...” His voice was hoarse. “I thought my soulmate was someone else. Someone who didn’t have to see all the ugly parts of me. The scars from my father. The ones from... after he came back.”
You lifted a hand to cup the side of his face.
“I saw them,” you whispered. “The ones on your back. The one across your ribs. I’ve had them since last summer. I stayed up all night wondering who was hurting so much.”
Mattheo let out a broken sound and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck.
You clung to him just as tightly, both of you shaking.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry you got stuck with me.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, cupping his face.
“I’m not,” you said fiercely. “I’m not sorry it’s you, Mattheo.”
He stared at you for a long moment, eyes glassy, before pressing his forehead against yours.
“All this time,” he breathed. “I’ve been hating the world... and you’ve been walking around with my pain on your skin.”
You gave him a watery smile.
“And you’ve been carrying mine.”
Mattheo kissed you then — desperate, trembling, full of six years of unspoken everything.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again, breathing you in.
“I'm not hiding anymore.” he whispered. “Not from you. Never from you.”
You nodded, tears still falling.
“I'm not, either.”
He gently lifted your bleeding hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it, right over the cruel words Umbridge had carved.
Then he stood, pulling you up with him.
“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go clean this up. I’ve got scars to take care of now.”
You smiled through your tears and let him lead you toward the dorms, fingers intertwined.
For the first time, the scars didn’t feel like burdens.
They felt like proof.
Proof that even in darkness, you had found each other.
Summary: You are the girlfriend of the Prince of Slytherin, Draco Malfoy. Which means even when you pass out in the middle of class, you get the best treatment.
Going to class was the last thing you wanted to do today. You had gone to bed the night before feeling feverishly ill, convincing yourself that a full night's sleep would stop whatever sickness was creeping in before it had the chance to get any worse. You were wrong. Very wrong. Still, your pride refused to let you take a sick day. Exams were approaching, and Christmas break was just around the corner. Those were the thoughts you clung to as you pulled on a few extra layers to fight off the relentless chills that wracked your body. You were an excellent student. All you had to do was make it through the next few days, and then you could rest as much as you wanted. After pulling your hair into a high ponytail to keep it off your face, you caught your reflection in the mirror. Your complexion was pale, almost ghostly, and you looked every bit as sick as you felt. Caring took more energy than you had to spare, so you simply turned away and made your way to class.
You slipped into your usual seat beside Daphne Greengrass, your best friend at Hogwarts. A few rows ahead and slightly diagonal from you sat your boyfriend, Draco, alongside Theodore Nott. Draco had never been one for public displays of affection, and truthfully, neither were you. Behind closed doors, however, he was an entirely different person. Gentle. Affectionate. Tender in ways no one else ever got to see. He never made you feel as though you had to be anyone other than yourself, though he had always been honest about the expectations placed upon him whenever others were watching.You understood. You had been raised in the same pure-blood society and knew exactly what was expected of someone like Draco, especially with his father constantly looming over his every move. His carefully maintained, unapproachable exterior had never bothered you. If anything, you liked knowing that the only person capable of softening him was you. So when you arrived later than usual, quietly took your seat, and looked as though you had been dragged through the night kicking and screaming, Draco noticed immediately.
Your eyes were dull and glassy, your skin carried an unhealthy sheen that was nothing like your usual glow, and your lips had lost nearly all their color. You could feel his eyes lingering on you from across the room until you finally looked up. He silently mouthed, Are you alright? You gave him a small nod before immediately stopping. The simple movement sent another sharp throb through your head, making you wince. Draco's expression flattened into one that clearly said, I don't believe you. Before either of you could say anything more, the professor called the class to order, and the lesson began.
There was about half an hour left of class when the sounds around you suddenly became muffled, as though someone had stuffed cotton into your ears. At the same time, your vision began to blur, making it difficult to focus on anything in front of you.You could hear Daphne whispering to you, but her words were indistinguishable. Hoping to ask what she had said, you slowly turned toward her. The look of worry on her face made your stomach sink.You blinked, and she was already on her feet, facing the front of the classroom. What is she doing? What's going on? Even your thoughts felt sluggish, as if your mind were struggling to keep up. Through the haze, you barely managed to make out Daphne calling the professor's name. Every voice sounded distant and muffled, as though everyone were speaking through a thick wall. A moment later, your professor knelt in front of you and gently pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. His eyes widened almost instantly.
"Someone call the nurse, now."
The words were faint, but the urgency in his voice cut through the fog. Before you knew it, Draco was at your side. You weren't sure if it was simply your body recognizing that you were finally safe, finally able to stop fighting whatever illness had been draining you all day, but the moment his hands found you, your consciousness began to slip away. It was as though your body had quietly whispered, You're safe now. Let us take it from here. The world went dark. When you came to again, whether seconds or minutes later, you found yourself lying on the floor with a crowd of students gathered around you. Their faces blurred together, but one remained painfully clear. Draco.You could hear him calling your name. You felt his hand cradling your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek with just enough pressure to coax you awake. Whenever he wasn't murmuring reassurances to you, you caught snippets of him barking at everyone else.
"Back up."
"Give her some space."
"Fuck off. Have you idiots got nothing better to do?"
His voice was sharp enough to cut through the room, commanding everyone around him without a second thought. Yet the instant his attention returned to you, every trace of that harshness disappeared.
"I've got you."
"I'm right here, darling."
"You're okay."
"You're going to be just fine. I won't let anything happen to you."
No one else ever got to hear this version of Draco, the one whose voice was impossibly soft, whose touch was impossibly gentle. The one who held you as though you might shatter if he was anything less. You drifted in and out of consciousness, each time your eyes fluttering open just enough to find him still there. Every time they did, he greeted you with another quiet reassurance, another gentle promise that eased the trembling in your body and quieted the panic threatening to rise in your chest. Then your eyes would close again. And each time they did, it was a little easier to let go, knowing Draco was there to catch you.
When you finally woke up, the first thing you realized was that you weren't in the infirmary. The second was that you weren't in your own dormitory. That didn't mean you were somewhere unfamiliar. Quite the opposite. You knew this room like the back of your hand. You could probably walk through it blindfolded. Somehow, you'd ended up in Draco's room. How he'd managed to arrange that was beyond you. Maybe he'd pulled a few strings, called in a favor, or simply refused to take no for an answer. Whatever he'd done, it had worked. The thought faded as you realized how much better you felt. The pounding in your head had dulled to a faint ache, and the feverish chills were finally gone. Beside the bed, an IV slowly dripped into your arm, while a bowl of medicinal herbs rested on the bedside table. You recognized them immediately from previous visits to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey had clearly been by before allowing you to be moved. Warm morning sunlight streamed through the window, making you wonder just how long you'd been asleep. Before you could piece it together, the bedroom door opened. Draco stepped inside carrying a few books. The moment he saw your eyes open, he dropped them onto the nearest chair and crossed the room in only a few hurried strides.
"You're awake."
The relief on his face was impossible to miss as he gently took your hand.
"You passed out in class yesterday," he explained quietly. "Madam Pomfrey kept you in the infirmary until she was sure you were stable. After that..." A small, almost smug smile tugged at his lips. "I convinced her you'd recover better here, so long as she continued checking on you."
It wasn't exactly surprising. Draco Malfoy had always been remarkably good at getting his way. You listened quietly, the last missing pieces finally falling into place. It was a little ridiculous that you'd somehow ended up in Draco Malfoy's room instead of the infirmary, but you couldn't say you minded. If anything, there was nowhere else you'd rather be. A small, tired laugh escaped you.
"You bullied Madam Pomfrey into letting me stay here, didn't you?"
The corner of Draco's mouth twitched into the faintest smirk.
"Bullied is such an ugly word."
"So that's a yes."
He didn't bother denying it. Instead, he reached over to straighten your blankets before making sure your potion and water were within easy reach, pretending he wasn't fussing over you nearly as much as he actually was. Watching him, you realized he'd probably been just as frightened as everyone else when you collapsed. You reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Thank you."
His expression softened.
"You don't have to thank me for taking care of you."
Before you could think of a response, he picked up the potion from your bedside table and held it out to you.
"Drink."
You sighed dramatically, accepting the vial with an exaggerated look of annoyance.
"Really?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Don't test me."
Rolling your eyes, you obediently drank the potion, grimacing at the bitter taste. Draco looked entirely too pleased with himself. You decided you'd save your arguments for when you were feeling more like yourself.
Lake, he thought. Streams. Water. Probably it was just his brain getting fried from poison fumes, but he croaked out a laugh.
Akhlys shrieked. ‘What is this?’
‘Poison,’ Percy said. ‘That’s your speciality, right?’
He stood, his anger growing hotter in his gut. As the flood of venom rolled towards the goddess,
the fumes began to make her cough. Her eyes watered even more.
Oh, good, Percy thought. More water.
Percy imagined her nose and throat filling with her own tears.
He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to choke this goddess. He wanted to watch her drown in her
own poison. He wanted to see just how much misery Misery could take.
summary: (includes smut) a jealous theodore is not one you want to mess with. or maybe, for you, he's exactly what you need.
authors note: i wrote this in 30 minutes on my lunch break. i just couldn't get theo out of my head #workinghardorhardlyworking?!?! anyway enjoy guys!
🌷 masterlist
Theodore Nott doesn’t get jealous. No, he’s too good for an emotion as weak as pitiful enviousness. He’s way above wasting a single second on thinking about someone else. No, the feeling he’s getting from watching you flirt with another man isn’t jealousy. It’s hatred.
Theodore’s not jealous of the way your hand rests on the other Slytherin’s thigh. He’s not jealous of the other man who’s able to see the column of your neck up close when you throw your head back to laugh carelessly. He’s not jealous of your lips grazing the other man’s ear as you whisper something that makes the two of you giggle. Theodore is too busy devising a murder plot to feel jealous.
Theodore isn’t jealous, no. But then, what can he call the growing chasm in his stomach, the one that makes him feel like he’s freefalling? What can he call his roaring heartbeat in his ears, so loud he can barely hear Mattheo talking to him from a few feet away? How can he explain his clenched fists, his tight jaw, his hardened eyes?
Okay, so he might be jealous, which could be a reason for the predicament you’re in now.
“Tell me you’re mine. Say who you belong to, amorina. Say my name.” Theodore’s slow drag of his cock in and out of your wet pussy makes you feel tingles from your toes all the way to your finger tips, your head so far up in the clouds that you can’t even manage to talk properly, slurring your words to the point where they’re almost unintelligible.
“Theo,” you whisper his name, your fingers clenching the sheets under you. “Faster,” you whine desperately, your hips jerking up towards him, needing better friction, more precise movements, needing him deeper.
“That’s not what I said, bambina,” Theodore whispers in that gravelly voice he saves just for when he’s fucking you. “You’re mine. Say it.” He knows it’s irrational, the words he’s saying, because you’re not his. You're not his girlfriend or his partner, you’re not even his friend. You’re acquaintances. But once he found out from a drunk Pansy that your pussy became sopping wet just from making quick eye contact with him, and once he could admit to himself that he became painfully hard just from you sitting next to him, the two of you became, for the lack of a better description, fuck buddies.
You can barely breathe with Theodore’s cock inside you, and the sheer pleasure you feel from this new form of hate sex that you’re experiencing is rendering you completely stupid. So you can’t stop yourself from moaning his name over and over again, saying that you’re his and only his, and that you need him to go faster or you might actually die.
Sex with Theodore was always good, but you make a mental note to make him jealous more often. This was indescribable, his relentless pace, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he bends you into shapes you didn’t even know your body could make, his hand on your throat as he fucks you into the mattress, your moans echoing around the room so loud you’re almost positive someone’s going to walk in on the two of you.
“You going to cum, principessa, huh? Oh, look at you,” Theodore coos softly, acting like he’s not fucking into you so hard you can barely breathe. “Your tongue is falling out of your mouth, amore, be careful.”
“Theo,” you whimper again and again with every thrust. “I-I can’t.”
“Yes you can. I know you can, baby, c'mon. Give it to me. I want to hear my name on your lips as you squeeze my cock. I want to see your face as you cum.”
It’s like his words cast a spell on you; you cum after one particular thrust hits your g-spot, your hands curling into his hair as you convulse under him. You can hear him groan as his hips buck wildly into yours, his body stilling as he pumps a load into you. “Fuck,” you whimper repeatedly, hugging Theodore tight to your chest as the two of you come down from your highs.
“I got you, amore, don’t worry,” he whispers, and it sounds so scarily real and caring that you don’t even know what to think anymore as his soft lips meet yours in a tender kiss. You’re terrified at the way your heart swells, at the way you lose your breath and train of thought. You’re terrified because you might be falling for him.
The Slytherin common room throbbed with a triumphant bassline, a chaotic symphony of laughter and clinking goblets. Emerald banners, still shimmering from the Quidditch victory, draped the stone walls. Draco, leaning against a velvet-clad pillar, his gaze snagged across the room. He watched her, a dark green sequined mini-dress hugging her curves, tiered ruffles swaying with every subtle shift. The sheer nude base, embroidered with glittering patterns, made the fabric appear painted onto her skin. Her heels, serpentine coils studded with emeralds, lifted her impossibly, elongating her legs to dizzying lengths.
Mattheo’s voice cut through the din, a low growl beside Draco’s ear. “Damn, Y/N looks hot tonight. Bet she’s trying to get every male’s attention with that short dress and heels.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “Don’t even try it, Riddle.”
Mattheo’s grin widened, a glint of challenge in his eyes. “Or what?”
“You will no longer have that pretty face girls fall for.” Draco’s voice held a dangerous edge, a promise of pain.
Enzo let out a low whistle. “Merlin.”
Across the room, Pansy grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her into the gyrating mass of bodies. Daphne and Astoria trailed close behind, their own laughter echoing.
Blaise sighed, a theatrical slump of his shoulders. “Well, this was fun while it lasted.”
Theo, ever the predictor, began a countdown. “Three… two… one.”
Draco moved, a blur of motion through the crowd. His eyes, fixed on Y/N, narrowed as other boys’ gazes lingered on her. He reached her, his hand clamping around her wrist, pulling her from the dance floor.
“Y/N, come with me, please.” His voice held no plea, only command.
A soft smile bloomed on her face. “Of course, love. Girls, I’ll be back!” She waved, her friends already lost in the throng as Draco tugged her through the common room, up the winding stairs to his dorm.
Pansy watched them go, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “She’s not coming back until tomorrow.”
Daphne’s eyes twinkled. “Yeah, and probably not even walking straight.”
Draco slammed the door to his dorm shut with a resounding thud, the sound echoing the possessive roar in his chest. He shoved Y/N against the solid wood, her back meeting it with a soft impact. His hand shot out, fingers closing around her throat, a gentle pressure, not restricting breath, but claiming.
“That’s the only bit of calm you get tonight,” he rumbled, his voice low, a promise of delicious torment.
He pulled his tie from around his neck, the silk cool against her skin as he expertly looped it around her wrists, binding them together. She couldn’t move, couldn’t touch him. His fingers worked quickly, undoing the delicate buttons on the back of her dress, the fabric falling open. Her underwear and bra followed, slipping to the floor in a whisper of silk. Her serpentine heels, however, remained.
She looked down, her breath catching as cold metal brushed her ankles. A spreader bar. She hadn't known he even owned one. The cuffs clicked into place, forcing her legs apart, a wide, vulnerable stance.
He stepped back, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. His eyes raked over her body, now exposed, save for the scandalous heels.
“This does way more nicely for me than that attention-seeking dress.”
Her voice, a mere breath. “You kept my heels on.”
His eyes glittered. “I sure did, Slytherin princess.”
A tremor ran through her. “Baby, please, what are you doing to me?”
His brow arched. “What was that?”
Her voice strengthened, a desperate plea. “Daddy, fuck me, please.”
A low chuckle escaped his lips. “Oh yeah? What way?” He walked to his chest of drawers, pulling out a vibrating wand, its tip glowing softly. A whimper escaped her lips as she recognized the toy.
He turned back, his gaze intense. “Tell you what. If you can come five times on this, whilst standing and tied up… I’ll fuck you until you no longer function. Is that a good compromise?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Her voice shook as he pressed the vibrating tip against her clit, a sudden jolt of intense sensation. One of his fingers, cool and slick, slid into her, stretching her. She gasped, her head falling back against the door.
“Good girl. Now, give me those orgasms.”
The first one ripped through her, a violent wave of pleasure, making her knees buckle against the spreader bar’s resistance. The second, a frantic climax, left her breathless. By the fifth, she was screaming, a raw, ragged sound, begging him to stop, but he maintained his composure, his face impassive as he watched her shatter.
He pulled the vibrator away, tossing it carelessly onto the bed. His fingers, now warm and knowing, replaced the machine, teasing her swollen clit. She came again, a sixth wave, her body arching, muscles spasming.
“Huh, that was six. Good girl.”
“Daddy, please.” Her voice was a broken whisper.
“Please what, angel?”
“Fuck me, please.”
He lifted her, turning her so her back faced him, her ass presented, high and inviting. The second her body settled, he slammed his hips forward, his hard cock plunging into her wet depths. Both of them moaned, a guttural sound from him, a breathless cry from her. He began to thrust, a relentless rhythm. Her eyes rolled back in her head, the pleasure overwhelming. He reached around, his hand once again finding her throat, lifting her slightly, pressing her body tighter against his, skin slapping skin.
Ten orgasms later, Y/N was barely functioning, her body a quivering mess, lost in subspace. Draco’s mean dom persona melted away. He carefully untied her wrists, removed the spreader bar, and gently lowered her onto the bed. He pressed a glass of water to her lips, ensuring she drank it all before scooping her into his arms.
He carried her to the bathroom, the warm water already filling the tub. Her muscles protested the shift from the bed to the water, but then relaxed, sighing into the soothing warmth.
“Daddy, come here.” Her voice was a soft purr.
He smiled, a gentle, tender expression. “Not Daddy anymore, darling. Just Draco.” He slid into the water behind her, wrapping his arms around her.
She snuggled back against him, her voice muffled against his chest. “Draco is Daddy, though.”
⚠️ sexting, piv little bit, this isn't that good but it's been awhile
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Today you are the lucky one. Your class this morning had been canceled, which left Jason to begrudgingly leave you behind in your New Rome apartment while you begged him to skip his class, unfortunately something your angel of a boyfriend would never do.
So, he wasn't surprised when his phone buzzed once in the middle of class. Then again. Then again. Then again.
He sighed, pulling it out of his pocket. He read your name, followed by little pink hearts next to it and seven texts reading
Baby
Baby
Babyyyyyy
Jason grace
My loveeeee
Loverrrrrr
My mannnnnnnnnn
He chuckled under his breath, hoping his professor would not notice him briefly losing attention. He unlocked his screen before typing,
Are you okay, darling?
Immediately the three dots appeared followed by
Kinda
I just don't feel that good
His brows creased, worried that you had caught something,
what do you feel?
What he was not expecting was a picture of your manicured nails spreading your lips with the text,
hurts here :(
He locked his phone, slamming it on his desk. His professor and several classmates looked over at the noise. He huffed, wiping off his glasses and clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“As I was saying, Mr. Grace,” the professor carried on with the lecture that became static loose to Jason as he picked his phone back up.
Sweetheart, I’m still in class
Another picture, your soaked fingers now holding your chest, nipple peeking between the digits. He shifted in his seat, feeling himself twitch beneath his pants. He sighed, looking back at the board, unable to comprehend a single word.
When I get home
A video. He knew he was screwed. He made sure his volume was off before clicking play. His phone lit up with you lying in your shared bed, fingers curling inside of you. As you brought the camera to your face, even with the volume off, he could tell the words you were speaking.
“Jason, help me.”
Quickly enough, he stood up. He shoved his things into his backpack before the professor looked up.
“Problem, Mr. Grace?”
His eyes were wide behind his lenses. “Uhm, my girlfriend just texted that a pipe burst in our apartment, I need to go, uhm…” He nodded to finish his nonsensical lie before rushing out. Pulling up your contact to call you.
“Hello?”
“I’m on my way home.”
He could hear the smile in your voice, “that’s my good boy.”
He felt his dick pulsate again. He groaned into the microphone, “I told my professor a pipe in our apartment burst.”
You twisted your fingers around the white bed sheets, “well, that's not too far off a lie,” you began, “it is all wet here.”
The phone went dead on your end and you looked down at your screen confused.
“Jase?”
You heard the door of your balcony creak open, a drop of a bag, then watched the bedroom door ply open. There Jason stood, exasperated, glasses tilted, hair a mess.
You simply giggled, “someone was impatient."
He pulled off his tee, revealing his chiseled body and throwing it onto the floor. “I’m the one who’s impatient?”
You crawled toward the end of the bed to meet him at the edge. You looked up at him, doe eyes and all as you unbuckled his belt.
“Uh huh. You just couldn't wait for your class to end to be inside me,” you unzipped his fly to spring out his long, thick cock. “Look at him, even more impatient.” You licked the tip softly to tease him, pressing a wet kiss after.
His hand wrapped around your hand to make a messy ponytail. “Sweetheart. You're going to kill me.”
“That’s my plan.” You threw yourself back, spreading your legs as your head reached the pillows. He pulled down his jeans and underwear to now be matching with you. He slowly knelt down to be face to face with your cunt.
He closed his eyes to take in your sweet smell while his lips collided with your nerves. You gasped, throwing your head back in relief.
“Jason,” you purred, “I need you.”
He pressed a kiss to your pussy, trailing the wetness to the inside of your thigh.
“Trust me,” he spoke, leaning up, “I know.” He braced his arms on either side of your head, down on his elbows to barely have an inch between your faces.
“Inside, now,” you commanded. Like the good boy he was, he of course did so, easily sliding inside of you from your wetness.
“Oh!” You moaned out as he just stayed still, waiting for your = tight walls to adjust. Your eyes closed, nails digging into his shoulder.
It slipped out naturally. You couldn’t even think about before the word left your mouth. You were too distracted by the stretch of your leg over his shoulder, the way his cock dove inside of you, and the tears streaming down your face that he wiped away.
“Daddy!”
His pace faltered. He would never be able to admit the moan that followed. He felt his stomach flutter and he stared at your eyes.
“Feel good, baby?” He asked gently.
You nodded, “yes, really good.” His thrusts became more determined, punctuating each one.
“How good?” He asked again, not even trying to be coy, speaking as though he just needed feedback.
“Amazing,” you groaned, back arched off the bed and nails digging into his shoulders, “I’m close, daddy,” you murmured.
Being balls deep inside of you as you said that, he had no chance. “Oh, ah,” he moaned, “me too, sweetheart,” his brow scrunched, glasses fogging up.
You gasped for air, “mm, daddy,” you hummed. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling his as close as possible.
Your lips pressed to your lover’s before you whispered, “like when I call you daddy?”
He whimpered, “yes,” he shyly answered, nearly ashamed.
“Good,” you smiled, “cum in me, daddy.”
“Oh, woah,” he let out. You felt the warm white cream fill you up and with a few more thrusts, you were done for.
“Daddy!” You squealed, eyes closing, head throwing back into the pillow which left room for him to pepper kisses along your neck.
The two of you remained face to face, taking in each other’s sweat and oxygen. His right hand that had gripped the pillow next to your head, traced down to your shoulder, brushing away hair to press a kiss before he fell down beside you.
This whole year, why didn't you reach out? That's what I'm trying to do now. Okay. Maybe just... give me a few minutes? Don't worry about it. Just get some sleep.
PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS
2.01 ♆ I Play Dodgeball With Cannibals
𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 :: You wanted to do the new tiktok trend so, how fast do they melt into a kiss ?
𝑐𝒽𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 :: percy j. // jason g. // luke c. // leo v. // will s. // connor & travis s.
— 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑦 𝑗𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠𝑜𝑛
𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑑 : 9.8 / 10
Percy melts the moment the kiss registers in his head.
At first, there’s surprise, not because he doesn’t want it ! But because he thinks: "Omg!! I'm a lucky guy". Your lips meet his and it’s like his entire nervous system sighs in relief. His posture softens immediately, like he’s been carrying something heavy and just set it down. His hands don't even hesitate for half a second— settling on you happily.
He kisses back instinctively, warmly, the affection for you is muscle memory by now. He leans into you without thinking, eyes closed in an instant, head tilting. You can feel the way his breath gets slower.
And the melting part?
It’s in the way he forgets everything else. The way his thumb absently rubs at your side, not trying to be impressive for the video, just present. The way he smiles into the kiss like he can’t help it.
When you pull away, he doesn’t open his eyes right away. He rests his forehead against yours, grinning, cheeks faintly flushed and then he gives you little pecks.
If this were to be posted on TikTok, the comments would be ruthless: “OH HE FOLDED.”
And Percy would watch it later with you, laughing and pretending not to notice how true it is.
— 𝑗𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒
𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑑 : 7 / 10
Jason already thinks something is up the moment you get that look with your big smile too innocent. And then you reach for him like you’re about to tickle him— which immediately puts him on alert, he closes his arms and grips your wrists as he gently but firmly stops you.
“Why are you doing that?”
He doesn’t know it’s a trend. He just knows he doesn't like getting tickled and he’s trying to figure out what kind of trap this is.
So when you lean in instead and kiss him, it catches him completely off guard.
The suspicion evaporates, replaced by startled warmth. His grip loosens instantly, hand sliding from your wrist to your side and he kisses back a beat late, like he had to recalibrate and then, pfft, Gods, he wants it.
The kiss deepens. Jason leans in with intensity, as if trying to pour everything into the contact. His hand stays firm at your waist but you can feel how badly he wants to pull you closer, how much he loves kissing you.
And then the camera exists again.
He pulls back just a fraction, cheeks warm, eyes flicking around, suddenly remembering the recording object. His expression is a mix of flustered and confused like he’s still processing how he went from “are you about to tickle me?” to this.
Later, when you show him the video and explain it’s a trend, he just stares at the screen, mortified.
“…People are going to see that?”
On TikTok, the comments would eat him alive:
“HE WANTED TO GO BACK IN.”or “Why did he look mad at the camera?”
— 𝑙𝑢𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑛
𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑑 : 8.7 / 10
Luke does not hesitate when you kiss him and for sure he does not behave.
The second your lips are over his, he’s already responding, not politely at all. His hand comes to you like it belongs there, confident and certain, fingers settling at your hip or your lower back with no apology. There’s no pause to it and kinda kisses you like the camera isn’t even real.
And the melt? Immediate but not in a soft.
Luke melts forward. The kiss deepens fast, his body angling into yours, a bit overwhelming even. He adjusts instinctively, stepping closer, guiding you with a subtle pressure like he’s forgotten this was meant to be a quick, playful thing.
If there’s a height difference, he uses it without thinking; lifting you off the ground, hands on your ass.
When you pull away, he looks amused, breath slightly heavier, eyes pleased like he’s just realized he gave the internet far more than asked for. There’s a crooked smile as if to say, 'yeah, and I’d do it again'.
On TikTok, the comments would be:
“YO' MAN WAS HUNGRY.” or “HELLO?? THE PICK HER UP??”
— 𝑙𝑒𝑜 𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑧
𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑑 : 10 / 10
Leo collapses into the kiss, would say it's crazy but, what are we expecting from the Leo Valdez?
There is no suspicion, the moment you step close and lift your hands to his cheeks, he’s already laughing, already leaning in and already halfway gone. He doesn’t think why is this happening?— he thinks 'Oh! This!! This is good' .
So when you kiss him, it’s instant response.
There's no delay between contact and reaction. His hands come up immediately, warm and sure, one at your back, one curling into your clothes as the kiss fucks up his brain chemestry. He kisses back eagerly, with that soft desperation that comes from wanting something badly and not pretending otherwise.
His posture folds toward you, quite literally forgets about personal space entirely, smiles into the kiss because he can’t help it. And if you pull back too soon, he follows without thinking, eyes still closed for half a second.
If this were on TikTok, the comments would be unanimous for once:
“THAT WAS IMMEDIATE.” or “HE DIDN’T EVEN TRY.”
— 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒
𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑑 : 8 / 10
Will is so comfy about all this is low-key heart warming.
When you kiss him, there’s no big reaction. He just smiles into it, so warm, like this is exactly where he’s supposed to be. His lips respond softly, without urgency. There’s a calm affection in the way he kisses you, something reassuring.
His hands rest on you gently just holding, he wants you close but doesn’t need to prove it. He leans in enough to stay connected, enough to feel you there, but never overwhelming. The melt is in the way shoulders relax, his breath gets slower and there's that faint hum of contentment you can feel in your heart.
If there’s a camera, he doesn’t care and if there isn’t, it’s the same.
When you pull back, he keeps smiling so stupidly fond. He might brush his thumb over your cheek afterward, a normal gesture he does like second nature.
On TikTok, the comments would be so sweet-tooth:
“Why does he look so safe to be with?” or “That’s a comfort person.”
—𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑙
𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑑 : 9.5 / 10
Connor clocks what you’re doing immediately !!
The angle you have your phone in and the way you step to close your arms around his neck. He grins like he’s already won, eyebrows lifting as if to say 'oh, how cute.' He leans back a fraction, hands up in mock surrender, fully playing to the camera.
“Nope,” he says, smiling wide. “I know this one.”
If you lean in, he dodges just barely— not enough to escape, bur enough to be a little tease. He laughs, light and cocky, clearly enjoying the delay, clearly determined not to be the first one to crack. He wants the suspense and the audience to think he’s immune!!
But he can't stop looking at the tiny pout over your lips.
When you finally catch him and your lips brush his for real he freezes for a half-second, his body forgetting to stick to the script. He tries to keep it playful, tries to kiss back lightly, like 'yeah, whatever, no big deal'.
And then your hand is caressing the scalp in the back of his neck just to make him lose it.
His hands come to you, pulling you in— he's done playing with you now! The kiss deepens with enthusiasm replacing teasing. He leans into you fully, hungry for affection energy that feels less like melting and more like he's close to taking you to bed.
When you pull back, he’s grinning with uneven breath, eyes bright, he’s proud of himself for lasting as long as he did. After all you are the love of his life !
“Okay,” he says, nodding once. “Worth it.”
On camera, it’s painfully obvious:
How he tried to dodge, and how he folded anyway, forgetting this was supposed to be a joke to his pretty girl.
The comments would be:
“WHY DID HE TRY TO FIGHT IT.” or “He held out for a whole THREE SECONDS.”
—𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑙
𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑑 : 7.5 / 10
Travis doesn’t clock it as fast as Connor.
He notices the phone, sure — he’s not oblivious — but he doesn’t immediately jump to thinking it's a trend. He just raises an eyebrow, gives you that knowing look, he’s waiting to see what you’re about to try.
If you step closer, he doesn’t move away.
If Connor plays to the camera, Travis ignores it entirely; his attention stays on you, only you.
When you kiss him, the reaction is almost instant but still restrained.
He exhales softly into the kiss, shoulders loosening. His lips respond gently at first, slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring it rather than rushing toward anything. One hand comes up to rest at your waist or your back.
The longer the kiss lasts, the more obvious it becomes. He leans in gradually, closing the distance bit by bit, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. His thumb traces a small, absent-minded motion where he’s holding you, something unconscious and intimate, his body is speaking as his mouth does.
When you pull back, he doesn’t chase more but he doesn’t step away either.
He stays close, forehead nearly touching yours, eyes soft, mouth curved in the faintest smile like he’s amused at himself.
The comments would be perceptive rather than feral:
“Wait why was that actually tender.” or “He didn’t melt fast, but oh boy was giving it all.”
Quick reminder that THIS is the son of Poseidon, earthshaker, stormbringer, King of the Seas, the Demi-God who jumped into Tartarus after his girlfriend, who nearly cracked the Earth apart in Labyrinth and the kid who literally blood-bends a Goddess because someone dared to threaten his Annabeth.
This is the Perseus Jackson that everyone is shit scared of and, right now, he is still just a foetus.
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